Posted in dream, poetry

Cover of Dusk

Cover of Dusk  I imagined their story as I walked by their house: a couple in their early thirties one year old daughter asleep in her room the dinner party winding down inside glasses of chardonnay clinking pearl necklaces and red lipstick smudges how they’d all been friends since college.  I slowed my pace as the haze of their perfection tightened in my throat, prey to the outsider’s perception: a brick walkway leading to their front door trimmed rose bushes  silhouettes mingling in light cast shadows through their windows.  A mosquito bit my arm, the signal to lengthen my stride, move past fantasies of someone else’s family, stop obsessing over picket white fences, the bad date I went on the night before, that it would be years,  before finding that dream for myself.   I walked on, cheeks soaking up the sweat and tears beading on my skin in the humidity, thankful at least for the setting sun, the cover of dusk to mask this headspace so no one would have to know that seeing their daughter’s swing hanging on a tree in their front yard made me cry.

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Posted in art, poetry, time

Tricked

Tricked	  The room dimmed with the sunset, the space that hours before had been filled with conversation— friends drinking champagne, investing fractions of their lives in sharing time— now faded into shadow, the imprint of connection dying  as we drifted back to segregation, alone in introspection’s isolation as if the party had never happened, as if he’d never talked to me, as if they’d never met, as if our imaginations tricked us into believing loneliness isn’t a chronic disease.   —Leanne Rebecca

There’s something about the close of the weekend that requires epic introspection. Now is the time, when everyone is winding down and setting their Monday morning alarm clocks, to take a few moments and reflect on what’s running most prominently through your brain.

Sometimes I struggle with these hours of solitude, feeling lost in their isolation, afraid of the silence. Other times I welcome the freedom. Tonight I feel both with equal weight.

Sleep well my friends!

–Leanne Rebecca

Posted in art, poetry, writing

Under the Influence

Under the Influence  I wept her poems from my eyes ink mixing with freckles  wandering the hollows of emotion sewn in the simplicity of her voice.   I read them again cross legged as still as silence steeping tea turned bitter.   Nothing made sense anymore the eruption of water the knots in my shoulders the unmoving air the last page of a masterpiece, finished, the anticipation of change the waking up the next morning in the same position I fell asleep.

This poem came out of nowhere. I was taking a walk, imagining stories in my head, and it just hit me in the face.

One of my friends lent me Ararat by Louise Gluck last week and I think it changed my life. Everything looks the same from the outside–same job, same breakfast foods–but something’s different, even if I can’t articulate exactly what that means.

I don’t usually publish poems at night. Sweet dreams and thanks for reading.

–Leanne Rebecca

Posted in art, Music, poetry, writing

Dissonance

Dissonance It’s sexy- the tension in his voice that infuses each note with dichotomy— masterful but not easeful, as if he’s lamenting inner conflict in gravel-laden imperfection. I’m drawn to the impurity lacing his words like a birth mark—unique to him, a signature interrupting the underlying smoothness of his skin.  It turns me on, the dissonance of his poetry, the fluidity of his screaming, the crying of his passion. I listen again, falling into imagination’s cloud— who is the boy that owns that voice, that aches his story on the radio?

I’ve been on a Ghost Town kick lately. I first discovered the band about a year ago, listened a little, but for whatever reason wasn’t hooked. However a few weeks ago one of my friends made me a playlist with their song “Acid” on it. It’s a track I admittedly repeat over and over again as I’m driving. You could call me obsessed. The vocals draw me in almost like junk food. I just want more!! It got me thinking, what is it about certain songs or certain voices that attract different ears? For me, it’s the grit, the pain behind the sound. I’d always rather listen to something messy that throws emotion in your face than something perfected with stereotypical beauty. We all have our own preferences though, and mine certainly change with the seasons.

Happy Saturday!

–Leanne Rebecca