Lianna Schreiber, 20 / 07 / 23
The heat here is nigh unbearable. Wherever you all are, I hope you’re well.
Lianna Schreiber, 20 / 07 / 23
The heat here is nigh unbearable. Wherever you all are, I hope you’re well.
Litehouse has graciously published my poem, Shoshanna with Field, as part of their Pride Month celebration. So happy to see it out and about. ♡
...didn’t even realize I forgot to switch fonts before I posted that. oops.
crayon of a June evening
Discussion 6/6/23
WEST 1. Desert flower 2. Canyon 3. Sacred 4. Pistol 5. Gold rush
EAST 1. Churchyard 2. Seaside village 3. Caffeine 4. Whaling 5. Osprey
—
west Curling, uncurling, the small, pink flowers six-pointed stars, alien and alive. Nearby your left foot a scorpion shakes itself off and away. Against your thigh, hot metal. The barrel and chamber of the gun are empty. If there is a God here it is vastness, land stretching white as fish meat, disturbed now and again by the jut of a mesa, the wind whistling to itself as it passes, taking some of the shale. east What had you been thinking about? Not here, now, the sun angel inarguable, Apollyon, the Chained One. Not now but then. Faithless preacher, your mind slipping away as you gave Mass, as you gave absolution and communion. What had you been thinking about? west A warble—then the brown bird. The canyon talks to itself, sometimes, wound in the earth not closed but scarred over all the same. You still can’t remember. But— Isobel, her legs long, hot metal on the outer lengths of your thighs. This you do remember. This you do keep close. You will die here. You walk on.
@obsceneic showed me a lovely picture of two horses embracing...and we have a lot of foals playing by the river this year, so. well. hi hello <3
messy thing that was floating ‘round my head while I was driving
what if we both stepped into a circle of kudzu vines and let its voracious tendrils encase and enclose us? for eternity?
then ages from now when the seas have swollen and boiled and are cooling and receding at last, and the children of the children of the children of our children are roaming the ruined earth, someone will slip through tall grass and stumble upon the shape of us. they will not know who we were, but they will know we were here: and the love will have endured, as love does.
Recent haiku. These begin their life in my little pocketbook, coming on, and in, as the world seizes me; I love looking back on them. They’re my Bookmarks to the numinous mundane.
To Be Not Said, But Shouted, Lianna Schreiber 09 / 03 / 2023
Recent haiku. These begin their life in my little pocketbook, coming on, and in, as the world seizes me; I love looking back on them. They’re my Bookmarks to the numinous mundane.
March 8, Lianna Schreiber 07-08 / 03 / 2023 § Poem I began last night in bed and finished today. I visited my grandmother on Monday; a lot of pelicans roost in her neighbourhood. It always surprises me. The city itself is deep inland, settled around the rivers that run it through—between the climate warming and habitat loss, ecce birds. Still I had the oddest sense of being seaside. The image of them in the air stuck with me, I had to use it.