• poem,betsy,children,devos,fear,Future,hope,idea,schools,something better,tomorrow,trump
    Poetry,  Works

    An Idea of Tomorrow

    Pencil drop,A teacher providesOut of pocket.It’s their own dime. Yet, passed amidst discord,She cannot see nor sneerUpon such meager coin.She holds too dearWithout fearHer own dime. Now is the timeTo live…WITHIN our timeTo see that which plaguesOr fellow’s friendAnd to welcome thoseWho learn strifeIs always the day’s bitter end. Why not be better?We are better. Open our arms.Open your arms.Do not let inequity ruleNor the golden houseOnce white fallTo this gilded flameOf populist rancor Fueled By a divide bled between us.…

  • In the Beginning Was Logos
    Published,  Short Stories,  Works

    In The Beginning Was Logos

    Published: Sick Lit Magazine, 7/27/2016. In the beginning was not a primordial mass. In the beginning was knowledge. In the beginning was logos. And in the end, there was nothing. All knowledge is outside time. What if in the beginning, you were logos? What if you knew that if you told anyone you would finally die? Would you even want to live if everyone you met could not retain the knowledge of ever meeting you? This is your life. You…

  • alt lit,alternative literature,sci-fi,science fiction,scifi,the human quotient,SFF
    Featured,  Short Stories,  Works

    The Human Quotient

    The human quotient fractures, lost, pitted against itself. Time repeats. The past and the present are the future. The hum of dissecting life reverberates. :: Replay core protocol :: We found new life. We left behind ourselves. Look back. Never forget. :: stop playback ::

  • action,bullet,consequence,rain,strikes,poem
    Poetry,  Works

    When a Bullet Strikes the Rain

    Vanishing, one following the nextEyes squint at the darkDroplets sizzle with staccatoSpeed equates to the searA path laced with intent Quaking, she envisioning the casketFinger flicks from the triggerFabric unweaves with requiescenceChoices lead to outcomesAre all paths laced with intent Shattering, both losing the memoryAir blasts from lungsSkin rends without discoursePain asks what is betweenWhat paths are not laced with intent Hating, he admonishing the regretPistol falls from gripLead digs without remorseFragments dissolve to voidIntent pervades even after death

Judah's Newsletter

For those of you who want first dibs on my 20+ year writing journey finally culminating towards publication, sign up for my newsletter.

I might even share a bit from my other side gig as an English Professor for fellow writers.