Long Inattentive Poems
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Gaelic: it was my mother's native tongue,
and her grandmother’s elder tongue.
Grandfather was a Romani gypsy,
horses naturally understood his voice.
My lips follow English,
a tangled language with too many roots,
tuberosities awkwardly clumped together,
like hard and lumpy potato soup -
a dish My Irish mother made
with an inattentive gusto...
her pink tongue licking the corners of her mouth,
as she slopped the part-cooked pottage out
into thick porcelain bowls.
She had quite forgotten her mother tongue,
or how to respect the potato,
and its historical significance to all in exile.
My own tongue was young and tender,
and too hungry to care. Already I instinctively knew
how to take my lumps.
A flutter stirs in my chest,
Awaking it from its inattentive rest.
As a tiny butterfly wing unfurled,
To unleash a quake in nether world.
Such chaos reeks as tremor grows,
It billows and flaps as tempest bestows,
An effect far beyond what reason deserves,
From a flip of wing, hors d'oeuvres.
A simple glance, a glint from eye,
Triggers my heart to offbeat awry,
To blast a chain reaction melee!
All order is lost - May Day, May Day!
A wing flap in Brazil, a tornado in Texas brings,
A tiny ripple in the cosmos that sings,
A reverberating chaotic chorus to heart strings,
Tuned to quiver sympathetic, to resonant dings.
In the mid 80's, I took a job as a receptionist for a wholesale floral company.
Encased in a glass claustrophobic space, I answered their busy phone lines
as I gazed at the warehouse walls of greenery and the production staff scrambling to fill their daily delivery orders to florists and offices.
The days began early. We punched in at 6:00 am. I arrived in a mind fog,
downing my caffeine until my body's sluggishness wore off. It was a mindless
job and I stayed a mere six weeks at most but during that short window of time there, I had two very prophetic dreams involving co-workers.
The first and less memorable involved one of our delivery drivers. I dreamt that the police had caught him drinking while driving and he was subsequently terminated. About a week later, this dream came to fruition.
The second and must more poignant dream involved Jerry, a young flower
salesman in his late twenties. I dreamt that Jerry had fallen thru a sliding glass door. He was holding the hand of a small child, perhaps two or three years old.
It was very graphic as I saw the shards of broken glass scatter as they hit the floor. With in a few days, Jerry ended up in intensive care after a car accident with his truck. I was extremely rattled by the dream and also concerned about his welfare, although I barely knew him personally. I approached Heather, a secretary there and shared my dream with her. Heater told me that Jerry had been previously married and that he and his former wife had a child that passed at a very young age.
I might be mildly intuitive but I have never had such poignant dreams since that job. Is it plausible that I was being influenced by my green house environment there? Could it be possible that plants have always been open to communicating with us but that we humans remain mostly inattentive to their messages?
Here they come,
not one by one
but the majority out of reach
doubting reasons to impeach.
It's okay to have a bully president
tweeting nonsense, bias, wordings without precedent,
stroke his ego, praise his fool hearty words
watch the world cuts ties and turns away abhorred.
Think they do not see, they do not hear
follow blindly, claiming all is clear
while the other half appear -
staunch, determined, uncontrite without fear.
Wait on bills, hold decisions in the making
wave the flag, claim they are negotiating
is the economy and jobs enough
when debt increase is uncuffed?
Somewhere ignored in the in-between
a multitude of people remain unheard, unseen
asking for a little courage and honesty
just the facts, the truth in all this hypocrisy.
Yet no one in DC or media really listens
the voice of middle America is stilled and missing
while gun control and healthcare is just winded whistlings
of homelessness, immigration, civil action inattentive dismissing.
They say to let it go, count the votes in 2020
to be concealed by power and money;
who speaks for the average man, woman, and child
neither Senate nor representatives ever walk that mile!
In the mirror, one day, the stranger will stand and you will gaze long,
The shadow of what was, shall fade into the unknown to be.
You allowed others to be the carriers of self, and they misdirected you,
The sound of self, that inner siren's voice, you ignored, ungrasped.
It pleaded softly, sweetly, urging you to assert,
To cherish feelings as frosted treasures.
Your uniqueness - a flag strung on peaks,
"Believe," it beckoned, "in moss and sun intertwined."
The Divine within you spoke with an endless voice,
"I am," it told you, "the voice that never rests."
You were grandeur in step, in breath, in unseen dreams,
Always alongside, on the mountain slope, in the hour you believed abandoned on the path.
But the echo stopped, dissipated in the inattentive moment,
Your inner seal faded, a murmur lost.
The voice had built deep monasteries within you, but you let them fall into forgetfulness,
Your once vibrant holy sanctuary, now wrapped in silence.
It is time, I call to you, to gather the fragmented echo of your being,
Bring it back, conquer it, like an explorer invoking the rains, to learn of the sun.
A leap of faith, the sated flame of memory,
And reborn from the ashes of silence, there your heart will beat forever.
It still pounds ancient drums beneath your chest,
A whistle of hope awaits to be blown anew.
Strike the flint, scratch the firestarter, until the spark emerges,
And the deep voice, your truth, will applaud once more in harmony.
Redeem your name, reclaim your wholeness,
Once lost, but now nearing redemption.
Those will be your dawns, the moment when, remade, united,
You will stand and will know -
You are reborn, you have discovered who you were, who you are.
I cried for you today,
tears of living in your absence.
Maybe not so much for you
but rather,
my own selfishness in missing you.
I await the time of healing,
of getting beyond the loneliness.
It doesn't seem possible,
so many things
stir up your memory.
I was so blinded
by the nonsense of the world.
I must have been inattentive,
oblivious to what we shared
when you were here.
Why did you put up with me
and love me
with all my flaws?
I am grateful beyond words
and what lies in my recollected memories.
Maybe now, at last,
I can see
the reality of who we were.
I was nothing and no one
by myself.
I cried for you today,
realizing you loved me more
than I ever loved you.
It's there, been there all along
Just hanging out, like a tag
Telling those looking upon
That your dressing skills have a snag
...inattentive
Every environment, no matter where
The air is thick with loosh, like sludge
The anger and pull for power
Lingers like a long held grudge
...suppression
Governments and systems carry it
The way the movements push and pull
Grabbing and gaining other's goods
For the punishment of following the rule
...submission
Then, there's the string of religions awry
Everyone can have a God to serve
Making all the words and deeds behave
For rewards the worshiper knows they deserve
...inventive
All leading the probe in the rotten roots
Diving deeper into every new world
Those who have held power, until now
Having to endure TRUTH be unfurled
...impatience
Yes...patience is the KEY...and they will never have it!!!
Written by Trudy Schrader on 08-20-2026
He saw the car coming
From the back seat, unsecured
She was rushed to the hospital
Relatives silenced what he endured
Scared already of what could be
He fed the dogs as he should
The attack was intense and quick
As adults checked, that the dogs were good
He lost his home, community, friend
His dog, and way of life, left behind
His parents found the spirit
Security of a child given to the divine
Pushed out of the bed of a truck
By a friend who just wanted to see
If a little harm to another
Would end up how he thought it would be
Boys gotta be tough and unyielding
To every tragedy they've gone through
Dismissed and downplayed by adults
Who didn't want to deal with the task of being true
...to LOVE
Written by Trudy Schrader on 07-24-2026
Being in the mind of a savage.
All I know is how to act ferociously.
Manipulating the minds of the weak, fearful, and the victims.
Beating them into submissive.
Emasculating the strongest, just to see him break.
Dismiss him of his role, and never to see his family again.
Being in the mind of a savage.
I destroy, divide, and conquer.
tearing families apart.
Over yonder, as they scream,
begging to be saved
but nobody hears them.
Breaking the spirits of the koons, mannu, aunty, sambo,
and the uncle toms, as they all have a common factor.
They're all nostalgia.
The animal within me is untamed, uncontrollable, and inhumane.
I'm superior by nature, at least what I see.
Being in the mind of a savage.
What you call crimes are white privileges to me,
justification, rationalisation, & beliefs
set me free each time.
All I know is to kill, steal, destroy, & reverse the cycle of genetics.
I changed their culture,
to fear, tough love, attitude, punishment, violence & a career.
Sabotage the mind, break em' down, then bob the builder em'.
When you stop em' for believing in themselves,
oppression appears.
Being in the mind of a savage.
Other savages, keep em' isolated, uneducated, impoverished and oppressed. There's a few who escapes but we own them too.
We love to be entertained, as we mock, advertise, and stereotype em'. Less sensation and lacking sensitiveness
in the terminal fibers, keeps me acting viciously.
Unintelligent, laziness, frightfulness, ignorance, backwardness, violent, inarticulate, sexual frustrated, hunger, inattentive, unable to control themselves, & in care of, are all the signs of a n****.
Created a cultural matrix of positive
and negative feelings for me,
and each time, I justify my actions by logical reasoning with em'.
Ohhh, forgiving are they. Just to do it once more, and that once more became many more.
Being in the mind of a savage.
If any shall become bold, intimidating or become a threat, we shall lynch you.
Propaganda, genocide, & economics are all profits for the savages.
Paternalism plays a major role as
terrorizing and restrain are easily justified.
Keep em' from achieving social equality
as they become more bumptious on the streets.
Being in the mind of a savage.
in an
angst- saturated
moment i find you there in
my travel bag, injured by the neglect of
a poorly screwed-on sparkling water bottle cap:
my beloved poetry notebook of fifteen years. You are
now one-third soaked and stained at the top. I shudder to
think of throwing you away or burying you in the cemetery of
old college diaries and love letters. You were my faithful collector of
anxiety and pleasure, cleverness and drought, loneliness and victory;
oftentimes tucked away for months at a time as creative energies were
diverted to other outlets. Like a loyal dog whose master travels away, you
never gave up on me. How many times the tears stained your inky pages
long before I even knew that sparkling water was a thing! When friends
moved away, or betrayed me (how i wished THEY would move away), when loved ones died too young, or old ones lived too long (how they wished THEY could die instead), when my son was slaying dragons and my daughter was breaking up with an inattentive boyfriend; when my wife struggled with her sisters, or when I agonized through physical therapy or cancer surgery, you were patiently there for me. Even as my joints and stitches eventually healed, you continue to be my invaluable companion, both for my history you contain to the left, and for the blank, hope-filled pages to the right. Like me, you are aging, stained, lumpy, scarred, but two-thirds useful as i write under the stain.
///NOTE: the shape above roughly mirrors the unstained portion of my notebook, which I will continue to use in its deformed and lumpy new state!
Also, no poems were harmed in the making of this poem. I write in pencil, so the water didn't render any previous pages unreadable, thankfully!///