Leigh HR
@leighhr.bsky.social
440 followers 360 following 110 posts
Dual-National (US/UK) writer, traveler, and trampoline champion who does her own stunts.
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leighhr.bsky.social
OH - Add, he must release the unredacted Epstein Files.
leighhr.bsky.social
The Nobel Committee has power. They can tell Trump to be considered for nomination, he has to stop his campaign against immigrants and his “enemies,” stop locking people up and killing randomly. Be truly peaceful, loving and caring towards others. Could that even work?
leighhr.bsky.social
Thank you. What a disappointment She was a fav of mine back in the day.
leighhr.bsky.social
Her fake indignation is a tell.
Reposted by Leigh HR
rbreich.bsky.social
CEO-to-worker pay ratio in 1965: 20-1

CEO-to-worker pay ratio in 1990: 75-1

CEO-to-worker pay ratio today: 280-to-1

Trickle-down economics was always a sham.

Nothing has ever trickled down.
leighhr.bsky.social
This sweet little guy is my nephew. He is 5. He always called me “Markandleigh.” He gave the same name to my husband. But, now, a big boy, he learned that “Mark” and “Leigh” are different people. So, now, he just calls me “Mark.”
leighhr.bsky.social
Damp in Banff. Hehe. It’s damp here, too, but I can’t think of a rhyme.
leighhr.bsky.social
Yes! Zoom in and you can see the River Dee and Belwade Horse Farm in the distance. 😍
leighhr.bsky.social
I get it. The view from my back window in the Scottish Highlands.
leighhr.bsky.social
Scottish sports lovers: This is two weeks of sporting events in Aberdeenshire. #PittodrieStadium #AberdeenUni #DonaldDinnie #AboyneHighlandGames #tartan #kilts #bagpipes
leighhr.bsky.social
Of the many joys of living in Scotland: a massed pipe band. #AboyneHighlandGames #Scotland #bagpipes #tartan #kilts
leighhr.bsky.social
Rainbows and barley: A view from my back window. What do you see from your window? #Nature #farming #Rainbows #Scotland
leighhr.bsky.social
Breaking for weeks allows the media and influencers to run wild covering the Epstein story while Congress is out. Don’t let them look the other way when distractions are created.
leighhr.bsky.social
I do! My preference is instrumental music so I won’t be inclined sing along.
leighhr.bsky.social
The angel wanted me to know that Mom was moved by her service, “She loved hearing the piper play ‘Amazing Grace.’” I told the angel I made my aging Mom a promise on the day I walked in on her crying, alone, to the sound of bagpipers on her computer. “One will play for you, Mom.” She cried more.
service.to
leighhr.bsky.social
You must have met my husband.
leighhr.bsky.social
I rubbed #GreyfriarsBobby ‘s wee nose to send good luck to my friends back in L.A. and all over the U.S. Lots of love! #LosAngeles #Edinburgh #Scotland
leighhr.bsky.social
I want one of those! #minimexicancybertruck #betterthantheoriginal
leighhr.bsky.social
On our weekend trip to #Edinburgh, we learned of this surgeon who taught medical school. He was buried in #Greyfriars Kirkyard. His skeleton is surrounded by the tools of his trade while he still teaches from a textbook in his hand. #macabre #Scotland #tombstone
leighhr.bsky.social
We are, indeed, proud of the connection. 🙏❤️ Thank you.
bigjosh84.bsky.social
That’s an incredible connection—Bosie remains one of the most complex and pivotal figures in literary history. What a legacy to be linked to. Wilde’s love for him shaped some of the most hauntingly beautiful writing ever penned. 🖋️🌈
leighhr.bsky.social
Small tidbit: My husband’s great, great (or so) uncle, Lord Alfred Douglas, nickname “Bosie”, was his lover. #Pride #OscarWilde
bigjosh84.bsky.social
For #PrideMonth, I’m honoring Oscar Wilde—poet, wit, and rebel of beauty. His words defied shame and celebrated love with elegance and fire. Here are some Wilde-inspired pieces I’ve written in tribute. 💙🌈
#blueskypoets #pride #poems #OscarWilde
A decadent, gothic-style poem reflecting on a love that was both intoxicating and destructive. Inspired by Wildean beauty and ruin, it explores how sacredness can exist even in sin and heartbreak.

Velvet Ruins

Beneath the chandelier of guilt and gin,
I kissed a mouth that reeked of prayer and sin.
Your beauty staggered—opiate and bloom—
a velvet ruin aching to consume.

The glass decayed, the mirror told a lie:
you were the ghost that danced behind the sky.
I wore you like a tailored hurt—divine—
with roses rotting in their grand design.

You whispered truths like polished arsenic,
each vow a blade, each smile a clever trick.
I sang in silence while the saints looked on—
still drunk on dusk long after you were gone.

I did not flinch as love began to fade—
some sins are sacred, even as they’re made.
Alt Text:
A solemn, intimate poem written as a letter to a lost love punished for desire. Inspired by queer history and Oscar Wilde’s legacy, it mourns injustice and celebrates the resilience of forbidden love.

Epistle for the Forgotten

To the man I loved in shadows and in chains,
whose hands once held the hymn behind my veins,
I have buried your name beneath cathedral stones,
and wept in silence for your phantom tones.

They caged you not for crime but for desire,
as if love’s spark could not be kissed by fire.
I held your letters like forbidden psalms
your ache, your hunger folded into palms.

The world, so quick to brand and crucify,
has no soft place for men who bleed and cry.
Yet still I dream of you on nights like these,
when loneliness moves quiet through the trees.

May they forget the chains but not the flame
you were a storm, and I still speak your name.
A dark, elegant sonnet blending sharp wit and longing, reflecting a complex identity wrapped in glamour and defiance. This poem honors Oscar Wilde’s legacy of beauty, truth, and scandal in a modern voice.

The Last Wildean

I dress in shadow stitched with threads of gold,
a wit too sharp to pass for mere disguise.
Beneath my smile, a longing takes its hold
the orphaned truth that dances in my eyes.

I quote the stars, then drink their borrowed light,
a dandy’s mask adorned with bruised perfume.
My sins, though soft, still scandalize the night,
and bloom like roses torn too soon to bloom.

The world would trade all velvet for the whip,
yet shame still stutters when it speaks my name.
I sip from ruin’s cup with poised lip
half-ghost, half-laugh, half-love, and wholly flame.

Let marble gods condemn me if they must
I kissed the truth, though crowned in ash and dust. A poetic prose piece defending the beauty found in what society calls sin, embracing honesty and light in a world that often rejects both. Inspired by Wilde’s courage to shine despite hatred.

Brief Defense of the Beautiful Sin

Call it sin if you must, but I have worn it like silk—soft, scandalous, and shimmering in defiance. What they name vice, I name memory. I name longing. I name the breath held too long behind cathedral ribs. Beauty, they say, must behave. But I have seen beauty weep, kiss, and curse—and in that trembling, I found God.

They taught me to bury the parts that glittered; Wilde taught me to wear them. His mistake was not his love, but that he dared to be luminous in a room that hated the light.

And so yes, I defend the beautiful sin, not for its rebellion, but for its honesty. For its music. For the mirror it holds to the faces of the damned and says, “You are not ugly. You were never ugly. You were only honest in a dishonest world.”