There are days when my capacity for anguish runs thin
I can’t grok suffering as deeply as once I did,
In those carefree days of work and timelessness
Lacking the necessary sense of direction to ask
Is this place where I find myself truly mine?
I’d gladly rehash now this desultory vision
To fill the desperate need of balance and calmness
But it always occurs too late to be changed.
Who can tell why the autumn brings this anxiety
In a hindsight, what looks like a budget movie, poorly directed
As if I’m passing some young guy
On a shady street, in a lunch hour
In whom I would never recognize myself
With whom I don't have a word to share.
The banality of evil
Could’ve been a Devil’s plan
But he never signed the deal
He’s a decent kind of man
He’s aware of dialectics
Without evil there’s no good
Both are slaughtered in eclectic
Caesar salad that he could
Purchase in the local store
For the evening meal with wine
Just the same as day before
Good and evil to confine
But the line is fast to blur
And the meaning quickly sunk
And it clearly occurs
That he’s tiddly, if not drunk.
And when my body tires of me
I lie beneath a chestnut tree,
rolling among the broken burrs
where solid sleep rarely occurs
Waking up is the toughest part
when I've never slept to start.
I fear no place except the bed;
where pillows weigh upon my head
Memory foam gives no assistance;
insomnia thrives on resistance
It waits til eyes are almost closed,
never unconscious, then reloads
'Neath the tree is more appealing
than tracing welts upon my ceiling;
each one reflects a calloused lie,
the burrs tattooed on my naked eye
drilling dread into tomorrow night,
a future where there's no respite
This bed has worn me to the bone,
or have I worn its frame alone?
No dreams arrive; the lucid stays,
a consciousness that only strays
far from the tree l'm primed to be-
or not to be, ‘mid autumn debris.
# # #
I’m tired of the chestnut tree’s shade ~
being gentler than the bed I’ve made
When I moved from my parents’ house,
I really couldn’t wait
To start my life; the leaving was
A cause to celebrate.
A memory occurs to me:
When I approached my mom
To tell her of my plans to move,
I’d not expected calm.
I’d practiced in my head the things
That I had planned to say
When she would protest, practically
Demanding that I stay.
Instead, she offered me my bed
And dishes, pans and pots.
To realize she was ready, too,
Well, just connect the dots.
I liked my folks; we got along,
Yet it was time to split.
I had a job and never
Second-guessed things, not a bit.
Today it seems that, more and more,
Kids don’t renounce their claim
On their childhood homes and that, to me,
Is really quite a shame.
One's Mind is a Battlefield
One's mind is a Battlefield,
But strength transforms in the smoke,
Intellect to breathe.
Through chaos when old fears insults.
The war inside ain't quiet- is quick-witted,
It's real-
Until now resilience occurs in the places
Doubt tries to rip-off.
Shadows lure from corners,
Anxiety creeps like a thief, even so
Truth stands guard, grounding beliefs.
One derives in the midway of the mess,
Rooted and aware, turning every mental
Clash into proof of staying here.
This isn't just existing the Battle-
It's reshaping the terrain,
Building power from struggles, judgment
Calm in the tension resilience emerges
Motion, a Victory reclaimed,
A soilder of self-worth marching concluded
What once felt fierce.
It's a cold winter night,
For blanket there occurs a small fight,
Everyone wants wood to light ,
We all miss the sun which is so bright.
I am sitting on my bed and thinking ,
Outside the house there is silence and street light is blinking.
All the students want holiday,
The winter is making our play .
Old people are chanting God's name,
Children got holiday and are playing game,
The craze of winter is losing it's fame ,
The workers started it to blame.
It's the time of winter season,
Everyone are inside their home because this is the reason,
For winter , people started changing their vision ,
Without covid it seems like lockdown as it creates lots of confusion.
We all miss the sun which is very bright,
Because, it's a cold winter night.
Memory is too honest a word for something
That keeps arriving without consent
It shows up in timing
Not thought
A pause where there shouldn’t be one
A second that refuses to move on
I don’t call it back
It just occurs
Like a system running a process, I did not start
Nothing about it asks to be understood
It only proves it still runs
And I stop interfering with it
Because interference
Is where it learns my name again
Reflection
Reflection is good for our
Egos. It
Forces us to
Learn from our
Errors and take
Corrective action so
That next time an
Identical situation
Occurs there is little to
No chance a repeat problem will happen
My love is
How much it cost from someone who cares.
How much was the giving from someone who dares.
How much the wanting from someone who stares
How much the waiting before fear declares.
How much suffering was given to repair.
How much sorrow before becoming dispair
How much was love before climbing the stairs
How much wishing before becoming a pair.
How much fantasy before something occurs.
How much waiting before it all becomes a blur.
How much waiting before love becomes a verb
How much patience before emotions become stirred.
How much secret caring before something becomes disturbs
How much of thoughts disturbing before she comes to know
How much crazy debating before bravery finally shows
How much more delaying before a kiss makes time to show
It didn't begin, abruptly
Like a thwack in silence
It began as determination
To rid myself of all violence
Yes, I hated those sounds
Of tether smacking skin
The deep layers of hurt
That resides within
Satan was never my enemy
All evil is shelled up in fear
Once the egg is cracked
The yolk is orange smear
I'm no baker, I'm a cook
One who dumps and stirs
Taking the storm of the moment
Making a dish out of whatever occurs
I find myself in quite a pickle
My peace has taken over my kitchen
The dwindling down to non matter
Has left me nothing worth fixin'
...so, I begin again
Written by Trudy Schrader on 05-11-2026
There is nothing in this world
That could even try to compare
To what occurs while holding you
There's magic in the love we share
The stress life throws at us
It will vanish and disappear
With you nestled in my arms
There's neither worry nor fear
While tangled in each others arm
Our souls dance in heaven above
An unknown peace consumes us
In awe of the true purity of our love
It's the glue holding us together
In good times and the bad ones too
If this love ever fades or starts to die
Lay in my arms and let me hold you
Kicking through the fallen leaves of a lifetime's memories
'live large' comes to mind and to quote the same old lines
seize the day and make hay while the sun still shines
tho' only the good die young
don't think the bad survive
when on high the end is nigh truth be told young and old
no one gets out of here alive
watching the wake I left behind through calm and stormy seas
'live wide' occurs to me not to choose the same old lot
carpe diem and then strike while the iron is yet hot
for when our time has come
let's hope we made the most
then bingo it's time to go our number's called
the rug is pulled no one escapes yes we're all toast
and wherever on this earth we roam
to the place of our birth we'll return
make no mistake you'll learn
we all take the Low Road home
As is in heaven, so is on earth;
Democracy never went well for the foreigner on earth.
That serpent of old, well spoken in scripture,
Master of lies, deceiver and breaker of structure.
Democracy had him fall like lightning from heaven,
Absolute monarchy - sole authority in heaven.
Democracy - a system prone to fracture and strain,
Easily swayed, easily broken, again and again.
Highly preached, yet rooted in questionable feature,
Could it stem from that same old antagonistic creature?
A promising path, yet followed in blur,
Embraced without clarity of what truly occurs.
Democracy for Africa; a flame on the pyre,
A truth we desire; not an imposed attire.
Clearly not born from within; pressed from without,
A system we follow, yet scarcely about.
Democracy is not for all under earth,
Hereditary rule; the glory of empire’s birth.
As is in heaven, unbroken in worth,
So power stands whole; as is in heaven, so on earth.
Like my eyes, the horizon brims with tears,
Pouring down upon the far, scattered hills,
The happy hamlets, the brooks
That feed the water mills.
It occurs to me so gently
Why these scenes proliferate in books;
The hard lines that contain a city, faintly
Fall and converge with the softness of the wood
Till the quiet beauty of nature is again understood
A serenity the mind recalls from long ago—
A younger me peering the vale from a window;
A sight that past fulfilled my wanting eye,
Searching so many years—
I find myself back where I began,
Crying these tears,
A thankful man.
Soon..Tommorow.? Its America; Britan
Australia, Canada NZ, Russia..Softly softly
With honeyed words..The payback has been planned..For 1945 just you mark
What occurs.' And what is now
happening? act now
Be strong, get community active simple
Steps against these wrongs..For our punishment will not start with bombs.' But
With deprivation of food and fuel..And self
Derision, plus division..They have no rules,
The target is genocide, simple and plain..
Be aware, get informed.' Wake up through
This pain.'
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