Entry for Autmn Flowers Contest
(P)urple Aster is attracting bees
(U)ltimate beauty full and bright
(R)elishing sun on this fall day
(P)hotography captures it all
(L)iving days until the cold frost
(E)nsuing its roots until spring
(A)sters come in different colors
(S)ome with small blooms, others large
(T)amed by care with much to share
(E)very plant has something to offer
(R)emember, this growth is a gift
10/6/26
The new potatoes
have arrived in the market,
the cauliflowers too.
For now,
I have no interest
in any of that.
Crossing through
forests and groves
of flesh and blood,
without an oar,
I am moving forward
towards
a pink-coloured flood,
where
I will be able
to cry a little.
There,
ever-flowing
through a forest of reeds,
I will be able
to become
a deer in pajamas.
But no,
it is not that
I am going somewhere to die.
Death
is no one of mine.
Between
truth and falsehood
I am now swinging.
The morning rooster
watches in astonishment
as I carry
in my right hand
the voice of a boy,
and
in my left,
the voice of a girl.
I,
now bearded and moustached,
am also there,
beside the swift-flowing
river of melancholy,
though
in the courtyard there
is no
orange tree.
And yet,
tearing myself away
from my own pain,
I want
to embrace
the masculine scent
of an orange's body.
For a certain Jewish holiday,
A sukkah is erected,
An outdoor booth whose shelter
Keeps inhabitants protected.
Religious people take their meals
And socialize and sleep
In this temporary structure,
So traditions they can keep.
Each year, a sukkah somehow
In my neighborhood appears
By the efforts of a local group
Of Jewish volunteers.
It’s very bare-bones, just enough
To signal its intent
And those of the religion know
Exactly what is meant.
The sukkah stays there for a week;
Its visitors are few,
But yesterday I passed it
And I noticed something new.
An unhoused man was stretched out,
Like the sukkah was his home,
A different way to use it,
But just perfect for a poem.
This is to the new arrival
More than a bundle of joy
Nothing is more magical
Than our little baby boy
Watching him roll his eyes
Unsure what make of you
Though world in his eyes
An uncomplicated view
Whenever hes in a kerfuffle
Their in his hour of need
Giving him a cuddle
Or his hourly feed
To the new arrival
Who brings so much glee
Nothing more magical
Than our little zachary
Written july august 2015
Follow up too bambino
Some bits were later used
In poems world in his eyes,bambino short
Version another tribute to son Zachary....
can you imagine?
a sacred wonderland...
built
at the top of a mountain
for all of humanity
to peacefully co-exist,
a place where
no one gets ill,
no wars are fought,
to see
what true harmony looks like.
a place where
happiness forever endures;
there are no more shadows
to indicate
when somebody will die;
all quiet valleys
at rest.
just imagine...
p at the sky,
when one looks u
one finds peace...
a place where
transient times
do not remember
the flavor of death.
i am free
to live and thrive,
never feeling sorrow and pain
here, the spirit
wakes up into
a world without an end
here, the conquest of death
by happiness will be
as long-lasting as
the peace is.
a place known as...
new jerusalem
just imagine...
Holiness and Righteousness seem far away
out of our human reach, it seems
but listen to God's voice through Paul
brings hope for God desires to redeem
But the Apostle here speaks from God
to put on the new self by His Spirit
without God's help, it can't be done
by His Holy Spirit's action within a minute
Christ comes and dwells within
to work in our hearts by His grace
providing His imputed righteousness
so this new creation portrays His face
As well as this greatest of gifts
Christ also brings His holiness
revealing His Father as three times holy
fills one with eternal timelessness
Christ is the architect of this gift
marking HIs image within His creation
now able to say righteousness and holy
knowing Christ in His heavenly nation
I'm keenly aware
As I step to explore
The common option
That is no more
I sense a push
Down deep in my gut
The comfort calls
From within the old rut
No, no, I got out
And I'm moving on
I know I won't get what I got
The old way is gone
I feel my shoulders tense
There's time to go back
What lies ahead
Can only be more lack
Courage builds
As I steady my stride
Life never gets better
For the soul that hides
...in quicksand
Written by Trudy Schrader on 10-01-2026
I needed it, a newly found start
To sit by the ocean
relieve my blue heart
mugged of my delusions
Harshly thrown into reality
Overthinking
really makes me lose my sanity
Old worries leave
New troubles await
Thy Sane brain needs a break
For at rest it thinks
If I were a changed soul
Would things be different
Would I be whole
I needed it, a newly found start
To sit by the ocean
relieve my blue heart
mugged of my delusions
Harshly thrown into reality
Overthinking
really makes me lose my sanity
Old worries leave
New troubles await
Thy Sane brain needs a break
For at rest it thinks
If I were a changed soul
Would things be different
Would I be whole
I needed it, a newly found start
To sit by the ocean
relieve my blue heart
mugged of my delusions
Harshly thrown into reality
Overthinking
really makes me lose my sanity
Old worries leave
New troubles await
Thy Sane brain needs a break
For at rest it thinks
If I were a changed soul
Would things be different
Would I be whole
OLD SKOOL FOREVER
Needle drops/
dust rises from the ghost in the turntable groove/
Intro hits hard/ then the bassline thumps on your chest/
The move is old skool ’n’ raw with lo-fi beats that will jack your jaw/
Drums cracked like thunder/
Popin' drum machine is mixed under/
Rare underground jewels pulled up from crates of old skool wonder/
Boom bap soul beat, truth in the snare/
Street-corner poetry hanging in the air/
From Dre and Snoop to Pun and Fat Joe, Legends lit the path, where rare 90's hip-hop mixtapes go/
Obscure tracks spin in underground pop-up hip hop shows/
Mainstream kings, underground lords/
Sharp-cut samples and lyrical swords/
No plastic shine/just rhythm and soul/ that brings back the essence of real underground Hip Hop blow/
Classic beats making broken nights whole/
DJ Smokin' Joe Keep ’em coming/pure heat to their dancin' feet/
No disguise, trends may fade and die/
but the culture survives. Hands to the sky, let the whole world know—Real hip-hop and old skool never dies/
Where does a man meet with his fate?
Will he be gone on a midnight freight?
Uneasy answers depend
on questions blowin' the wind.
I pray that God be willin' -
another studio album by Bob Dylan?
Well, let me just clear the air right up front,
I'm not here to badmouth the medical profession,
I just question their methods sometimes.
Let me explain, I'll ty to be as delicate as I can.
I went in for my annual physical with Dr. Jeff Jekyll,
besides, my adenoids came out of hibernation again.
Everything went smoothly, until he sent in Nurse Ratched
to take my temperature. That woman has issues.
Now, I've had my temperature taken countless times over,
but nothing prepared me for this. She came in, smiled,
and told me to drop my pants and bend over the table.
It didn't dawn on me what was about to happen next.
She pulled out this thermometer the size of, and I'm not
exaggerating, a freshly carved Louisville Slugger.
Insertion completed. It didn't do much for my disposition,
but it did open up a hole, new avenue for me to explore.
Endearing Parasite
by Frank Daub
Delicious insincerity,
dear friend.
The fear is about an end.
Though in clarity –
regarding lasting –
fasting briefly makes all new –
again.
ancient and new war dead….olden hate
runs through modern veins grieving god
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