Bubble sucking lungs
Dual life wet wigglers
Teapot hiding spot ?
Mare's tales aloft, I'm feelin' soft
Feelin' as wispy as what's blowin' cross
They come and they go, like all of these states
This will blow over if I will just wait
I blinked and felt my feet go small,
Four fuzzy paws, no shoes at all.
A wagging tail began to sway,
Somehow I was a dog today.
Beside me sat a tabby bright,
My son, now whiskered, striped and light.
He purred, "Well this is new for sure,"
Then bounded through a golden door.
A familiar bark ran out across the ridge,
She waited near the rainbow bridge.
Our rescued girl, all healed and free,
Came racing, overjoyed to see.
She nuzzled me with happy cries,
A knowing sparkle in her eyes.
She circled him with gentle grace,
Then led us toward a shining place.
"You saved my life," her presence said,
"From hopeless days and fear and dread.
Now let me guide you, just as true,
I've waited here to walk with you."
We followed through the colored gleam,
As light danced softly like a dream.
And only when the sky turned blue
did I see what she already knew.
The world below grew faint and thin,
A place we wouldn't walk again.
My son curled close, his purrs at rest,
We understood but felt no stress.
For she was there, our loyal friend,
To lead us home at journey's end.
And she, our guide, with tail held high,
Led us toward the endless sky.
Squirrels like toasted treats.
It makes them quite happy.
You won't hear them complain.
Just munching right away.
With twirls!
Swirls too!
Those girls!
Pearls true.
Tails a furl.
They asked the fox about his witness.
He pointed to his tail.
They asked the dog about his witness.
He pointed to the baboon.
They asked the gorilla about his witness.
He pointed to his rear end.
Tail is tail.
* Six lines poem that has three micro stories; the seventh line is so short conclusion.
Only
a coin toss
standing
between them
Fame
the divider
with fans
to embrace
Caught
in the essence
as twins
symbiotic
One
in the limelight
the other
— ungraced
(Dreamsleep: July, 2025)
If medicine gives us a tail,
The proper should not let it flail.
It should be coiled tight,
Though tea-holding's right,
Or holding the rudder to sail.
A cat wants to play
a bird flies away
A dog fetches a bone
a pigeon returns home
A child too will play
before he goes away
To get out there on his own
before returning home
When’ e’er I look upon the squirrel’s plight
I think, perhaps, he should be given flight
So he could join the mob in warmer climes
But then a raged furry coat and tail
In Florida could land a squirrel in jail
For stealing ice to cool Corona limes
For fluffy tails may tempt a wily minx
To ask the grayish snow bird what he thinks
About the Penguin acting like a Mime
For squirrels, it seems, have knowledge of such stuff
And have been known to call a Penguins bluff
By telling them such acts should be a crime
Replied the Penguin in a voice quite grim
“I do think that your tail could use a trim”
Said the squirrel “then that minx would be mine”
Two brothers
Born from different Earths
One was powerful and fluid
The other, fluid, gave births
The first was given command
To fill the Earth with seed
The second, to work the land
Til fruit revealed all need
Both came to self
And developed a plan
To take the throne
From the one in command
They built different kingdoms
In sky and on land
But then they joined with sea
To fortify the plan
A three fold cord
Is not easily broken
Til REVELATION
Broke TRUTH open
Angels judge humans
For bad behavior
Humans judge angels
For lack of a savior
Both have committed treason
Even the one who could reason
...need, to hell
Spirit has come to set it right
The womb of darkness is now light
...in hell, it is well
WITH SOUL
Written by Trudy Schrader on 01-01-2024
Betsy, the sweet girl, was such a beauty
Never slack on milk, she did her duty
Pouring out her supply, like a fountain
Feeding on the rye across the mountain
She raised sweet, soft eyes to prove her gentle
Always so much love wasn’t accidental
With a soul, good and warm, she’s so friendly
Yet, her master told her she’s too spindly
Despite her hunger, she just wouldn’t gain weight
She worried about things like a soul mate
Her thoughts took her to the fall, and the hay
When the Blue Ridge Mountains switch to deep gray
Thoughts of gold bales left her stomach starving
Though that hay could’ve made a wood carving
So dry and stale, it couldn’t have been tasty
Still, she sprinted to the stall, quite hasty
After eating her fair share, farmer said
“look at Betsy, she’s fat as that pig, Ned”
At last the cow and the pig were happy
Even though their tale is slightly sappy!
I love you when your quiet
I love you like this
Chilled and laid back
Peace at long last
I love you when your playing
I love you wrestling too
Pulling on a sock
A tug of war is cool
Archies giggling and the snorting
You'd think he was a horse
Snorting and sniffing at the cat
Upon the wall
Barking Mad
She swaggers her tail
walking tall
Archies just a young lad after all
Uncle rocco takes it all in his stride
His coat of black and white
A look of peace and pride
Bounding like a big puppy through the music hall ...
Here comes Rocco
For some Rock and Roll ....
heads
wise, functional
bobbing, talking, turning
leaderships, guides, appendages, backside
wiggling, protruding, tugging
whiplike, furry
tails
Date created: 02/03/2022
Left with the dishes the animals used their tails.
They used their scratchy tongues and they used their nails.
Which would be okay if some had not had rabies.
The hen had chicken pox and the fox had scabies.
They were irritated that the washing landed on them.
So, they did the worst job, I heard from Uncle Clem.
They never wanted to wash human dishes again.
This was told to me by my little Cousin Jim.
Jim is Clem’s son, and their stories are often big lies.
I discovered later this was a lie too; no big surprise.
But I have another cousin who showed me these Pix.
So now I don’t know if it is true or one of their tricks.
Just off the busy road there’s a dirt lane
that leads to a weather-worn covered bridge
where Red Tails gather at eventide.
In the sunlight the birds flicker on hot winds,
rest and watch on pylons and poles,
then rise to hover
over berms and hedgerows along the highway
driving small birds and field mice
into the shelter of scrub and thicket.
At days end they convene;
shake corn-dust from their wings,
bathe in the creek's shallow waters,
then the hawks perch
along the eaves of the bridge
while its oak rafters retreat to shade.
I arrive as the late evening
paints one last aureate sheen
over the slow rippling stream.
Hawks hunt alone - an acreage of sky
can support but one raptor.
I have photographed them many times
as they swooped and spiraled
scything the sky
with their swift-winged threats.
In this light a different picture emerges;
the row of muted birds could be sleeping
yet their eyes are wide open, alert.
A last twilight gleaming
briefly reveals their sentinel forms,
now in the gloom, only their eyes can be seen -
each one a blood-red sunset.
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