Author: A. Long

Wishing

Posted on by A. Long

here’s to not dying today

woke up again

still pissed that the sun rose 

I’m just really really really

not a morning person.

seriously.

if there was an option

to bury all morning people in a box

I’d do it

then carry on with my

miserable commute

haven’t lashed out at my mom lately

gotten into a fight

nope i am living 

good and boring

the way the Church intended

think about it

only exciting lives skirt around death

tempting to pants him

long life is a supposed sign of heavenly blessing

Church mandates state

you should keep your hands to yourself

quit messing with death

he’s secular and cantankerous

we don’t know who’s next

I’m vexed 

cause death’s party is poppin

the soul isn’t willing

& the flesh is already weak

i see the life i want to live

and know the risks

but without passion and pain

i don’t wish to wake up again.

 

 

Orchids

Posted on by A. Long

Orchids are ugly Orchids1 (3)

in the way that i bare me 

under pustules before blisters

is beauty

wilting

is any of this getting through clearly

i know that he knows that I’m pretty

doesn’t mean i feel it

i know i am naked as a peeled back onion

thousand hungry eyes

but only he sees me 

a sunflower in a field of roses 

i don’t want the recognition 

attention

adoration 

just want him to look at me 

Drums

Posted on by A. Long

Drums don’t beat. Hearts do. Hearts can’t break. Bones do. Bones don’t bend. Rivers do. Rivers don’t judge. People do. People don’t know how much I love you.

I do. 

Malcolm X–An Autobiography

Posted on by A. Long

I am the Seventh Son of the Son

who was also the Seventh.

I have drunk deep of the waters of my ancestors

have traveled the soul’s journey towards cosmic harmony,

the Seventh Son.

Have walked slick avenues

and seen grown men, fall, to die in a blue doom

of death and ancestral agony,

have seen old men glide, shadowless, feet barely

touching the pavements.

 

I hustler. I pimp. I unfulfilled Black man

bursting with destiny.

New York city Slim called me Big Red,

and there was no escape, close nights of the smell of death.

Pimp. hustler. The day fills these rooms.

I am talking about New York. Harlem.

talking about the neon madness.

talking about ghetto eyes and nights

talking about death protruding across the room. Small’s paradise.

talking about cigarette butts, and rooms smelly with white sex flesh,

and dank sheets, and being on the run.

talking bout cocaine illusions, about stealing and selling.

talking about these New York cops who smell of blood and money.

–by Larry Neal

You Left Me In A Lumberyard Last Night

Posted on by A. Long

rustle rustle goes the night

rustle rustle goes my knees trying to get right

goes my arms trying to steal warmth

goes the snipping critters looking for a bite

 

you left me in a lumberyard last night

 

cuddled up to wet kindle

heart splintered like a useless piece of wood

shrapnel in my hands and cheek

industrial steel covers for sheets

night creeps

discarded trash speaks

 

i think, voice box cracked

weak

from calling your name

that I am lost in a manufactured dead forest

waiting for you to reclaim

me

if I am solid the creatures that  be

won’t find the hiding place

I miss your quiet face,

still like wood

scavenging through the dust & debris

I will make fire

let the wood face cook the cold away

it was cold when you left me

chuck in chunks of my lumber prison

I guess I’ll call this yard home now

this & that petrified stack

will be the bedroom where the moon used to make room for you

 

I thought I mattered more than a tattered doll

forgotten and ignored

left under humble rubble

 

rumble rumble goes the night

rumble rumble goes fear’s appetite

goes rowdy, rough boys looking for a fight

 

i shiver into a corner trying not to be seen

im scared and alone

in this processed jungle

needing a way out of the fallen log’s bowel

I’ll build a tower of babel

with reconstructed self esteem

as an escape

Limber up hacked limbs of timber

the timbre clanging as I climb to the heavens

to find you

 

ring ring goes the night

ring ring goes the alarms of my flight

goes my resolve

goes my hemorrhaging heart from love’s sight

Alarm Clock Blues

Posted on by A. Long

I opened my eyes and not to my surprise

My alarm clock didn’t ring

Stapled to the bed my body slept

When thoughts into my head crept

I just wanted to crawl back into the

Somberness of sleep

Feel my fantasies come alive

Without the actuality of living them

 

10 minutes too early I hear imaginary ticks

 

1 minute in the questions roll in

Thick as the goose down blanket

I used to block it out but the

Feather thin questions keep slippin in

What are you doing?

You are half awake in a world that is comatose

Why do you insist on an overdose of their sedatives?

Why don’t you live and take your dreams with you?

 

Minute 2

I survive the first attack and make a quick move

But my whole body is a 10 bowling ball sack

Forcing me to list to more what if’s and maybe’s

What if that little girl running down the road

Understood that when she woke up her life was to erode

Into the military violence forced on her by the Sudanese government?

Maybe in her sleep she’d a heard her mother’s muffled screams?

Heard the Janjaweed Janjaweed shout?

Saw another way out before the devil horse ran her down?

 

Its about 3 minutes now

How could he sitting on his pillow soft cotton bed

Wake with the singular thought to put a gun to his head

Call his girl on the phone                    tell her he missed her

Then pull the trigger?

Did the red bandana dye seep into his mind?

Tell him bloodshed is the only way to serve his country

 

Minute 4

What are we fighting for?

Will a black president

Set the precedent for success

Or will the excess lies

That were ostracized

During Bush’s reign

Rain on his parade?

 

Minute 5 arrives

Why did God wake me before the alarm clock that lies by my side?

Does the Lord know that I tried to hide during the night?

Will I always feel as warm as these orange stripped covers?

What if my best is not the best?

What if I rise so fast that I fall like bricks?

 

Minute 6 only minute 6

Why are these ticks not clicking quick enough?

Why don’t you just stand up? Or should I kneel & pray?

Should I live for Him? Or should I live for those who won’t live for Him?

 

7 minutes pass in this hellish heaven

Someone had to have woken up in love this morning

Right?

 

Minute 8

Can’t the suffering wait?

 

Minute 9

It’s a clean slate

No thoughts

Just wavering sleep

Feeling the density of the room’s hands

Pressing on my back

Moving up the sheets

to where the intrusive

alarm clock rings