Long Weed out Poems
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Division, collision
We are on a course to drown
We don’t want those stinkin’ sinners
To bring our glory down
Division, in vision
We must get salvation back
Our churches look like whore houses
And our saints are on crack
Division, provision
We must trust our God to build
He’ll give us towers of power
If we are careful to tend His field
Division, revision
We must weed out the control
We need to tweek the rules just a little
So that deception won’t show
Division, collision
Our house has two sides
One is for our perfect appearance
The other is where we hide
Written by Trudy Schrader on 05-18
Note: I can't stand religion...relationship is where the LOVE is! I've been working on my
own style. Hope you all like it.
Form:
...‘I belonged to a species like your own,
born of a mother of flesh and blood,
our people were guided by our own god,
who had lifted us up out of the mud.
‘We were an impossible old species,
with each generation we would improve,
but our god knew he had a limited time,
so helped make our growth gentle and smooth.
‘After billions of years of such guidance,
we had become much like gods ourselves,
with powers you cannot imagine yet,
but who would rise up? None could tell.
‘I set myself to serious study,
just like everyone else of my kind,
then one day I felt a great clarity,
as if a veil was lifted from my mind.
‘I had transcended into godhood,
in a great surge of pure energy,
my essence transformed to ethereal,
and I drew all bits of matter to me.
‘See, when a being becomes a deity,
he consumes everything that came before,
all life, all matter, even my old god,
until the universe of old was no more.
‘A universe is a god’s very flesh,
I drew it all in, and then with a bang,
expanded outwards as this new universe,
all the cosmos with my essence sang.
‘This happened fourteen billions years ago,
all of creation relies on my will,
and I marveled at this magnificence,
flexing my powers did keep my time filled.
‘I even thought that I was immortal,
that forever I would have time to play,
but like the old god, I've recently found
that even a deity can age.
‘All powerful does not mean all knowing,
and a successor I did not create,
I ignored the lessons of the old god
until now, when it is almost too late…
‘I do not have time to take you by the hand,
use the method that was applied to us,
it would take too long, and I have to hurry,
a billion years just isn’t long enough.
‘I made evolution just for this task,
to speed things up and make godhood arise,
intense competition will weed out the weak,
strength and competence will be realized.
‘It may seem brutal to those who will perish,
but no other solution can now work,
it may seem evil…maybe it is,
but rest assured, it is I that’s the jerk.
‘I was the one who arrogantly assumed
that I didn’t have to learn from the past,
it was my mistake that necessitates this,
I will regret this screw-up to the last...
CONCLUDES IN PART IV.
When duty calls I sometimes feel hard pressed
by all those tasks I have upon my list.
Some of these are raised by people who insist,
many more by some sense of ought obsessed
as my conscience wanders around my soul.
With tasks all done I seek to close the day
that I may go to sleep without delay
free from dreams so dire I lose control.
Within each day I seek to guard some space,
time set aside from duty to reflect
upon the day's events and whom I've met,
gathering these as prayer in God's embrace.
But first that crowd of oughts I should weed out,
setting free creative life within to sprout.
Come down hard on repeat offenders
both in precincts and in communities
leave the tender buds to blossom
weed out the pretenders of peace.
but no matter the color or gender
some people will never blend
they're derelict and defective.
They need to be pruned
into an earthly rest
no more revolving doors
of rose colored
courts.
We need to skim the rot
from the pristine pond of our peace.
shock treatment...chlori-nation if you will
It'll irritate at first, but after a while
muddied waters will start to clear.
An open-ended amount of chances
for predators in communities and precincts
is a life sentence without the possibility of escape
for communities
THEN NOBODY BREATHES!
Would that I could consider this departure
A pleasure trip to lands with beautiful sights.
Traveling for betterment of mind and spirit
A place you go…and come back you might.
I wish I could imagine you will answer
each letter that I write,
or pick up the phone when I dial,
making your absence lose its bite.
Alas, my fellow laborers,
this dream becomes reality in Christ…
for death of the flesh is only the start,
our spirit resurrects to life!
So, although I'll miss you my love
until we meet once again,
There's no need for sorrow
when we reach that happy end.
And what of those who don't believe,
do not have faith in Jesus, God's son?
For even those who live good lives
still sin, yes, everyone.
Compared to those who are wicked,
who are evil and hurt innocent lives,
we may look as pure and white as a lamb
against the darkness of night.
But compare the wool with fresh snowfall,
in the light of day…
the purity of a Holy God
makes that wool look dirty, filthy gray.
The only way to wash away
the blackness of sin so egregious…
is to be washed in the forgiving blood
and love of God's Son, Jesus.
Still, there are some who don't believe,
who mock and reject this gift.
God still loves you and his justice
will always seek to bridge the rift.
Revenge, vengeance, and torture
are not in the fruit of the Spirit…
it seems to me, these are from the enemy
and we need not fear it.
Oh justice will be done, yes,
the wicked will receive their just reward.
Not eternal torture,
that evil isn't in our Lord.
But His plan has always been
to weed out those who will gladly do harm…
so we can live in peace,
eternally in His loving arms.
I was young
But old enough to know better
We were rounded up
Determined to weed out the culprit
I sat quietly and poker faced
Holding my breath and dying inside
I wanted this inquisition
To be over but it dragged on forever
If I could hold on long enough
It would end at a standstill
And eventually be forgotten
I could never imagine
A scenario where someone
Might be wrongly punished
After all there was no evidence
But before I knew it
It had happened in front of my eyes
Accused and brutally spanked in an instant
Though blatantly innocent
In shock and utter disbelief
Convinced my belated admission of guilt
Would now be pointless
Too young to truly appreciate
The true value of
Clearing a person’s reputation
I ran up to my room and
Gasped for my first breath of stupor
I got away that moment
But have been paying ever since
I never admitted or asked for forgiveness
Seemed pointless through the years
Decades later
My brother
Would have said
It wasn’t important
It’s long forgotten
I know this because in some wimpy blurry recollection
I vaguely remember admitting it to him some fifty years later
Knowing full well it was too little too late
And his response was exactly as expected
Confirming my high opinion of his virtuous generosity
But fifty years later
My pointless admission seemed surreal
As though to amplify rather than to lighten that old regret
I didn’t deserve or want to ever forget
My very first true act of cowardice
AP: 1st place 2020
Life is not a problem to be solved,
but a reality to be experienced.
~ Soren Kierkegaard
Is there a proper way to love
and to be loved?
My mother says yes, my sister says no,
my brother just shrugs and leaves the room.
He has things to do: wash the car, go shoot pool,
smoke a little weed out back.
His girlfriend says she doesn’t mind
as long as he pays the bills
he can go where he wants
and see who he wants to see.
Her mama cringes a little and says
as long as she is happy,
it’s not up to me.
My friend married a man thirty years older,
had a fling with a man thirty years younger,
now she is single and says she’s content
with her own company
although she does have
three dogs
and a cat.
Is there a proper way to love
and to be loved?
Do not ask me~
love is a mystery!
Cut out the bad part
Just like cancer
The perfect solution
The ultimate answer
Oh, if only I could isolate
The purest property
Maybe I’d get a handle on
My inhumanity
Weed out the bad stuff
Chaff from wheat
Make the good half
The thing complete
Oh, if only we could separate
The water from the oil
The consummate broth, the ideal brew
Before it started to boil
One drop taints the mixture –
Part and parcel of the mass
The formula is its element
One pupil is the class
I’m a mixed bag, a curate’s egg –
Take the bad with the good
It’s only in this way modern man
Can ever be understood
Cut out the bad part
Just like cancer
The seismic solution
The cosmic answer
There’s Stephen Hawking
In his old wheelchair
Who would believe all infinity
Could be rattling around in there?
my disclaimer
to make sure
no animals
were hurt
during the
writing of these
poems also expresses
that all the events written
did in
fact
happen
and all
poems
are true
as truly
written
so when i write
and you hopefully
read that when
i mention a
particular
it is in fact
true as i'm
writing this
right now that i once
strummed her guitar
plunked her piano
and fingered her mandolin
so please
PLEASE
read with
caution
use protective
gear for ears
and eyes and
remember
safety is
first before
reading poetry
eye strain is always
a possabilaty
and if sensitive
to proper grammar
or spelling PLEASE
shy away from...
...from these...
did i weed out
the weaklings
Form:
I stopped by the park to have a slow and easy walk; I felt the fresh air blowing in my face and a positive energy circulating around the place as nature move seductively among the trees and the birds were flying with the breeze. I looked towards the skies of hope, to remove the residue of doubt, but something deep in the woods, a presence burning among the trees sucking all the energy from me. The yellow wasp and the honeybee are standing in the wilderness, waiting for thee, they have nest everywhere so be careful when you go there. I walk the park alone looking for a quiet place to roam, but deep down in the woods are mysteries that no one understood. Nature is free, but the animals and the insects are bothering me, they come from everywhere, with long beaks, big hooves, husky voices and fearful appearances, when you come in contacts with them at nights, they give you an awful fright, hooting and bleating lurks in the woods, crying and barking bellowed through the back door; the sound in the woods tangled in the bushes are intruding on your privacy and taking away your energy. There is a party at the park, so meet me before it gets dark; the sounds are intimidating, offensive and humiliating. You have got to clear the path so that visitors can feel confident after dark. This is the path to the sea, and you must weed out the track to communicate with thee. The track in the park will lead to the woods and disburse into place with many different faces. Sounds in the woods cannot be understood; if the barriers are there, it will take you a very long time to get there. Sounds in the woods are listening to you; sounds in the woods are telling you what to do.
Trust your own heart!