Posted in art, poetry, writing

Should

Should  The TV signal died. I spend the next twenty minutes pressing a button off and on to spark a response.  Off and on because there should be stimulus. I should do what I can to expel the silence of a blue screen and error message because I can’t be here in the quiet should be moving in some direction mind should be engaged in something, can’t waste this time on doing nothing. I press the button off and on, squatting in front of a box, expecting a different result and the damn receiver won’t listen to me. I’m here, trying, but it’s not enough. It’s never enough.  I should try again.

Last week was rough. Here’s a hint…don’t catch stomach bugs. Luckily, I like to think of Sundays as the day to start anew. I survived Hell and now is my opportunity to bounce back. Good thing the TV lost its signal, because now I can say I started the new week with a poem.

There’s still time to accomplish something wonderful before Monday rolls around, folks. It’s up to you to figure out what it’s going to be.

Love,

Leanne Rebecca

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Posted in art, creative writing, poetry, writing

Sprint

Sprint  They gave me a clipboard and a shot of authority, power chased with adrenaline, to prove to ride.  People asked me questions, these followers that consumed my words like salty snacks.  Handshakes locked congratulations into the day that disappeared, the nibbles of a midmorning  munched into crumbs of memories	 by the afternoon, a déjà vu of fleeting confidence.  Maybe someone will remember my face despite the finish line.

This wasn’t the poem I set out to write last night, but it didn’t matter. It’s always ok to let flow take liberties and even though my intention wasn’t quite satisfied, I accepted that my initial concept was a title for another day.

Break your own rules. Happy Monday. 

–Leanne Rebecca

Posted in art, poetry, writing

Adaptable

Adaptable  We ran in the rain even though our shoes squished and hindered,  pounds of excess burden laced around soggy feet as if trudging miniature water tanks below the ankles, trapping our freedom to move with agility, with ease.  We could have called it quits, huddled under a tree  until the torrent dissolved into a drizzle, could have cowered in our car, prissy as teacup dogs afraid to get their paws wet. But we ran, laughing as makeup stung our eyes, rendered blind, black dripping into our vision and pooling below in raccoon masks.  Sure our pace slowed as our intention adapted— just keep moving— but it didn’t matter, just like it doesn’t matter that I had to eat a different kind of cereal this morning, choice robbed by an empty box.  We crossed the finish line together. I don’t feel like this poem belongs to me. It belongs to my mom and my friends. It belongs to you and your struggles. We’re all in this thing called life, living parallel to one another, at times crisscrossing paths as we do our best to navigate the turns. I implore you, don’t lose sight of where you’re headed. Sometimes eating something new for breakfast can be a welcome change. The key is to recognize the opportunity to seize the deliciousness of the moment.

–Leanne Rebecca