Long Plodding Poems
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Sometimes I wonder…
As I read the past poets, great writers,
With offerings of words
Who will ever be, so sweet - they shall not fade.
But, then I read the current poetry –
Modern thoughts with a modern muse,
And I’m sensing that, if we should meet with one,
Who wrote the best, the greatest, the insightful,
We might be sadly pressed… to give these authors,
Our recompense,
Though we never would say the words,
We lack the same reverence, the same awe,
Admiration for those whose gifts…
Aspire to offer our hearts the greatest genius.
Would we recognize, today…
The wonder of poetry that can honestly say…
It will be gathered and assembled,
Collected for the day – when our poetic successors
Read the words that can still –
Still a heart, warm a soul, and bring to readers…
Joys untold, wonders so bold, lingering praise,
For poets who reign in eternal grace,
Plodding away, in complete assurance, that their words…
Shall go down in history, forever and always –
Poetic legends, notorious for their breathless pens,
Their tender embrace – the amazing way they portray…
Lovely lights beyond the poet’s persuasion.
Many among us want
To be an Arahant
Without quite knowing
Method of seeking
As a caterpillar
A plodding leaf feeler
Who wishes to fly
Like a butterfly
Which it will if it waits
In stillness sedate
Likewise
If we are wise
Attaining purity-peace-bliss
Wherein nothing is amiss
Requires neither doing nor seeking
Only becoming by blossoming
By inwardly turned sentience
In time dissolved patience
Yet to fast forward
We shift attention inwards
Looking at layers of resistance
In childlike innocence
Playfully disassociating
From narrow ego cravings
Marking them as of foreign origin
A far cry from our purity sanguine
And thus standing still
Allowing the divine to do its will
Free of want
We become an Arahant
In stillness
That's too much information
Speak slower
Oh my, that was too loud
Be quiet
I don't like when you talk
Be still
Words...so many WORDS
...restraint
How does one find balance
Truth must be spoken
DISLIKE Declarations
Have left me broken
...silence
Pressure builds
Hope thins, like ice inviting a skate
Movement feels like plodding
Toward an armed gate
...stymied
Breathe of life, failed
I can not sense my heart
It may be beating, yet
I know not where to start
...lost
Trust feels odd, out of sync
No forward, no going back
Nervous system, reset
Discernment has gone black
...grace....whispers
You are loved
Written by Trudy Schrader on 02-18-2026
the blog wars
hiding beneath and behind
the tufted heads of the nine tailed cats
awaiting the unsuspected entry
of inane innocence at large
devious despoilers – these demons
perfections faulted protectors
exacting a price they cannot pay
holding an ideal as a weapon
denying the truth of a single beauty
because it stands among so many
mocking the buds of beauty’s quest
as inept imposters to the throne
sticking the thorns of jealous roses
into the hearts of blooming daisies
hiding in the bulrushes of ego’s
self inflating fallacy
yet still intruders crash the gates
bold interlopers plodding onward
toiling in the trenches of a dream
unfazed by guardians failing scheme
John G. Lawless
10/12/2015
submitted to – Best October Poem – Poetry Contest
sponsor – SKAT A
Metamorphosis
The future looms so much closer now
no dreams weave a halo around its outcome
aspirations have dwindled to respirations
insistence on continuing the game of life.
Most all of what I’ve gone through
have been referred to as stages,
phases of life, periods of adjustment,
trials and tribulations to be overcome,
moved through, lessons learned.
Not so anymore. Those easy “lay-ups”
early in the game, though as important
as the “Buzzer-beater”, never seemed
as “easy” to execute. Seems life has
become a series of “two minute drills”,
no “hurry up” offense, just a plodding
“three yards and a cloud of dust”
dedication to the demands of the game.
To “show up, suit up and stand up”.
Now I know why there are empty pages
at the back of the play book,
why spontaneity and experience
conspire to overcome - not overpower.
I review the plays each day
knowing it is not the game that must change
but my relationship to the game,
to adapt, to undergo the metamorphosis
of living, accept the gradual changes
of a future that I somehow “outran”,
the present it became, and the past
that fades beneath the clouds at the
base of the mountain.
1/14/2017
submitted to – Any Poem Written In January 2017
Parallel
Evening arrived scattering snowflakes,
I sought a solitary
Path
Through winter’s barren woods
Made magical this night
With glittering snow
Gracing every empty branch
Each twig
In the muffled silence of a downy dusk
And, thinking that I walked
Enfolded in the snowy twilight,
Only with myself,
I overlooked the footprints
Slowly walking
Side by side
With my own –
Unnoticed in the rhapsody
Of the winter’s stormy
Forest celebration
Until
The path uncurled around a curve
Revealing in the gathering dusk
Another traveler,
Familiar to my heart,
Plodding
Through the windblown drifts
Bent,
Stooping beneath a heavy burden
Slipping side to side
With every step
Until the baggage
Pulled
The bearer to the snowbound path –
A solitary figure
Captured in the jealous grip of gravity -
And so I left my reveries,
My path,
Crossing through the unmarked snow,
The snowy wall,
Between us
To lift the burden
Of my companion in the twilight
To follow in the footsteps –
In silence -
And
Knowing
I could not lead upon this path,
Nor walk within the chambers of another heart,
But only trace the tracks
Outlining the journey of my friend
In this brief moment of time and stars
Beneath a darkening sky
Till we would walk in parallel
Again.
Calamities…
assaulted by the Memorial Day tsunami
drowned victims & floating cars--
appendix detonates during the Season of Hell
haplessly hospitalized in the UT-Austin medical zoo
Delusion of progress…
recovering in the mobile home
plodding through texts of
postmodern pointlessness--
overcome with visions of nuclear annihilation
Life is a plunge…
sensory overload & self-deconstruction--
reading "One Hundred Years of Solitude"
pondering Camus’ only philosophical question
does Jung have the answer?
Re-entry into the (ir)real world…
Labor Day blues & academic angst
surrounded by yi(u)ppies--
mesmerized by Eastern philosophy
crushed by existential dread
The Being & Nothingness of Texas...
The Longhorns won/lost The Game
primal braying & primitive reveling
avoiding the orange phallic madness
evading beer bottles hurled by frat boys
Monstrous cockroaches inherit the Earth…
discombobulated by the sadistic heat
I ram my fist into a case of Lone Star
“The horror, the horror” as Kurtz opined
can I still resurrect myself?
Five packed together in one car…
a circuitous journey to South Padre Island
silent white sand & red star suspended over the Gulf
hypnotic waves & harsh words in the condo
the Odyssey is (in)complete(d)
THE PIPER He came from nowhere piping. We danced and danced in his trail. Our eyes popped out as elation swayed us. Suddenly, His pipe creaked and cracked. All feet hung as
sky dimmed her lights...
Silhouettes of Gun -shooting Devils everywhere..
Plodding hands of death lurking in the dark, lurking in the open... like hawk, Hawking chicken... Human heads fallen off as of woodcutters in frenzy.
cutting down trees.
Cry, my beloved Country!, Nigeria! how fast you fade, fading into oblivion, like a soviet. Oh Soviet! I bemoan you; once a cathedral's bell, you chimmed for all nations, now a shadow lying beneath history.
And the Piper! Now a prisoner for his people because he said no to a carnibal system, because he said no to a divide and rule system...
Your music is forever replaying to our hearts.
By Akudolu Ignatius
On the 7th day of Christmas
it was new year’s eve,
and on that midnight 2025 ended
- just like that -
with the poof of fireworks.
Did we have to rush right into 2026?
No. We could have talked about it,
and come up with a better alternative.
We’ve all seen money
- you know, dollars, euros and pounds - right?
Those little pieces of paper have no intrinsic value
- we all just agree on their worth.
We should've channeled that extrinsic power and agreed on something else,
Like deciding that the year after 2025 would be 2029.
You know, the midnight when 2025 ended - poof - 2029 could’ve begun.
We’re all adults - must we amortize this horrible mistake we made?
Think about it - Donald Trump would’ve been out of the White House in days.
Or is it the ‘Trump-Gold-House’ now?
It’s hard to keep up with CrAzY.
.
.
Songs for this:
That's Me Trying - William Shatner
Prevarication permits pretend perception, presenting
piquantly piqued, pimply pimping playboy, plucky
pulchritudinous previously pusillanimous, prevalently
puckish, psychic packman, pokemon playing proletarian
puppeteer pygmy, peevishly punky, plummy, plumy,
pompously pushy, pampered, prefabricated pinchbeck,
pokily plying plowshear, plodding peregrination, pied
piper pitifully peppy pornographic potato pealing,
parsimonious paradoxical protagonist, proposing
preposterous panicky pacification plots, prioritization
pertinent penultimate peroration, perhaps perceiving
perjuring, perplexing, perverting puzzling pronouncements
projecting pulsating pixelated pulpy pinball pinging
packets prompting pacific, poetic, phlegmatic purplish
psoriasis plagued, plumbum pallor pallid, Paleolithic
protuberance pronounced, psychosomatic prohibitionist,
polarizing perfunctory peculiarly progressive, patriotic
postmodern pathologically proud paternal panache,
peripatetic panaceas portraying prescient perfidious
puerile president, predominantly proposing parochial
principles, plenty public parking, purposefully
promoting pharisee phalanxes, pilates practicing
paragons, perennially peaceably proficient protesters,
profitable polygamy, pugnacious pitbull powerball
players, pandering polyandry, propagating professional
palindrome pensive peeping people, peddling,
proselytizing predicating prostitution, proliferating
phenomenally, populist persona promulgated peyote
phased physicians pioneering prescription promoting
paradisiacal pricey photographic pictures, placating
phrenetic physical perturbation partaking place
purchased (paid paltry pennies) por palatial piazza.