As this room, Earth life's, dims more
Leaves us, piling up
With too much things boxed, besides
This, junked, abides
In the mind's own storage place.
Old. Wilted, washed out.
Sentiment! Flowery phrased.
Dream world's. Since rased.
Software that’s deployed incomplete,
we are expected to go with the flow.
Agile is supposed to put people first?
I’m looking at a slew of burnt out staff.
Expectations without the proper tools,
I’m not really a fan of looking like a fool.
I am here to file a corporate complaint,
right now before it’s too late.
The patrons who choose our business
notice the consistent inconsistencies.
Drops, outages, and all flavors of ‘Fail’
are not supposed to be commonplace.
Piling on more the experts won’t survive,
nothing will be left of a fine tuned skillset.
Quality or quantity? An ancient argument.
There is a line I fear we have crossed.
I am here to file a corporate complaint,
right now before it’s too late.
Junk-bait replaced an aspirational brand.
Is that what we are destined to say?
Well I’ll be damned if I let master class die.
Trash is trending and we have a reputation.
Flexible doesn’t mean sacrifice soundness.
I don’t ever want to hear ‘Remember when..’
I am here to file a corporate complaint,
right now before it’s too late.
the snow is piling
full of active children
off for a snow day
It seems I’ve written myself into a corner~
pages piling up like overexcited puppies,
yapping for a home.
My desk groans under the weight
of poems, memoirs, and drafts~
half-finished brilliance,
and that one story I swear I’ll revise someday.
The solution seems obvious
another filing cabinet~
a shiny metal monument
to my writing compulsion.
But where to put the thing
in this tiny office
already stuffed with creativity
and questionable organizational choices.
Then it hits me
the closet~
that mysterious portal
where abandoned sweaters go to retire.
It’ll fit snugly inside
like it was always meant to be there,
guarding my words
like a loyal metal dragon.
Problem solved… for now
until the next poem arrives
demanding its own drawer
and the closet starts whispering,
“Don’t even think about it.”
Time speeds away, ages added on to eons,
Piling changes on change, it moves on,
Seldom posing lull and loll.
With the current rushing swift and fleet,
We race past from old to new
From times primeval to times neoteric
Watching the ceaseless chain of births and deaths,
Tasting life’s vicissitudes of joy and pain.
In the unwinding circuit of time
How long is my sojourn here?
60, 70 or 100- that’s a man’s average longevity,
Does it mean more than a mere drop in the ocean?
Like the bubbling foam or the dying froth,
We appear uninvited and depart unnoticed,
Leaving no foot prints or monuments behind.
Between the rows of forefathers who exited out
And the countless progeny lining up,
I have squeezed a space to be a face in the multitude.
Does my longevity mean much?
No..! All that counts is how well I have lived here.
Maternal grandpa owned a car where boot lid came back and folded down
From underneath our shearing shed he'd bag up lots of sheep manure
Tied to tray on back of car , travel four hundred kilometres back to town
Would pile the poo on his suburban garden
where he grew beetroot lettuce and some corn
to water and weed this vegie patch
he would rise at break of dawn
So thank you grandpa for this mentorship
since those days, I've loaded ute, with many different kinds of poo
There's horses, goats, ducks, donkey, cow, hens and sheep
I'm not much into waste , with compost dunny, to soil, mine adds much richness too
I have many different types of fruit and lots of greens to make a meal
with world events a lack of food, maybe not too long, it could all get real
Say it while you're here. Say it while you're here!
How high they build hospitals!
Towering, chemically distilled alters
that the dead worship away from.
Piling, corpses on corpses on
tumors, on hearses.
Coffins for sale! Coffins for sale!
How lovely they make the mortuary
bells toll! Resonant frequencies that
the living stumble into. Onto, around.
How deeply the gravediggers dig!
Shovel, on glass, on cement, on
brick. Crack! What a hideous sound!
How high the fragments soar! Look
at them go.
How low they go, for such low blows
Insurance cards, rip! Hospital beds. Tip!
There go the patients down the trash chute!
Head first, feet first… drained of blood.
How intelligent the thoughts of mad men be.
Label them! Banish them! Don't let them speak!
It's so easy to dismiss someone when they're
called derogatory things. How hypocrisy weighs
down the silver of their tongues!
How loud! How loud? Too loud.
How long you wait How long you smile
How long you are here doesn't matter to
any of them, any one. But it matters to me.
It matters to me dearly, my love.
Down the rusty staircase, moving rather slow
I’m heading to the Scarborough beach
It’s all white above, so it is below
Snow keeps falling, piling up inch by inch
Poster with boat trips fell under the tree
Today’s weather is not fit for cruises
Either fishermen won’t go out to sea
Certainly they’ve got credible excuses
Muddy waters splash on the snow-white shore
A couple of dog walkers stroll along, apparently
Like they always do, like they did before
Seagulls sound sad, but the dogs are happy.
when you get discouraged
and begin to think that trying
is not worth it anymore,
look into the eyes of a child,
lose yourself in their innocence
and wonderment,
and you'll ses things in
a different light,
and understand that everything
will be alright in due time.
when you get discouraged
because the bills keep
piling up and you can't seem
to make ends meet,
look at the smile on a child's
face,
listen to their laughter,
hold them close to your heart.
It has a healing power
that is unbelievable.
when you get discouraged
and are fed up with the struggle
and don't think you can
fight anymore,
play with a child and let
their endless energy reenergize
you.
It's as simple as this,
children are our personal angels,
they ground us,
they guide us with their innocence
and their love.
when you get discouraged
take a moment to interact
with a child,
what a difference it will make.
Looks like it has a firm foundation
A nice yard for kids to play
Walls sturdy and insulated
And a long rounded driveway
There's a paddock in the back
A barn fit for royalty
A stream with fresh fish
And an owner known for loyalty
He made a promise, unprovoked
I received, and drove on, down the road
Losing friends, cars, homes
As the grief kept piling on my heavy load
Again and again, the path winds
Hills and valleys come and go
Hope barely remains in tact
When will I reap the harvest LOVE sews
Today I passed a marker on the way
No, it was the threshold of a door
My fears are the enemy
That have kept me from having more
Money and men seeking power
Stood as black smoke over my eyes
But today I see the ARCHITECT
And we rejected the lies
I am worthy of all I desire
The jewels of my heart proclaim
I open and welcome
Blessings and honor assigned to my name.
Written by Trudy Schrader on 12-21-2025
Delicate feathery ice flakes, dusting,
pirouetting, and spinning
in the depths of winter in the dead of the night.
Cold temperatures and icy wind moved
in with howling sounds.
Piling up snowdrifts over the ground.
At dawn, a playground of sparkling crystalline carpet of snow
takes away the sun's warm glow.
Silver icicles hung bonded to the peaked hill walls
as dripping water froze.
Snowbound till the snowplows clear the roads.
Or walk the long road feeling the bite of cold through drifts.
The blurred lights and the beep and scrape
of a snowplow are seen through the blowing snow
as it emerges, like an angel pushing the snow aside
as it turns onto the road through the drifting snow.
Shortly after, salt is splattered, causing the snow to melt.
A cleared path through the neighborhoods and town.
The laughter of children bundling up tight.
Outside, chattering teeth and tingling fingertips,
a snowy adventure... having fun.
Even snow angels join in the fun.
The warm ambiance of a fireplace draws all near its charm.
Around its cozy gold ember crackling fire,
away from the cold, a welcoming bathing warmth of comfort.
A special session of Congress
Called
To consider what to do
With the millions
Soon to be billions
Approaching our shores
Arriving from foreign shores
Crossing unprotected borders
Piling up on our city streets
Slowing traffic
Overwhelming our resources
Silencing the din of the city
No one showed up
In Congress
As a Snow Emergency
Had been declared
my cupboards despise me
they are yelping to be clean
There are probably armies of raccoons back in there
They throw potato flakes out when I open them the cupboard doors.
I bet some of my groceries are ten years old
I am piling upon piles, cramming and slamming stuff in
The stuff in the back never gets disturbed
There might be a platoon of cats living back there
It would be super brave to haul it all out and see what I have
I am not that brave
A job for my children
After I am gone
#Tone_it_down_my_dear
breath runs out of my lungs, this dungeon on my body grips tighter, yet I'm still nearing to her finer reflection..,
Glare in her face keep trapping my courage to confront her, I look, but still come back with tattered emotions..,
she creates so much iniquities to my sanity. One glance in her eyes, in this maze of her beauty, constantly return with drained batteries of my emotional and mental gps, leaving me wondering in the wilderness of her pulchritudeousness...
Wonder if her heart poses so pure and innocent as her smile, Troubled is my soul and mind, when fear keep piling wonders in place of confidence...
in my dreams I'm man, but her presence turns me into a lad, how hard I try to stand firm but my knees fails my strength, I need special ingredients of courage, mine, she had long exhausted
#Poetic_Ink
We watch while we cry
as children of Gaza die…
deny genocide
child of Gaza
thy innocence in ruins…
buried in despair
Gaza’s children
our hearts a hole carved
as babes of the Gaza strip starve
only tiny amounts of aid
are piling out of reach
concrete border
empty flatbed trucks
crossings bare from south to north
unjust fatality—insufferable!
genocide of Palestinian now recognized
they starve the children
bomb their land on which they stand
an ancient war
little child only understands what he sees,
famine he understands well
while we surf the channels
some shall shrug and look away…
this is not my child is what they say
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