http://slow.writerscafe.org/JSLMoondust The original writings of author Joshua Lean en-us Copyright 2026 WritersCafe.org 1775992434 WritersCafe.org RSS Generator 15 he is standing like a mosquethe noise of prayer blowing out of him in steady whispers. the sun iscolouring itself on his skin, mighty hues of purplish gold. and in hiswell eyes there is nothing, or maybe a cloud.many get lost here. the heaven of this town leans too close too theground. our prayers a.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/JSLMoondust/1292516/ Something that came after listening to Kendrick Lamar. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/JSLMoondust/1267264/ Who is wild with keeness?A liquified sense of danger?,To reach high enough to pluck a star from its dreams?Alive with nothing but smokeAnd a drunken heart's disquiet pulsations,To say 'it is I, it is I'I, without the stubborn plurality ofA second me,And an only You.Without an us to drown noble seman.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/JSLMoondust/1260594/ If you wish to know the politics of a dead manSet his body on a hillAnd let man take his bones for armsLet the battle be fierce But no so fierce as to make one man mistake Mettle for valour or creed for honourFor these are neither opiums of men Who are nor men who aren'tThese hold me.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/JSLMoondust/1167388/ Home.It is where all essence breathes,It is where my veins throb hard againstMy skin.It is where my lungs learn new things.I have brought what all of me is,Folded and creased in my wet humanity,I am never more myself than when I Lay atop the empty page.So, these markings are for yo.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/JSLMoondust/1158326/ I wrote you yesterday,strung these words into song.until my balladry began to breathe the same airsthat swam your glorious lungs.And with that, I could feel it again.I could feel Alive.That old warrior,Thesarused deep, in you pores.And it was a true thing, truly.the way you danced.As if the night wa.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/JSLMoondust/1157123/ ''We are locked in a contest where we must either act or perish" - Xerxes.The air is fresh.But stuttered.In a way that excites our bones.She is like a wary dancer.But she is not the one we have come to see.Morning and Night roll into one.Throwing the stars into compromising p.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/JSLMoondust/1150439/ Inspired by Florence + The Machine's song with the same title. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/JSLMoondust/1150412/ The cause remainsStill.But the voice has gathered tenor.A strange cantus firmus.Like influenza.Now the proselytizers itch.Because their hands cannot lift the poetryThat weakens them.The pedagogy of penIs a wiry truth.A ring for the fingerWho will be slave to it.Allow yourself the burden of initiatio.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/JSLMoondust/1140514/ To be read on the wide balconies of ‘if only’.According to formative epistemology,I was born withoutKnowledge of your shape.I did not learn to walkBecause I could feelThe electric nodes ofYour spine beckon.The Corpuscular Theory of LightShould explain how your faceTravels in silver wavel.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/JSLMoondust/1130728/ Woman.Why doyouFeedyour heartWordsthat have notBeenironed?Why doyou stain yourSoulwith crease?Why doyou notTrembleunderTheweight of the divinityYoucarry on your cheekbones?  Howdare you?.  Woman.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/JSLMoondust/1128444/ Unbeknownst to the many clouds that swim Heaven's wide expanse,I had flown the entire breadth of the darkest matter and glided beyond ethereal wisps.If anyof you doubt,I will show bulbous eyes red-rimmed from flight.Andfrayed wings that cannot be unruffled.I willbrandish talons sha.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/JSLMoondust/1121272/ Out of troubled slumber, I awoke, not in the bed I slept nor in the clothes I wore. I rubbed my temples to make sense of things. I was in some kind of gallery; on its walls were a trillion paintings, each sharing the same horrid grin. They spoke among themselves in hushed tones, as if planning some .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/JSLMoondust/1120285/  Blink, blink.Bitten. Sagged down by a certain avoirdupois.Under the strain of bitter nights andone-eyed apparitions.I sat under that lone moon tree.And seven times, the tree screamed.Each time, speaking your name.With abejeweled softness like warm grass.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/JSLMoondust/1120240/ With the restless eagerness of untamed youth, my mind opened to all that your body whispered and all that your soul groaned. Your transmissions intensifying with every touch, every draw of breath, every spasm of pleasure and then I saw a world I never knew existed �" bestial planes only .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/JSLMoondust/1119802/ Knowing that you love memakes me happier thanan Army Ranger with ordersto destroy a village filledwith helpless civilians. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/JSLMoondust/1116298/ It is often said that Medina was born mad and speechless,Her red-clay lips meeting each other like lovers but never loving themselves enough to make any words.Or perhaps loving themselves too much to give in to the coarse cigarette claw of speech.Perhaps,she was after all wiser than all of us... http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/JSLMoondust/1116014/ As sunlight deigned to set behind moody dales, Happiness, having nothing else to do flew into her head intending to stay the night..only for her delectation, of course. It found no room.Ebullient little worries had shared her thoughts amongst themselves..giving the largest portion to the oldest.Ensc.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/JSLMoondust/1115735/ One of my prose-poems. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/JSLMoondust/1115295/ As the yellow man dragged the fresh carcass through the woods, he could feel them in his breath, in his bones and on his palmsLike hot termites, like a rash.They were coming, but he did not know who, what or how many. Clouds began to move like wayward mules, and the wind began to stutter.He had.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/JSLMoondust/1115291/ Stephen King-esque? http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/JSLMoondust/1115011/ This is for you, hard worker. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/JSLMoondust/1114996/ There were many things we did not want our eyes to know, because we did not trust them.We did not believe in crying mothers, leaving lovers, dead ends, or lifeless straws of corn.No.We could not trust our eyes.So we walked with our eyes closed and our arms spread out like book pages.So that whatever.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/JSLMoondust/1114940/ I was born ugly.Not the kind of Ugliness that makes my mother turn away in revulsion.But the Ugliness that makes her stare intently,taking in every rough edge and every smooth curve.Only so that she can sit awake at night and ask God what he was up to.The type of ugliness that you wear like a j.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/JSLMoondust/1114860/ I never knew that I would own the world.The dancing ire of the wind.The ground under my feet and the sound of flapping wings.They came to me as if bearing gifts.Reminding me with outstretched palms that the hour had come.When I must straighten every crease and fold my soul back in its box.Lest I bre.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/JSLMoondust/1114831/ For every child soldier in every corner, whether you hold a gun or not, in whatever way you are being used or afflicted, I fight for you. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/JSLMoondust/1114256/ I saw scribbling on black walls, love poems, dedicated to boys she did not know and boys that were not me. I surveyed this new terra-firma, the constructions of a battered soul and a pristine spirit. Her escape, I imagined from an imperfect world and a Jurassic society. She was all that is and was d.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/JSLMoondust/1114253/ To bewhispered to the sleeping backs of loud toddlers and the giant eyes of thechildren that we were.   Iwrite this panegyric on the centennial of my existence.Thisis a hornet,child.Listen.Letits notes needle your nape with noisy nothings.&nbs.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/JSLMoondust/1114231/ Burdened.My earspick the music of strings,pulled by bleeding fingers.The noteslift me,and I hurtle past a triumvirate of idle clouds.Who inenvy,chase after me.With faint luck I escape and find myself amongst a troupe of vivacious fairies,fingering transdermal sunbeams,and they .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/JSLMoondust/1114230/ Inspired by Edgar Allan Poe. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/JSLMoondust/1113768/ Intolerant eyes seep through the cracks in the door;........................Reiterating our thoughts in a million microdots.Broken Bubbled Blisterine screams.Juga juga juga,that is the story we will tell.The telling of stories is an alternative,To sitting back and watching the synapomorphy of our ta.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/JSLMoondust/1113765/