Author: A. Long

Hello God, It’s Me

Posted on by A. Long

Hello God, it’s me

its going on day three and

still my baby won’t sleep

I cradle him close to my chest

steadily tap

rhythm on his back

like that of a rocking ship

the downbeat of the bass

we syncopate with the slow motion of gravity’s pull

back and forth

until

his angry flailing lulls

still restless I feed him my dreams

since circumstance has taken my breasts

I hold him closer to my now flattened chest

and smoothly sing this prayer

let my voice be the milk

that fills his little belly

let it be like honey

so that he may never go hungry

loud enough to mask

the dissonance of gunshots

down by the deli

please help him sleep quietly

and I will sing

nina simone, etta james, and ella

into the unholy hours of the morning

before the daily grind of the laborer begins

I will sing

until the day he walks upright

kingly

no longer needs me

to get through the night

I will sing calmly to let the devils know

that God blesses the child

of the mother

who works hard to give him his own

nineteen pounds, dark brown

after snaking his small fist into the fold under my arm

and pinching my fat lightly

on night three

of wrestling

finally

Finally, we sleep

There are times when I can’t move

Posted on by A. Long

There are times when I can’t move.

I feel roots of mine everywhere,
as though all things were born of me,
or as though I were born of all things.

All I can do then is to stay still
with eyes open like two faces at the moment of birth,
with a small amount of love in one hand
and something cold in the other.

And all I can give someone passing by me
is that motionless absence
that has roots in him too.

–Roberto Juarroz, Argentina

Utica Ave.

Posted on by A. Long

hectic street

scandalous

dollar vans

gypsy cabs

jovial juve

thugs slink

ripple of looks

watch the horde

march by

white castle

the parkway

bobby’s

jerk chicken

expendable

please

with the excuses

they’re just misunderstood youths

unlimited stop

two fare zones

from home

defenseless to the ghetto

spit out a diss

be different

pioneer

something new

ice grill if you have to

but be yourself

and nothing else

 

5. From The Book Of David: dancer

Posted on by A. Long

I have ruled

for forty years,

seven in hebron

thirty-three in Jerusalem

 

I have lain under the stars

and dreamed of foreign women.

I have dreamed my legs around them,

dancing.

 

some nights,

holding them in the dream,

I would feel us

swallowed by the sky.

 

lately I have begun to bed

with virgins,

their round breasts warm

to an old man.

 

I hold my seed

still plentiful as stars.

it is not my time.

 

somewhere something is choosing.

I can feel it dancing in me,

something to do with

virgins and with stars.

 

I am grown old and full of days.

my thighs are trembling.

what will the world remember,

what matters to time,

I wonder,

the dancer or the dance?

–Lucille Clifton

The Call: Part One

Posted on by A. Long

I am the coming development

envelopment of progress, oh yes

that vacant lot you park your rental benz

in front of is embarking

I’ve been called on from city government high

to cut down the weeds sprouted into trees

clear the land, so to speak

trash, discarded shopping carts, and birthday cards

to be tucked deep

into your memory

Make way for the gentrified mortar and bricks of an

Aid-Rite… “Your Get Right In A Hurry”

don’t take offense this is just business

a much bigger family than your province

Look we care  for the urban community

creating all these jobs, revenue, and unity

breaking down this ugly eye sore of a vacant lot

for crisp

clean

profit

Stop it

we don’t have time

for your repine

you can’t fight the new world order

with your skewed cognizance

You could’ve built a playground or a garden

a community hub to grow-in

instead

you have chosen

to languish

weaken

on a stoop with $5 Chinese food when

Lucky Garden

sells their colorful candy packs

next to the fruity cigar wraps

and condoms

because those are the

products your people perpetuate

the children your people germinate

the fat, fucked, and lazy

spitting them out like vending machines with hood dreams

you think you can lay claim to those blocks you don’t own

no assets no appreciation

a mortgage not even a rent note

little do you know

I can flood these streets with police

trumped up charges and property leans

un-subsidized loans

unpaid taxes

I can take your home

I am what’s next

I am revitalization

there will be no more dead lots and drug spots

the path of my destruction will enter

it will either leave you in jail

or in the system swallowing repetition until you’re too old to function

in the meantime

we’ve secretly siphoned social security and that bullshit retirement fund

so please

lose focus

it won’t make a difference

I am

still coming

 

 

 

Poem For Black Boys (With special love to James)

Posted on by A. Long

Where are your heroes, my little Black ones
You are the Indian you so disdainfully shoot
Not the big bad sheriff on his faggoty white horse

You should play run-away-slave
Or Mau Mau
These are more in line with your history

Ask your mothers for a Rap Brown gun
Santa just may comply if you wish hard enough
Ask for CULLURD instead on Monopoly
DO NOT SIT DO NOT FOLLOW KING
GO DIRECTLY TO STREETS
This is a game you can win.

As you sit there with all your understanding eyes
You know the truth of what I’m saying
Play Back-to-Black
Grow a natural and practice vandalism
These are useful games (some say a skill even learned)

There is a new game I must tell you of
Its called Catch The Leader Lying
(and knowing your sense of the absurd you will enjoy this)

also a company called revolution has just issued a special kit for little boys called Burn Baby
I’m told it has full instructions on how to siphon gas and fill a bottle

Then our old friend Hide and Seek becomes valid
Because we have much to seek and ourselves to hide from a lecherous dog

And this poem I give is worth much more than any nickle bag or ten cent toy
And you will understand all too soon
That you, my children of battle, are your heroes
You must invent your own games and teach us old ones how to play.
4/2/67……..

–Nikki Giovanni

Sticky Note Quotes

Falling Short

Quote | Posted on by A. Long

Avoid the bad habit of domesticating the prophet of your choice, turning him into a cheerleader for your way of thinking and way of life. Remember that all the great prophets were courageous and outrageous folks who railed against the powers-that-be, challenged self-satisfied piosity, threatened the prevailing social order, and would find you falling short in some significant ways.

–Parker J. Palmer

Ode To Mom

Posted on by A. Long

more lovely than anyone

light on a dark road

backbone, best friend

rebel flower

they could all drown in a pond of our laughter

hereafter

teach me to be like you

straight to the chase

bold in the face

anointed

a woman who knows her place is wherever she chooses

hustler

no comparison

my aspiration to be

you know they say we look like you

and i accept that proudly