I just got the proof for my new book Red Sparrows In the Telephone Box. I’m really happy with how it turned out.
The first fifty copies will have a limited-edition cover using a heavy card stock that’s no longer being made.
You can pick up a copy at the “Return To Wolf Mountain” show on Thursday at Cafe Montmartre. Kapow!
The Writing Portfolio of Cail Judy
A new collection of poems that tackle memory, dreams and the inner life of a fox. You can read the whole thing with your phone.
Limited edition cover.
27 pages.
$6.
(Click the button to purchase Red Sparrows In the Telephone Box)
I wrote a book.
It's a handsome collection of poetry and short prose.
It's about one man's journey from childhood to old age.
Have yourself a taste.
Available at Red Cat Records and right here.
About Rapscallions Cold Bullets When We Were Young Contact Me
A new collection of poems that tackle memory, dreams and the inner life of a fox. You can read the whole thing with your phone.
Limited edition cover.
27 pages.
$6.
(Click the button to purchase Red Sparrows In the Telephone Box)
I wrote a book.
It's a handsome collection of poetry and short prose.
It's about one man's journey from childhood to old age.
Have yourself a taste.
Available at Red Cat Records and right here.
About Rapscallions Cold Bullets When We Were Young Contact Me
August 31, 2011
April 15, 2010
Down In the Hole
He used to think
It was his blackness
That caused all the
Hate.
Like the smell of hot pavement, how it burns your nostrils after a
while.
People would wrinkle their noses
when he walked by.
He was covered in dirt, looking in store windows
Checking out the light displays.
Where does all this electricity come from?
Nobody answered, because you can’t see
an invisible man.
————-
by Cail Judy
December 2009
From Down To The River, a poetry chapbook inspired by African-African authors
This poem is based on the narrator in Ralph Ellison’s masterpiece Invisible Man
Note: I created illustrations for each one of these poems. I’ll upload them in the near future.
April 14, 2010
Rush River, Rush
Rush river, rush
I hear you no more
Rush, O River
My ears are sore.
/
Once tree, now log
My bones lay across
One day, firewood
Today a cross.
/
Sing, sparrow sing
Your song in the tree
Sparrow, I weep
No music for me.
/
Please Mother, please
Lay down the gun.
The day is over—
Mother, they’ve won.
/
by Cail Judy
December 2009
Published in my poetry chapbook Down To The River, inspired by prominent African-American authors
This poem is based on Bright & Morning Star by Richard Wright
April 8, 2010
Sins of the Father (Part 2)
I’ve been running my entire life.
Ran away from home when I was seven.
Cheated on my high school girlfriend
To push her away.
Now I’m walking out on my wife
My son.
I’ve never been good with words
And even less with goodbyes.
I packed my bags while my boy was at school.
At least I waited until he got home.
But now I’m leaving.
Don’t ask my why.
Let’s just say I’m cashing in my chips for a new hand.
This life was too small for me.
But the road ahead is wide open.
The freeway is calling my name
So I’m washing my hands of this life.
Maybe you’ll understand when you’re older, son.
Maybe not.
God, I pray you turn out to be a better man than me.
by Cail Judy
May 2009
Photo by Kyle Scully
April 6, 2010
Sons of Nevada (Part 1)
A heartless bastard
Is what I called him
When his feet hit the floor.
He headed out to his dirty blue pick-up
Where he’d already thrown
His army duffel bag
Filled with his flannel shirts
Marlboro cigarettes (“What a real man smokes, son”)
Leatherman knife
And his compass.
My mother’s tears stained the kitchen linoleum.
She asked him not to go
And I said he was
A heartless bastard and
Don’t come around here anymore
Or I’ll kill you.
Those were the last words I said to him.
He walked out the door
Taking my youth with him.
He drove off into the burning Mohave landscape.
I watched from our porch
And spat on the ground where his boots had tread.
I was nine years old
And more of a man
Then he would ever be.
by Cail Judy
May 2009
Photo from history class blog
March 24, 2010
There Is A Rumor
There’s a rumor that started tonight
Three girls were drinking whiskey and talking about the
Harmful effects of the sun
Skin cancer
It kills
But the moon doesn’t burn.
But anyway, this rumor
It seems the new boy at school
Jeremy Fredrick
Isn’t all he appears.
He’s been spotted late at night
In the woods by the edge of town
Late in the midnight hours
When it is especially dark
The black sky heavy
Truly
The dead of night.
I wonder what he’s doing out there
Says a rather petite blonde.
Probably hooking up with some girl
Quips a sassy brunette
As she samples a strawberry lemonade cooler.
Apparently
Pipes in the third
He stripes down naked.
I went out once
To spy
And I found his clothes in a pile
Beneath an oak tree.
He must have a dog of some kind
Because his clothes were covered
In hair.
A stony cry breaks the silence
Of a rather ominous night.
As if someone had
Chopped off
The tail of a mongrel.
What was that
The girls wonder
As they huddle close
for comfort.
The night tonight
Is not dark at all
It is in fact
bright
In the light
Of the full yellow moon.
by Cail Judy
Summer 2008
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“Little by little, one travels far.”— J.R.R. Tolkien (via yoursecretgarden)
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Pakistan: Still Displaced by the Floods
Young children sleep in a room filled with aid supplies inside the high...
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ahahahahha i am drunk while seeing this. laughign my ass off. i wanan fuckin cry, hahahahahaa
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I tried to call you but the line was busy
Were you talking to a friend?
And when I tried again much later
I didn’t want to let it ring again
So you can see I’ve got a problem
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One of my favorite pictures from our TROPA board retreat. You cook that rice Marc Jay.
GF (Greatest Friend), knows how to cook?!
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this jacket is awesome.
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I finished preparing the table for dinner and I saw my Gorky books in my grandmother’s suitcase, which means she’s taking them back to Napier with...
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ONCE AGAIN I MOUSTACHE TOO MUCH OF YOU HARRY
ONCE AGAIN I MOUSTACHE TOO MUCH OF YOU HARRY
ONCE AGAIN I MOUSTACHE TOO MUCH OF YOU...
