Long Disdaining Poems
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Sunshine at dawn blasts sunbeam holes in clouds.
A celestial searchlight celebration,
with silent cheers unheard by sleeping crowds
who slept through their snooze alarm dictation.
When sun's up high in sky it's warm and bright
all paramount, pervading, endearing.
People scurry about in new day's light.
Ignoring the sun as source, disdaining.
Noon is so hot, it's time to cover up.
On goes the slip, slop, slap, perhaps a hat.
People duck, hide, in shadows envelop.
Sun becomes a lethal glare to combat.
Sundown, is the only time when sunshine
gets worshipped - toned down, dimmed to red, in shrine.
---------------
6 March 2018
Change the story
These words kept ringing in my ears
Change the story
That's not what people want to hear
Every morning you saturate the airwaves
with insentient and agonizing words
disdaining my intelligence
and rekindling a treacherous fire
You have gone down that road before
stirring up fear and doubt
Impeding upon history
And trespassing on my dignity.
You have eroded all civility
spilling vengeance , derision and anger
Catering to their weaknesses
And making unrealistic promises.
Change your groundless theory and
work towards unity
stand up for what you believe in
and stop this useless masquerading
You have been hammering a tale
that is so hard to bear
The chronicle keeps duplicating itself
resonating deeply in despair
The music is playing loudly
Echoing mystics in the air
Change the precarious story
and face the fight with decency.
I was with you, in the beginning
Being present for delivery of WORD
Your growth was astounding
And commitment unto death, pure
But then, government entered the gate
And offered concessions for compliance
I watched your back bend
I entered in, you slithered, away
I surrounded you, as Deception grew
A dragon, drenched in sacrificial blood
Destructive fire rolled out of your mouth
Consuming innocence with zeal
Authenticity gone, devoted to kill
Compassion at every gathering
Conform or be deformed by the battering ram
Your war cry...and a blasting horn
Of pie in the sky
May you be held accountable for claiming WORD
While disdaining TRUTH
Written by Trudy Schrader on 05-22-2024
Someday I'd like to wander free
like butterfly, like bumblebee,
perhaps to plant a willow tree
beside the silent solemn sea,
before these things exist no more,
from mountain top to shifting shore,
when, soon, bald eagles cease to soar
and build their aeries nevermore,
and fish forsake polluted streams
(where sulfur swims and typhoid teems
since no one really cares it seems)
to die inside our toxic dreams
while ice caps melt and winter steams,
and all the air surrounding reeks
as children choke, for no one speaks
of fracking wells or oily leaks
(Big Brother's silenced all critiques!),
and rancid rains acidify
so woods no longer multiply
(for God so wills, we can't deny,
which is, of course, our alibi).
And as the deepest ocean fills
with plastic bags, and garbage spills
upon the plains, across the hills
and turns to poison dust that kills
wild dingo dogs and daffodils
which sink in swamps’ forsaken swills,
the mocking bird makes light and trills
(midst waning wails of whippoorwills)
"Behold the surreal scene that chills
and greet the dread that death distills!
You've had your day with all the frills
that brought the flood and final ills
that can't be cured with bitter pills
nor yet undone with further thrills
of profit gained that grinds and fills
dead desert sands with dollar bills."
EPILOGUE
Though swaddled still in infancy,
we feel we’ve reached our primacy
(aloof, though preaching piously,
disdaining deeds of decency)
and have no need of augury.
But in the pit of prophecy
the crucial questions seem to be:
“Is doom Earth’s fate, our destiny
to twist in tides of agony
destroying nature’s progeny
with no return a certainty
assured by death’s finality?”
and
”Should we plant a willow tree
to someday weep for you and me?”
The succulent trees with healthy branches
sways gentle in the murky atmosphere
The compulsion of nature could not hold out
It rumbled the sky with a desperate shout.
And the delightful afternoon emerged and
warms my heart with comforting vibes
granting me a tranquil place to hide.
The full moon spilled hot sun over my skin
After weeks of wetness and sadness
Without warning it salutes us with unpredictable madness.
For one moment it feels like summer and everyone
was out enjoying this fine weather.
Bewildered by this unexpected charm
It was fun to break this prolonged obscurity
and soaked myself in Spring's warmness.
Looking beyond the peculiar weather
On a day like this I found pleasure lying in the grass
and staring directly into the deceptive sun hoping to get some consolation
But instead I found myself on a strange journey denouncing Lucifer.
The voice of immorality kept shouting out
spitting venom and wavering doubt
The voice of evil keeps drowning me out
How much I want to break out.
I pushed desperately to get a word in
But the loathsome voice kept cutting in
The diabolic forces wrestled with me
For almost two hours I kept rebuking it.
But the more the voice keep crying out
Raging out of control, making false accusation
disdaining everybody, including the innocent ones.
A double tongue and a double voice kept
raging havoc by my side
I fought tirelessly to quite his turbulent spirit
But he kept chatting on with charm and viscous horns.
He would not admit to his narcissistic reaction
so I engaged him by the running stream
And wrestled with him on top of the bridge
We struggled for a while before he reconciled
I went up the slope in the thick bushes
And alas! he surrendered and admit to his reprehensible behavior
Without warning everything was instantly over.
We give each other license
To justify the violence
We relate to satisfaction
Relegating our inaction
To a higher power
The fashion of the hour
Changing with the time
The constant's our reflection
That the state of our perfection
Disdaining all inspection
In the state of our connection
To the mantle of the Don
But will it ever dawn
That ground shifts all the time
Like the mantle underneath us
Somethings should be beneath us
Croesus wouldn't be the one
That would or could impress Solon
Just as fool and all his money
Are destined to part company
All that matters is the time
So just as a marriage license
Recognizes loves' instransigence
Romancing love as love of power
Is but convenience of the hour
And the short term satisfaction
Will result in but the fraction
As it's turning on a dime
oh home on the range—
nothing has changed
disdaining
and disagreeing
yet sharing
the same bowl
pilate’s children dip
fingers in common water
each washing
the other’s hands
with bloody towels
of innocence
indifference
is the american way
come let us play
cowboys and indians
no less a claimed massacre—
last stand on somebody else’s land
not a mumbling word is heard
‘bout treatment of the ebony heard
at home on the range
seems nothing has changed
same beat…killing
same street…god willing
this is the land of the free
and the home of the brave
doesn’t include you and me—
children of the slave
race remains the country’s major issue
hued skin is still treated like used waste tissue
to making america great again
is returning to business as usual
let the chameleon poor heal their own pain
power for the masses is always met with refusal
let not bomb-barded hearts succumb to trouble
liberty succeeds nothing without struggle
We give each other license
To justify the violence
We relate to satisfaction
Relegating our inaction
To a higher power
The fashion of the hour
Changing with the time
The constant's our reflection
That the state of our perfection
Disdaining all inspection
In the state of our connection
To the mantle of the Don
But will it ever dawn
That ground shifts all the time
Like the mantle underneath us
Some things should be beneath us
Croesus wouldn't be the one
That would or could impress Solon
Just as a fool and all his money
Are destined to part company
All that matters is the time
So just as a marriage license
Recognizes loves' intransigence
Romancing love as love of power
Is but convenience of the hour
And the short term satisfaction
Will result in but the fraction
As it's turning on a dime
Actual aptitude and action almost always align aright.
Beautiful bliss, beastly belligerent behaviors: both burn bright.
Caringly convinced, cantankerous curmudgeons collapse, contrite.
Disdaining darkness, devoted disciples dig deep, discover delight.
Erudite, eager efforts encourage, energize, even excite.
For faithful few, fortitude, ferocious fight favors failed, feeble flight.
Gesticulating graders generate ghastly groans grinding graphite.
Happily, Horton has highly honed hearing; howler has humble height.
Invite ideas, ignite ingenuity, illumine insight.
Jaundiced jackboot juxtaposing "justice", jubilation: Jacobite.
Kindly koala kid keeps knitting knotted kaleidoscopic kites.
Levity lifts languishing leanings, leaves listeners luminous, light.
Mellifluously mild merriment mellows mad, malevolent might.
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Lol, this is an abecedarian monorhyme of alliterative monokus.
Not sure I'll get to the second half
. for public domain
We shed our blood
among thorns and thistles,
playing at war in fields and hedgerows,
fighting against imagined foes;
and when we fell in feigning death,
we always rose to draw more breath,
to rain hell on our enemy.
We shed our youth
in blood soaked trenches,
lighting up war in fields and hedgerows,
fighting against fascists and foes;
and when one fell ordaining death,
another rose to draw more breath,
to rain hell on our enemy.
We shed our lives
for our flags and countries,
disdaining war in fields and hedgerows,
plowing fertile land for corn rows;
and when we lay down to our death,
our Lord will someday restore our breath,
to shame hell, and our enemy.