Poems

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

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?

Horse By Moonlight For Juan Soriano

Posted on by A. Long

A horse escaped from the circus

and lodged in my daughter’s eyes:

there he ran circles around the iris

raising silver dust-clouds in the pupil

and halting sometimes

to drink from the holy water of the retina.

Since then my daughter feels a longing

for meadows of grass and green hills…

waiting for the moon to come

and dry with its silk sleeves

the sad water that wets her cheeks.

—Alberto Blanco, Translated by Jennifer Clement

Don’t Ask Me Who I Am

Posted on by A. Long

dont ask me who i am, i

wont tell you, cant

& dont put your goddamn con–

descending paws around

me for the sake of

“existential brotherhood”

no words mean, thats why…

no words mean standing on a corner

in another world

no words mean…

(Someone falling

to his heart in filth)

or become because i wont become

(Rats rounding corners

like locomotives)

what you think i am

the only open door

is the door to man

—James A. Randall Jr.

 

Black Boy Sings The Blues

Posted on by A. Long

in the piazza square

among the bustling streets

where industry and avenues meet

where the homely or happy greet

anxious merchants

hangs a sound above the noise

wailing in the top ground

like a rhythm blues booze hound

calling for the freedom he’s never known

He sings of love lost

and a few dollars are pried from strangers passing by

alerted by his cries

He sings

of oceans swelling and dreams so loudly

it carries over the now whispering crowds

until it resonates through his sneakers and into the concrete

a conduit for his melodic screams

He continues to sing as if music were the only thing

keeping his heart from bursting

or the Earth rotating

What kind of fool do you take me for he says

and I need you he says

until his street chalice runneth over with imparted gold nuggets

and then black boy packed up his carryings

abandoning us in his blues

while we bid him sing

 

Past The Moons

Posted on by A. Long

he dreamed of a place
past the moons
and cuckolds of his heart
where he and his lady could bask
in the warped rhapsody of their love
a story told an untold times
mounted against him
So he waited
strangled by principle
he waited for the revolution
to scream aloud with his bloody fist
in the air, in the name of all he held dear
for the sins to be unearthed
to labor for his children
and die a warrior
He waited for danger
to kill and spite his country
a gladiator in another time with another her
If only she were aware of the way he’d
bare knuckled three armed guards outside
her bedroom window
or how he stayed up all night
tending the fires so that she’d never know cold
or loneliness
but it never came
It passed him over in every century
a philosopher a teacher an artist
a woman an apprentice a poet
a lawyer a father a nurse
a dancer a devil a leader and a criminal
all couldn’t break character
not even for an instant did he
dispel a silent oath for anarchy
He perished unfulfilled and unsung
for generations
wondering what he had done
why visions of valor never came to be
why he needed the fight
why he dreamed of this
lady’s beauty
every night

The Peace of Wild Things

Posted on by A. Long

Bruce Onobrakpeya

Bruce Onobrakpeya

When despair grows in me

and I wake in the middle of the night at the least sound

in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,

I go and lie down where the wood drake

rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.

I come into the peace of wild things

who do not tax their lives with forethought

of grief. I come into the presence of still water.

And I feel above me the day-blind stars

waiting for their light. For a time

I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.

— by Wendell Berry