It's imperative,
I change the narrative,
Give me a better chance,
Glance into destiny,
Seeing only the best in me,
The rest taught me to be,
Author of my reality,
A personality behind the pen,
Bending my mind through time again,
Sending signs of confirmation,
An affirmation of elevation,
Repairing a relationship,
Getting a grip on the past,
Blasting passed barriers,
A carrier of light,
There's no need to fight,
It's going to be alright,
Setting my sights high,
I pry open the present,
My moment is now,
And somehow, I always knew,
Our dreams could come true,
Staying true to the course,
A force resides within you,
Your guide knows what to do,
And it's up to you,
To decide how to view the ride.
The Domed Teapot Movie Team stores
good running electrical engineering supplies for
the apprentice vape tester stationed
for training with other code guy
system connectors near the
erectifying rainbow falls of
Mr. Mojo's Old City
WHEREAS(S)
the Eccentric Frontier Goldmine Foundation State has
discovered a recent reference model indicating that
the Eclectic Ghoul Aid Company has failed the
combined skating/scooter/car/bike and
forest river vehicle acid test (though they
did oddly OVER_perform with
dirty toothbrushes while on
motorcycles)
ALL OF WITCH LEAVES US WITH
an Elected Peach Boutique Box Collection of
shadow games and chic cottage band
energies perfectly suited to the
Enneagram Test Cook's home decor
NUT TO MENTION (MUNCH ON?)
the elliptically concentric doctor of the
Goon Power Kingdom where
mad duke predicament bosses are
obsessed with my contraption wheel
drop way of UNDER_thinking the
biased fallacy of self-data camera
set collectors viewing the erect or
oral bored college process that
involves repairing old farts for
recyling at flea markets.
My skeleton was in the shop.
Fell apart like a chewed up lollipop.
All I have are globs of brains in a bowl.
And eyeballs tearing up as the dry air takes a toll.
Without a skeleton I’m not much at all.
My tendons fell out in the bathroom stall.
I need a shoulder blade for my bag to hang onto.
But muscles without bones have nothing to do.
When I went to pick up my skeleton that day.
I figured they would want their pay.
But I left my bag with my wallet behind.
And the shop owner was not very kind…
He said to pick a bone I didn’t care for.
To pay for the skeleton repairing chore.
So I walked out with most of my bones clacking.
Still I felt some lacking.
I couldn’t speak when I answered the phone.
I guess I shouldn’t have traded my hyoid bone…
The stones on the patio are weathered
and ground, and the door that creeks
welcomes. The ceiling was measured
for other times, other heights,
and the floor is used to heedful steps.
Old tables and chairs disarm fashion,
have a style of their own:
haute couture of past culture,
their vogue is vintage.
I can live with the broken vase
which was worth repairing.
It knows the meaning of longevity
and in it the cut chrysanthemum
refuses to fade.
Those pans were new once,
they knew once the taste of mint,
but since have aged and mellowed.
Noblest of all are those objects in wood
whose handles have felt
the favour of oft-use.
Their polish reflects the palm.
I favour the works of the past,
the time-worn customs and lore of folk
whose venerable hearts
know the meaning of bosom.
I am a collector of dents in copper,
of meaningful scratches in tin;
grooves, furrows and notches
that count the years;
and faint wounds
that objects keep hidden within.
I need to let it go when its run its course.
But this pain... this lacking. I always feel the hole it leaves. Letting it go feels wrong.
But Why?!
Like im losing a piece that sustains me...
But it hurts. Everytime. More and more.
I reflexively look for it everywhere.
How I do I shut that off?
And that is what scares me.
How do you stop something that feels as involuntary as breathing?
And if you do... Will what it sustains die?
Would it return in the face of it?
And that question that haunts me.
What would be worse?
Living. Hoping. Crashing. Repairing. Repeating
Or finding a way to stop the involuntary?
But that feels like dying when I imagine it.
Are those really my only choices?
Bear it till the end?
Or bury it?
Caught up in the sticky gears
of this greed and grime machine.
Greased by our doubt and division,
fueled by fears and confusion.
No doubt it is a blood machine
carving and taking-never caring
trampling and raping-
never planting or repairing.
It's a Petroleum machine
looking far ahead but eyeless
never glancing behind at the destruction.
Sniffing out the next victim
never sated, always breeding,
Plundering and pillaging, the soul of
we
the people.
The machine nibbles away at our right to bloom
our right to own, to defend, to speak
to manifest the dream into reality.
The machine can only be beaten down
by the unity of the we.
Pause a moment and simply inhale,
intake all the lush scenery deeply.
Let your lungs breathe in this beach.
Overdue vacations crave a beach.
Wistful hopefuls wish for an inhale,
manifesting a trip to cherish deeply.
Salty air heals repairing deeply,
it’s the same for me at our beach.
Each memory alive with one inhale.
Inhale deeply, you’re at the beach.
A bond unquestionable
Until now
A love so deep in its entirety
I truly wonder how
Yet it has happened
There is definite change
A disconnect unimaginable
Sadness knowing...It will never be the same
We view life so very differently now
Our thoughts and values no longer align
Sadly, there is no going back
No repairing nor healing with time
You have your own life
I have mine
Our lives became disconnected
Without warning, without a sign
I have a churning in my gut, an emptiness
I miss who we once were
Our relationship has disconnect and distance
But know l will never love you any less
Looking over the balcony
Of endless possibility
Creative Energy saw...a door
She wondered
She pondered
As desire formed MORE
Impatience unnoticed
As curiosity grew
Into a question of descent
She decided to create
What she wanted
Without the process of consent
Down, down she fell
Deeper and deeper
The spiral took her heart
She never noticed
Discernment thinned
Until her path ripped apart
...the fabric of purity
She could NOT be left
To the death below
Waiting to devour womb
Company followed
Close enough to see
But leaving LOVE room
Discipline can not come
Until loss is felt
And mourning is in the marrow
So WORD plunged
Into her story, hidden
Until she called out in deep sorrow
He met her at a cross
That devoured the cost
The door opened in the mind
Together, they embodied
The price of LOVE
Repairing the rift of time
...in the tapestry of legend
Written by Trudy Schrader on 03-06-2026
Detroit Rolls Royce
Actually a “Cherry Picker”,
A Royce costume,
Disguising Yonah’s rise,
Repairing Balmore’s eruv slicker,
Faster than a Lamborgini volume,
But TA’s Gabbai is wise,
Checking wires needs a “Stickler”,
An observant Jew who doesn’t assume,
Taking pains to apprise,
R’ Ribiat is a George Washington “flicker”,
Both are Fathers, Yonah of the Ribiat Bloom,
Detroit Tiger & Lion prize,
Ty Cobb wore knickers,
R’ Ribiat a “Bekesher” plus reads volumes,
Hears Baila’s sighs & cries,
Eats Kosher, laughs never snickers,
Enjoy to 120! Adar zoom resume!
Chaim & Barbara
Putting it on the shelf,
The self I made before,
I don't need it anymore,
So many good things in store,
When sure of who you are,
Energy from a star runs through you,
View all the wonders you will do,
Staying true to what was learned,
The fire burned away my shadow,
While my soul yearned to grow,
Showing me what ways to go,
Slowly strengthening through sorrow,
Tomorrow will always show,
Although you may never know,
So I'm changing the way I think,
Sinking deep into contemplation,
Seeking the translation,
For my relation to the whole,
Flowing into a gold mine,
Refining a unique design,
Signing a new lease on life,
I've grown into someone I love,
Above my own expectations,
Due to the path I have taken,
This creation a heaven I play in,
Generation after generation,
A lesson in observation,
Evolution through revelation's,
Repairing the relationship with me,
On the shelf I'll always see,
A reflection of who I used to be.
Manifesting thee-
thou new December,
let joy and peace be
the last month's ember.
Glowing from the fire
of chances and luck,
taken as a trier,
by hearty risk, buck!
I lay dead alive,
in high anxiety,
on how to survive,
not by my piety.
One thing, I know of-
is my faith's prowess,
holding up above
emotional cuss.
That would sink grievance,
of chance not taken,
driving luck's deviance
to reawaken...
Good luck and fortune,
repairing this year
wornout misfortune,
not to reappear,
But bring on blessings...
meant for this year's grace,
out of gloom's dressings,
running out of chase.
Amen!
Like gardeners, their patient souls attend,
The broken soil where bitter seeds have lain.
And watch for any gentle sign to mend,
The barren ground, the aftermath of pain.
They are the looms where broken threads entwine,
Weaving new strength and purpose, line by line,
Repairing what the Fates have torn apart,
With quiet hands and a most hopeful heart.
Volta
They build the bridges that the floods destroy,
The architects of silence, calm, and grace;
They find for every conflict a new place,
Where weary nations can discover joy.
Their work's a light that makes the darkness cease,
The very, living, breathing soul of peace.
I am from low cars
From classic old cars and car shows
To race cars and race events
From street racing and on the track
To sunset and sunrise joyrides
From cheers, victories, and even trophies
To boos and losses
But everyday is great when you’re from low cars
I am from lifted trucks
From Chevys and diesels
To offroad Jeeps and lifted Blazers
From black smoke and burnouts
To speeding tickets and even citations
From big, wide, tires and mud flaps
To the beautiful sound of the roaring engine
But everyday is great when you’re from lifted trucks
I am from a shop
From once clean clothes to work clothes
To a dirty cement floor
From mud everywhere and oil spills covering the ground
To working hard and getting your hands dirty
From cars and trucks that enter broken
To repairing and restoring, where they leave fixed
But everyday is great when you’re from a shop
No matter where I am, I am always
from low cars, lifted trucks, and a shop
Leave me
Let me be in peace
Am not in your gang of deceit
Am not interesting to be among
The circle of weakness
Am not dying to live
Instead I want to live to live again
I have been passing through my times
I suffer my pains alone
No one wears my shoes to know where it inches my foot
I have been walking my journey well alone
I never hurt no one with my life style
So leave me alone in peace
I just want to be my self
Leave me
Am picking up the pieces of my broken trust
Am mending the scars of lies
Am repairing the betrayals of love ones
Am fixing the damages of toxic love
Am never going back to where it all falls
Am walking away from troubles
There is no better days with sorrows
So Am putting in check all that pulls me down and take me back to darkness
Despite am not perfect
Yet I want to live to live again
So let me be in peace with the
Songs of my soul
Let me feel freedom with the air of a true redemption
I just want to be myself
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