My Poetry

The Ghetto Is A Silly Thing To Fear

Posted on by A. Long

The ghetto is a silly thing to fear

people scabbed into corners of buildings

trying to go on living

skeeved

you turn to run

suffocating on the scent of trash and weed

Loud music

we use it &

niggardly we

dance to the beat in the streets

shots ring hourly

like the clang of the Bell Of Liberty

ugly mugs hide

scarred childhoods

liberate yourself, leave if that’s all

you need to feel security

but believe you me

don’t think niggers

only reside

on the south side

of some city.

 

His Hands

Posted on by A. Long

 

 

his hands have changed

not sure why

but they are off somehow

the dimples and dips, are

all there

Three bruises from knuckle to wrist, five sprigs

of hair

bare palms

dancing veins

tendons

Nails are longer maybe, fingers steady

I count a medley of callused castles

on the right

Long life lines

on the left

ashen, slightly stiff

but they’re different still

I would know

twenty three freckles

the curve of his fingerprints

from tip to nook

cuts limping into fresh skin

Tender bones, how you have grown

Tell me your story

so that I may know him again.

 

For Nazir

Posted on by A. Long

My little brother has the sweetest dimples

as if honey dipped happiness puddles on his brown chin

Legs made to run and he’s barely one

I hope he’s quick

burdened by forever fitting the description

I hope he’s fast

with those slave feet

fast enough to beat a speeding mal-intent militant bullet

cruising through your hood in cruisers

I can’t breathe

imagining him laid out

like a Law & Order: SVU scene

flashing on the TV screen

The grand jury content with no indictment

Look, I’m no Al Sharpton

but

Fred Hampton,

Rodney King, Emmett Till,

Amadou Diallo, Ousmane Zongo, Timothy Stansbury,

Sean Bell, Bernard Bailey, Jahzeph Crooks, Tamir Rice, Eric Garner,

Akai Gurley, Oscar Grant III, Ernest Duenez, Christopher Middleton, Trayvon Martin, Michael Brown,

my  father, my cousin, my brother

They all deserve better

than a supped up militarized Jim Crow task force

The truth is

they shoot dissenters and threats down like dominoes

it takes too long to turn on the hose

get the dogs

and lynching ropes I guess

Cops kill boys that look like me

all natural haired and sun baked skin

suspect or not

no one wants to die here

Why does your split decision always shatter his life like porcelain

dolls tap dance on bloodied pavement

that all the world’s perfumes cannot sweeten

They unload clips

We turn on each other with weapons

and the violence

spins this world on it’s axis

What if I have a son…

What if I came home and my husband…

 

 

 

My Poetry, Poems, Short Poems

All That Is Me

Aside | Posted on by A. Long

untitled (2)all that is me
brown skin
thick hair
black mostly
blackheads
acne
beauty marks
scars
mild stretch marks
knuckles
fists
chipped nails devoid of flattering polish
all that is me
words
principles
deceit
restraint
determination
laziness
contradictions
expression

With all that is me how can they love this
inch closer
closer teensy bit
crawl to the truth
that only i know its hard
not to love you

I Can Do Bad All By Myself

Posted on by A. Long

woman-with-attitude-pinkHere emoting into a pillow

that won’t hold me back

I didn’t need new

when I had you.

Ramble on,

copper crystals

drip from his lips

hold no weight.

I am silver and spun honey

a caramelized glazed piece in the wind

remember that.

Nails break,

I don’t.

 

Stormy Weather

Posted on by A. Long

I awoke to the silence

asking it to quit talking

the voices

were worse than before

gasoline ignited frights shook me from my sleep

obnoxious ringing in my ear

its the pitter patter I hear

barraging my window in an endless echo

a choppy c note bangs on my heartstrings

I’m a loser

just drown me already

either put me out of my misery or save me

getting pushed further into the abyss

of my subconscious

conscientiously considering breaking down these walls

and burning hidden skeletons

how long can I hold on to this life raft

my arms are strong

conditioned

to pull others back from the brink

yesterday I stared into the deep

slept walked into the river

and then started to sink

fighting to breathe was too heavy

so I cried a lullaby

I sleep in the eye of a storm

a hurricane

that isn’t done

 

Trust

Posted on by A. Long

Trust me

like Pharaohs calling to rain clouds in a drought

Boundless grains of salt parch the Earth

I watch the skies open mouth

Trust me

as sure as death is to sing swiftly to cold bodies

Let’s make ours warmer

fill the space in the universe that propels us closer

The truth without trust

are only falsities lying in remission

repeating omissions

waiting for lies to come to fruition

Trust be nimble

& I’ll be Jack jumping back to the candle stack

that first lit these rhymes for you

Just trust

the way infants knowingly cling to their mothers

small fists of utter dependence

We sway with an unparalleled rhythm

and the pyramid kings have all gone home

I now call you to stand at your throne

I trust you to answer with that

regal swagger I know you have

This is me at my best

throwing down dented armor and all other guises

I trust you to tell me the truth

or do you not know what your disguise is?

Tucked in, patiently pacifying your disgust

I peer into your eyes sometimes

and only see what could’ve been

 

 

 

The Ghost In The Mirror

Posted on by A. Long

Who’s that ghost in the mirror

fighting through the pain of being alone

making friends with the walls

ignoring phone calls

falling into the floor to find feeling

reeling about how so much is missing

searching obituary listings, dissing

half ass acquaintances  who crossed over already

steady crying jaded tears and drinking beers

bitchin about an empty bed

a hollow kitchen

and a house that’s hardly lived in

pickin dirty dishes out of the sink to eat on

So long since kind words were spoken

silence sounds like broken pipes

bursted, rehearsed it,

that pretty smile fades

numb

as she jumps

off the stool in the living room

Fool, you can’t kill what’s been dead

said the lover

Get me out of your head

fleeting meetings of our heated greetings

are all at an end

bend back into the fold

ascend or stay

either way just do it with out me

learn to bleed

read between the lines

friends

you can allow yourself to live again

 

 

Nightstands Sing

Posted on by A. Long

on the nightstand are three empty shot glasses

she reaches across a squeaky mattress

to pour herself another

and another

until the levees break

such a cliché she thinks

slamming down a few more drinks

kicking the animal twisting in her covers

can you get out now

i prefer to sleep alone

he rolls onto his back, grabs his sneaks to leave

she tries to cuddle up with her sheets

but they smell of him

Throwing on some clothes

she stumbles onto the streets

as the clock reads 4am

the flood gates open

singing, voice booming with lightening

so loud

she doesn’t even realize she’s screaming

the city deaf blind and dumb to her pain

wandering, lusting for connection

spiraling into a migraine

she falls into a tricky building

enraged she kisses her forehead to the bricks

They call her gorgeous

They call her brown eyes and silk for how she feels

in that moment she might’ve wanted to die

but she stopped short of an concussion

banging her head like percussion

shook a few screws loose

nameless she couldn’t

remember her address

just this lingering scent of a boy’s shirt

lost

she searched for him long gone

passed out on a park lawn

caked in her own juices

found by the  day

bathed in sunlight

knowing she was alone now

more than ever

They call her sugar and grit

They call her baby and Ms. Independent

And she’s got children somewhere

that should call her mother