I walk where old spells loosen,
d
r
i
f
t
i
n
g
like specters
through the rafters of memory.
My iron cauldron sits
cold
in the corner.
Herbs hang brittle
on the wall,
whispering
their forgotten names.
Even the moon seems wary
of the path I take~
a thin,
watchful crescent
that remembers more than it reveals.
I have outlived the glamor,
the bright-eyed hunger
for power shaped from shadow.
What remains is quieter,
but it follows me like a presence
I once called
mine.
Sometimes I feel the old magic
stir behind me~
a faint rustle,
a shift of air,
as though the past
is trying on my silhouette.
But I do not turn.
I keep walking
through the dusk,
my haunting gentler now~
a reminder, not a claim:
even spells leave echoes
worth carrying.
I have seen some sloppy sonnets
Syllables buttoned wrong
Rhymes wrangling for recognition
Tripping over the final couplet
Rambling free verse
Ignoring the caution of line breaks
Stuttering in search of continuity
Freedom stifled in search of submission
Haiku
Mimicking a Geisha dancer
Mocking Basho’s frog
Quatrains leaving the station
Destinations … unknown
Mice trapped in a maze
Cursing the odor of the cheese
Knowing it is not a goal
But a test
Forget the cheese
Become the mouse
Dodge the traps
Be thrilled by the adventure
Of trying on a sloppy sonnet
Like trying on your mother’s shoe;
they do not fit, but still they do
and yet, your father’s, never tried
for what secrets do both shoes hide?
Four Wheels
I saw a stranger in a wheelchair.
At the gym shooting hoops by herself.
The courage to keep on going.
No care toward what someone else would be saying.
In a big room all to yourself.
Enjoying life, with no one else.
When was the last time you helped out a stranger?
New memories they would be thankful for.
It’s better to give than to receive.
On four wheels, she was being the best she could be.
Do you ever take time out to wonder?
How can the brave move forward?
Just doing her own thing.
She wouldn’t have it any other way.
Someone like them inspires me.
Keep on going to the finish line you see.
Don’t take anything for granted.
The wheels spin in so many directions.
Maybe I’m just observant.
Seeing someone trying on their own.
No excuses for me not to go to the gym.
All the hard work will pay off to be slim.
Just put your foot in the door.
Work your heart out and drop to the floor.
I didn’t even know her name.
If I skipped a day, I have no one else to blame.
The one that shot hoops gave her all.
I guess her favorite sport would be basketball.
When only a few minutes.
Are allowed.
Take 30 seconds.
Out of the equation.
Take 29 of those seconds.
Not to debate, but rather-
Freeze from fear.
When only a few minutes.
Morph into a confused face.
Time is what we tried to travel on.
Trying on an outfit which I remember had lime green stripes.
Becoming a weird and unique person.
Uncertainty.
When only a few minutes.
Face off with me.
I tried to convince myself.
That seconds aren’t real.
But every second is like a new being.
I wear a new outfit every day of the week.
So does time.
With only a few hours.
Sometimes it’s hours, or days.
Which allow us to go to the store and pick up a soda.
Yellow, orange, lime drinks.
With only a few years.
We decide to flop down on the couch.
Turn on the tv.
We take 30 seconds.
Before falling asleep during a commercial.
They lied.
I survived the car accident.
Lived next door to a graveyard.
35 years, 21 days, 5 minutes.
Sometimes time-
Oh runescape, oh old school
How someone once gave me rope and chair and knife.
That noob was such a fool.
I have also been a wife.
From rs girlfriends to bots and scammers.
We go through the wilderness and 99's.
Catching chins and pounding our hammers.
The player base declines.
From the bossing and raiding to the questers and sweats.
Raise your crystal grail.
Throw your nets.
And stop trying on that goblin mail.
From killing dragons to dropping red spiders eggs during that time of month at the GE.
To your imbued heart being mine.
And by the way, he is not a she.
Here's to 92 being half of 99
• Trying on a pair of pastel pink shoes
• To see if they go with my pastel pink suit
• I asked my girlfriend for her opinion
• She thought what I thought, "those shoes look cute"
There is clamoring
In the courtyard
For the feast to come
Guests in their rooms
Trying on garments
To display all they've done
Singing and shouting
Dancing a muck
Thanking the gods
For good fortune and luck
All is perfect
Timing is right
To lay out the final plan
Bodies floating in rivers
Fires burning land
Last moments of vile man
Both sides present
Good and evil in balance
Minds subdued to accept
The inspired valance
Did a pin just drop
As the earth split open
To reveal a falling star
No denying TRUTH
Naked and dark
Revealed, just as you are
Both sides played
Like a long awaited sequel
Easily loved and honored
If not for the clue in the prequel
Wasted matter is forgotten
Like chaff in the wind
Waiting to be devoured
But never you, picking a worthy cause
To see blinded humans
Miss the mark
As you arise, Man of the Hour
Our eyes have seen
Our hearts know TRUTH
You ate Atlantians
And made everything new
Written by Trudy Schrader on 10-052024
Make sure you do not need the toilet before stepping into a lift.
If you drop something pick it up before a packrat or a magpie sees it.
A good book is always worth having when in a waiting room,
Waiting for a bus or train,
Or outside a clothes shop waiting for a partner or friend,
To finish trying on everything in the shop.
Learn animal sign language,
For early warning of Earthquakes, floods and twisters.
Make a list of everything you give for free to the charity shop,
So you do not end up buying some or all of the items back.
Be prepared to make a run for it if you hear the words,
"Is this of any use to you".
Check potential partners for signs of hoarding.
When you child says but Dad,
Always best to stop what you are doing,
As chances are you are about to make a dumb mistake,
That can be used against you for years.
Always have a pencil in your pen drawer,
As finding a pen that works,
When you need one is never a given.
Planning a trip ahead of time,
Leaves more hair on your head.
This greeting is for you to tell you that your dreams have come true .This greeting is for you to tell you that the battle is already won and I will be meeting with you on the stand. Our meeting will be brief but the message will be deep, you have got to choose one destination where you can have a proper salvation, China, Japan, South Korea or Ukraine but America is not the same, there have been changes and plenty of them too, you will have to wear a brand new pair of shoe; you will make Africa your home and I will keep the American time zone. I wanted to visit you but I have to make sure that the time is right, you are ready and your mind is steady. I prefer paradise on earth where I can mingle with the dirt to plant corn and yam and visit Uncle Sam. I like hanging out by the stream where I can capture my dreams and go dancing in the sun when the winter is done. I love to watch the autumn leaves and watch the branches swaying in the breeze, and the birds gathering around trying on their winter gown. I will take a stroll on the lawn and meditate by the brooks and write a daily verse in my brand new cook book. Greetings to you.
The truth moment
Memories are broken mirrors on
which the sun shines
the enduring illusion
sprinkled with the rest of my childhood
The dreamy imagined what ensued
or was at the time
kismet no one could foresee
Past and future pain him; he shall not see his orchard
no pictures exist he, fell off his bike
no longer a hero on a scooter
What he knows is inaccessible happiness
like a fairytale
another illusion killed stone dead.
His banalities were like trying on a great man’s shoes
I slowly come to
as light creeps across the floor
and dissolves what I thought
had fallen through
the torn sides of a dream.
Nothing is there but
the scuff marks left
by fleeing ghosts.
Unalterable facts assemble
and lock shut around
a narrowing space housing all
that I think I am.
Faces appear and find
their place in the gallery
of portraits, some smiling
others wearing a haunting
sadness. Love attaches
and takes up the tension
as thoughts move and stretch,
each nerve linking
to a loved one. I hold on
and hope it's enough.
Then fear rummages through
its wardrobe of masks, trying on
each to see what best fits
the day. It likes to look ahead.
Morning begins its rituals
to hold back a harm
that hangs over me
or stop the countdown
ticking towards some
menacing, undisclosed
catastrophe.
It's hard to put
yourself together.
Parts go missing
or simply don't fit
in the places where
you think they should.
You're never fully here,
there's always a fragment
of yourself off elsewhere,
trying on a memory
or making a dream
dance in the shadows
of the mind, or
assembling the features
of a face to fit
a name.
It's easier to accept
that there is never
a complete version
of you.
Even in the most
exalted states, there
seems something
held back or broken off,
something
that stands aside, as if
a particle of yourself
is watching everything
you do.
It is always there,
never quite within range
where the mind can snare
some shadowy form, or shape
an outline and hold it long enough
to name.
It waits for the sun to go down
and the evening to draw in
like a taken breath when it comes
closer and nestles into what warmth
lingers there under the folds
of a gathered dark.
Sometimes when I am off
elsewhere and far away in thought,
I am sure it slips inside my head
and enters where memories are,
trying on a face, posing
in some familiar scene,
rummaging through what a child
left there long ago as if
it was searching for itself.
And there are mornings
when waking I sense its presence
in the dissolving residue of a dream,
a small footprint left on that
shore between awareness and sleep,
an indent, a scooped out hole
where something broken
took refuge and sought comfort
in being near.
There are dark times
when it almost becomes
a plumbed in part of me,
each bunkered in our own
adjoining rooms, held apart
by a wall neither of us
want to breach. We have spent
a good part of our lives here,
holding onto what should be set free,
fearing that if we did, one of us
would cease to be.
Joanne’s first husband treated her like a queen.
He was handy with a toolbox, and built her a fabulous salon.
I was in high school when she asked for a Cinderella stairway.
So the girls who were trying on gowns could walk down the stairs.
Making a Cinderella entrance, showing off for the old ladies.
The gowns she sold reeked of sequins, feathers, lace, pearls.
I remember how excited she was when he finished the stairway.
All of the seventeen and eighteen year old girls in town ran to see it.
We had to try on dresses and walk down those stairs many Saturdays.
Joanne was lured away from her husband by a snake of a guy.
None of us knew what he had but he whisked her off.
She divorced the carpenter, and married the narcissist.
He tried to keep her to himself, but couldn’t.
She finally disappeared; never to be seen again.
We all figured it was his way of keeping her to himself.
Her son was fifteen at the time, and was locked out of the house.
“I never liked that kid!” the narcissist was heard to say.
We all wished she had stayed with the carpenter.
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