Poems

Come Back

Posted on by A. Long

watching you leave is like burning an angels wings

bring water to the scorched place

where hope springs

Come back,

I think you forgot a kiss

your heart

your charger, glasses, burdens, house keys, phone,

head,

a lighter

a back rub

a hug

a plate of food

an embrace and a song

wrap it up in your pocket for later

when the out there slams your wrists

backs you into a corner

pilfering your happiness

Unfold what i have held for you

just like this

dab a little on your lips like sunshine

and let it soak in

remembering your space in here

where all the things you lay to rest

live.

–Ciane The Knight

This One Hair

Posted on by A. Long

this one hair is connected to the universe

this one hair forcing it’s way out of the back of my thigh

has unseen ties to the fabric of reality

this one hair back there is freaking me out

its coil is curling through space and time

i tried to shave it down but it grew back strong

i tried to pluck it and ended up unraveling ancient tapestries

it’s long and  thick

and perfectly isolated on an island of brown skin

i think the other day when i tugged at it, it growled at me

what hair is this

where did you even come from

did you escape from my nana’s mane or some other ancestry

if i destroy you will you bleed

or would the world unfold

little hair down there

tell me the secrets of dimensions and dark matter

let’s master creation together

since the length of your follicle i bet

is rooted at the foot of God’s kingdom

I Know My Soul

Posted on by A. Long

I plucked my soul out of its secret place,

And held it to the mirror of my eye,

To see it like a star against the sky,

A twitching body quivering in space,

A spark of passion shining on my face.

And I explored it to determine why

This awful key to my infinity

Conspires to rob me of sweet joy and grace.

And if the sign may not be fully read,

If I can comprehend but not control,

I need not gloom my days with futile dread,

Because I see a part and not the whole.

Contemplating the strange, I’m comforted

By this narcotic thought: I know my soul.

–Claude McKay

 

Find A Place To Touch

Posted on by A. Long

Tell me something I don’t know

dive deep into the honeycomb

excavate my secrets

lay me bare

give me more reasons to love you

Don’t touch there

that’s where the lies are buried

or here

or

anywhere really.

 

Africa

Posted on by A. Long

Thus she had lain

sugar cane sweet

deserts her hair

golden her feet

mountains her breasts

two Niles her tears

Thus she has lain

Black through the years.

Over the white seas

rime white and cold

brigands ungentled

icicle bold

took her young daughters

sold her strong sons

churched her with Jesus

bled her with guns.

Thus she has lain.

Now she is rising

remember her pain

remember the losses

her screams loud and vain

remember her riches

her history slain

now she is striding

although she had lain.

–Maya Angelou

There Will Be No Happy Resolution

Posted on by A. Long

Trust no man

liars weave fancy cloth

cut from razor steel

leaving the truth in their wake

There will be no happy resolution

no promises

Trust them not

just for yourself

but because the lies they birth

rip their bodies open

exposing a stubborn selfishness

no one can understand

Take heed and duck

i heard they carry beautiful bullets within their tongues

and breed with bitches in flea ridden sacks

They dye their lyes

 to match the shades of golden lilacs

Curl their glimmering smiles up at you

while they reach into their bag of tricks

& knick knacks

Don’t trust

careless people with sunshine dreams

 

Don’t Forget Me

Posted on by A. Long

No one will ever replace you inside

no one will ever erase you from my side

as the dawn breaks into light

i promise not to hide from your sight

as you turn, walk away

i can hear something say

don’t forget me

i won’t forget you

even though the distance in my heart

just pushes us apart

if you love let it go

need this time to grow

but this feeling i’ve never known

and the further you go

i can hear my heart scream

don’t give up on me

i can’t let go

even though we’ve been led down this road

because of the hardness your heart holds

 

maybe in another life

you and i can

make it right

right?

Once I Got A Postcard From The Fiji Islands

Posted on by A. Long

Once I got a postcrad from the Fiji Islands

with a picture of sugar cane harvest. Then I realized

that nothing at all is exotic in itself.

There is no difference between digging potatoes in

our Mutiku garden

ans sugar cane harvesting in Viti Levu.

Everything that is is very ordinary

or, rather, neither ordinary nor strange.

Far-off lands and foreign peoples are a dream,

a dreaming with open eyes

somebody does not wake from.

It’s the same with poetry–seen from afar

it’s something special, mysterious, festive.

No, poetry is even less

special than a sugar cane plantation or potatoe field.

Poetry is like sawdust coming from under the saw

or soft yellowish shavings from a plane.

Poetry is washing hands in the evening

or a clean handkerchief that my late aunt

never forgot to put in my pocket.

–Jaan Kaplinski, Estonia

translated by Riina Tamm, and Sam Hamill