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Wednesdays24601? I grumble, and my therapist laughs at me.Wednesdays by *Judah-Leonardo
I can’t help but grin. Seen that movie twice already,
how else can I answer “Who Am I”?
There’s a crinkle to her eyes when she talks of my
humor. Let them see, she says, and I fiddle with my cap
twisted in my hands, brown and scratchy ‘neath my gnawed-on-torn fingernails
Rain on fresh paint, damp heat in a cluttered chair. I’m
twenty-two and take six pills, I say. I roll my face around on the keyboard and
words come out and sometimes I call that writing.
I watch insects click on sallow hotel lights, fat lonely ladies at the 3am drive-thru,
neon glistening
Gifting (a poem for Jo)There’s this question tonight, and I’ve been asking the snowdrops—or asking to my fingernails,Gifting (a poem for Jo) by *Judah-Leonardo
to tape and ribbon, to the ceramic baby Jesu in the straw manger
with his black dot eyes
sky and savior, how do I go about giving to a stranger? all I’ve seen of you are flashes, glimpses
pixels, text, no flesh or fluttered laugh. All I’ve seen of you
is the kindness reached through miles and roads and circuitry, how you take time
and giving, only asking for a bit of
hope
ticking down to Christmas Day and I’m frantic to scrape these few words (some meager gift of a
moment) into enough of a pile, some same kind
lingering, a sestinaPerhaps it’s nightmare sweat that wets my facelingering, a sestina by *Judah-Leonardo
Or this fractured sunlight—somehow I wake
To bathe my brow with shaking fingertips
As the hall clock ticks onward towards noon.
I’ll scrub the bitter coffee from my teeth
And choke down hallowed pills for empty aid.
And this can keep my soul safe of your aid?
With sandalwood I’d fain anoint my face,
Sesame scent where you once laid your teeth.
I’ve seen enough of storms. The thunder’s wake
Exhausts my eyes; keep for yourself brash noon
The mist and dew have gentle fingertips.
This rusted tap beneath my fingertips
And spit-warm water, some unwitting aid;
Reca
| "When the Lady Lynnette comes to the royal palace begging for a champion to free her of false charges and save her from the executioner's whip, the young squire Anarin is the only one to step forward to take up her cause. But bravery alone might not be enough in her fight against the far older, stronger, and experienced Sir Giles--not to mention all the pluck it can take to face down the jeers of those who doubt the ability of the kingdom's only female Knight-in-training." Completed fairly recently. Feedback and critique is precious to me, but I do also humbly offer it up for anyone who'd like to try a good adventure full of pluck, humor, and drama. And Knights, of course. How can any story be good without knights?      Wanna give it a try? Part One: [link] Part Two: [link] Part Three: [link] Part Four: [link] Part Five: [link] Part Six: [link] |
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I mean, of all the things for folks to get worked up over. My only guess is that the word "limit" is prompting some instinctual freak-out reaction, entitlement-survival-reaction or something... All I know is, I haven't had my tea yet and people are very, very, silly. 
Sta.sh
Uneasy 
