characters and symbols written in forms
fonts and cases stroked and scrolled
in the chamber of gold
Wake me up when September ends
And autumn’s breath chills white wind
Closing denim door on Summer’s heat
With delightful crisp air of fall breeze
I had a summer I wish to forget
The pain of lost love and red regret
It was a fling that began with spring
I believe in love but love is a dream
So another holiday I’ll spend with me
Not something I hate until winter’s freeze
But that’s welcoming seasons of change
Divorcing summer and heat stroked brain
Putting a log in brick fireplace so warm
And dust off novels to read that charm
Not giving up on love that’s a thrill
But taking time to love me I feel
So this winter I want silver solitude
I’ll write as therapy find my teal truth
Listen to my mahogany favorite tunes
Dancing alone at home in my birthday suit
Through each of its high climber's
And its low diver's
Adored looks, fixed in wonderment
Earth, too, has lovers.
Whilst in return, for stroked claw*
Wrapped tendril, stings more*
Fighting off whose own advances!
The sensual deplore!
* Falcon's, raptor's
* Jellyfish's
Those Amazing Cats
Oh, those amazing cats with their smooth coats
They go uppity up up they go downdy, down down.
And they bounce around 'making the loop as they' pounce
here and there sometimes catching a mouse somewhere in the house
getting their exercise running back and forth until they need a long rest
They purr when they are happy getting hugs and comments
As they get stroked, they talk to their people once and awhile
and they never get poked rocking the boat only when they get soaked
shaking the water all over the place
They stand up and smile wanting a hug looking innocently cute
as they ask to be taken home then snooze on a lap all curled up
in a ball and the car pulls out then departs making someone happy
whose feeling blue- they are perfect companions, and they are really
wonderful roommates.
What a cat was Razzmatazz -
small, smooth and sleek.
Guests would call and in she’d slink
just to take a peek.
What a cat was Razzmatazz.
Languidly she’d preen.
Eyes I still cannot define
were they gold or green?
What a cat was Razzmatazz
and a little fat.
Even if she lay around,
I was fine with that.
What a cat was Razzmatazz.
As I stroked her fur,
she would start her motor up
with a smooth jazz purr!
What a cat was Razzmatazz.
Had to say goodbye
when my cat got really sick.
Sad she had to die.
Charles Messina's poem :
I was sitting on the corner, stoned
When out of the blue, my dead aunt phoned
How could this be, she rests in peace
Right beside my loving niece
I answered the phone, and my auntie said
"I know you think that I am dead"
"I'm alive"- my auntie moaned
Or- could it be that you're just- "Stoned"
My poem :
"Don’t be scared” she said in a voice low,
“if I cuddle you as I did a long time ago.
You hear me now on your smoky phone,
I’ll come to be with you when you’re alone."
I stroked my clouded eyes as the space spun,
away from the misty room I wanted to run.
I stuttered “Maybe you’re alive, you’re right”
as her voice dissolved into the stoner’s night.
A young man found an object
Unsure if it meant danger.
Here is how he chose to tell
His story to a stranger...
"By the glow of the fire
In the calmness of night
I saw this thingamajig
Twinkling near the light.
So I scooped it up
To examine it, you see.
And it started to whisper
Curious truths about me!
It revealed to me things
That I couldn't express.
My secrets, my desires,
My ideas of success.
My eyes welled up,
Filled to the brim.
I could hear the others asking,
'What's the matter with him?'
So I quickly rose and ran away
Leaving the others behind.
To find out what this was
Needed a scholars mind.
After my long, exhausting search
Can you explain to me
What this thingamajig actually is
Thus solving its mystery?
Why is it that only I could hear
The things it said to me?"
He quietly stroked his beard
While squinting thoughtfully.
"When you've found your truths
You must let it go for someone else to find.
Only the holder can hear it
For it echoes the holders soul and mind."
Pony Life in a Dreamhouse
Dreamy creature,
With ocean eyes and batting lashes feature,
Still looking like Barbie,
The pony's glittering saddle guarantees.
Horsehair dipped in gold paint,
A dazzling smile can't escape.
The moment Pony meets Ken,
His eyes softened.
He looked at her like the stars were jealous,
As if she had been his wish when he wrote to Santa Claus.
Her. Half-Pony. Half-Barbie
Always have been, always will be.
Ken stroked her mane warm and Pony clung,
Letting out a soft purr from its lips,
As if testing the reality of it on its tongue.
Well, Pony is whipped.
Pony will be the sun that can shower Ken with rays.
Pony will be his moon, with a glow that never wanes.
Because Barbie can be what she wanna be,
And her Shape-Shifting Pony will gladly.
Though born half-Pony,
in a Dreamhouse that's unpredictable,
Barbie had Ken's unwavering loyalty.
Pony is one of a kind after all!
I saw you as a toddler
I learned you in my youth
But I came to know you
As I walked in TRUTH
I've seen the way
You love every soul
So meek and patient
As you make them whole
I've experienced transformation
While hanging from a tree
I watched you form the wings
That grew to set me free
You have held my hand
You have stroked my cheek
I have smelled your essence
The present I could not keep
So, as many try to explain
The depth of your existence
I choose to follow
Without a hint of resistance
Yielded to the man I know
The man seated in my heart
I accept your person
Without need to separate LOVE in part
I say to those who desire
A conscious mind to be
Reduce me not to thought
When LOVE has made TRUTH, me
Written by Trudy Schrader on 04-07-2026
A glaring light cast shadow
The angle reflected a fractured image
The colors brush stroked edges
Dancing on the breath of critics
Words almost as indistinguishable
As what they attempted to capture
The essence of an artist’s desire
To challenge their perception of art
Someone asked no one in particular
“what is it supposed to be”
I walked away muttering
“looks like a wet cat to me”
If I could change into a pet
I’d be my little dog.
Because my life would be quite set
there’d be much analogue.
I’d look up with my puppy eyes
then picked up I would be.
Patted, stroked, and idolized
this life’s the one for me.
Three meals a day, a yummy treat
I’d always be well fed.
For trips I’d have my own car seat
at night tucked into bed.
I know I would be very loved
have free range of my home.
Roll over have my belly rubbed
this place, my pleasure dome.
Outside I’d run and play all day
Explore, and things I’d find.
She is so cute, hear owners say
they are so very kind.
Therefore, if I could have a choice
my puppy it would be.
These luxuries of life rejoice
I’m sure you would agree.
Floating on a gentle breeze
I heard it call my name
Beckoning me closer
to the window whence it came
It worked its magic through the air
as other sounds all ceased
A strange hypnotic message
every note, another feast
The tune repeated daily
in my head throughout the week
Each note, described a feeling
together, they did speak
And when she stroked the keys again
they traveled a new trail
Good or bad or happy
Solo piano told the tale
You could not have known it
But was always there.
None in a breeze a hand feels
But stroked is their hair.
Sympathy, and its comfort
To wrap you round in.
As hazy for whose mystique
Angel-love's; therein.
Tiny, my precious one-eyed ball of fluff --
with oh so sharp teeth and claws --
is disarmingly warm and cuddly but
often still quite skittish,
and stand-offish.
She purrs non-stop, contented,
when safely protected, on my lap
while being stroked. Her food and her water
bowls are clean and full
and her litter box is mostly promptly
emptied, refilled, odorless
and sanitized.
So what if she nips playfully
at my aged paper-thin skin?
Also she may snag my dressy
seldom-donned attire with those
sharp claws. But
she over-pays her board, her daily care,
with fond head nudges, and with her
unabashed preference for me
above all others, even now,
when I may no longer be,
to others, what I was.
To her, still, this outer shell
is precious, is safe,
Is reciprocated love,
is home,
is everything.
she had been suffering a great loss
we suggested a new hairdo
someone put daisies in her hair
she looked a bit more flushed
silence surrounded her
we next handed her calla lilies
they were yellow like the sun
she stroked them as if they were an old friend
It was a start
giving us a bit of hope
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