Long Black eye Poems
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Kabul Has Fallen
Kabul has fallen
The news screams
Kabul has fallen
In less than two weeks
The intel officers
Got it so wrong
Everyone said
That Kabul would not fall
That the center would hold
Yet Kabul fell
Faster than anyone thought
It would
The right-wing media
Are having a field day
Screaming
Who lost Afghanistan
As if it was ours
To begin with
The Taliban
Are playing it cool
Taking control
Letting the Americans
Leave the country
The Taliban are back
Will they be vicious
As before?
Have they learned
A lesion?
Only time will tell
History they say
Does not repeat
But it does rhyme
And the fall of Saigon
Resonates in the air
As flights flee
The fallen city
The Taliban gleefully
Taking over
And America has another black eye
A failure of leadership
A failure of vision
A failure to understand
And a failure ultimately
Of American might
Even American
For all of its power
Cannot control
Another land
So, Kabul falls
American power weakens
Politics divide us
Our enemies rejoice
In their victory
Against the arrogant Americans
Ending Pax America
And America being back
Kabul has fallen
And we can not do anything
To take it back
Thousands of died
But for what?
In the end
We could not hold Kabul
For it was not ours to hold
Angry fists pommel a defenseless face;
racial slurs punctuating each black eye.
And as punches start to increase in pace,
a black man collapses; and boots let fly.
I've seen hate.
The needle twitches as you inject death;
while chasing a high, you slip into shock.
And overdosing, you gasp for each breath,
drowning in your vomit while strangers gawk.
I've seen fear.
Staring at the past as it disappears;
having lost yourself, you live on the street.
And a vacant look lingers past the tears,
as you sacrifice pride, and face defeat.
I've seen sad.
While an injured soldier cries out in pain,
a medic responds; undeterred by fear.
And his uniform is a blood-soaked stain;
as he tends to the wound, then drags him clear.
I've seen brave.
Icy currents grip the boy like a vise;
immediately, his mother jumps in.
And when frantic rubs no longer suffice,
she warms him up next to her naked skin.
I've seen love.
An infant is born an innocent dove;
with skin so soft it almost seems to melt.
And triggering unconditional love,
this babe embodies feelings deeply felt.
I've seen hope.
I have come to the end of my tether today and although you think I’m adorable
Enough is enough put your camera away for what you are doing is deplorable
You promised to take only three or four pics that you want for a memory book
Enough is enough no more coercing, or a black eye you’ll get from my left hook
Hear what I say just look into my eyes; I could be a heavyweight champ
Move in too close you will get a surprise, losing my fuse I’ll kick and I’ll stamp
Inside I'm smiling, a sweet little lad, but if I’m provoked what else can I do
Must nurture a smile without further ado; this look could cause fights to ensue
Peaceful at last no cameras in view, just you and me cuddling like we always do
Cooing and smiling, nothing to fear; it’s all on my face Mum I’d never hurt you
9th January 2019
Competition: Baby Face what’s you THINKIN - Baby B
Sponsor: James Edward Lee Sr
3rd placement
I’ve started writing letters,
I’m sure you have gotten many;
Women who threw themselves at you;
Those who hung on to everything,
and wrote down anything about you;
Women who’ve had you,
perhaps some you wish you had gotten to;
Perfect signatures but never
‘A lifetime ago, I loved you.’;
I’ve started writing letters,
Stories I meant to send you;
About those you’ve loved
and those you played into;
About who you may have given a rose;
or that girl, you know the one;
She caused a broken jaw,
a black eye, and a cuss
I’ve started spinning dirty magic,
woven crazy exotic tales,
I’ve started writhing letters
in hopes that someday you will be real.
Men with chains
Come on the lips of kisses
Vibrating warmth and passion
Kindness that lights the heart
With feelings alive, pouring out
Tender hope over the thoughts
Men with chains
Clinging together, preparing
To lock the locks
Turn the keys to the prison
Of dark longings
Men with chains
Quivering rage on the sullen embraces
Of blazing rage, piercing
Her dreams with a custody
That clips her wings
Men with chains
Remind her why she needs
She cries – she tries
To remember why
Beneath a black eye
Men with chains
Shadow even the heart
With storms, assaulting
The spirit’s deafening silence
She did not mean to kill him
But she did
A never before unknown self
Had risen from the bowels of preservation
He had approached her with a claw hammer
And something snapped
Possibly because she had already had three hospital visits
Black eye, broken jaw, bruised tibia, broken collar bone,
All accidents.
Oh no he would never hurt her
You saved yourself, her relatives told her. Good for you.
You are evil, his relatives told her. You deserve all kinds of punishments.
She was horrified,
Not realizing she had
This self-preservation in her.
The first two years had been wonderful before the beatings began.
She grieved those two years the ten years she was in prison.
I have a horrible secret my 13-year-old best friend confided to me one day at school.
We were between class, and we had two minutes to sprint to our next class, as per the rule.
In opposite directions off course.
I did not hear anything the teacher said that day,
I had wanted to hear my friend, not hear him drool, or look at his hair of fuzz.
He called on me once, and everyone laughed. I had no idea what the question was.
Leukemia? Cancer? My mind was in overdrive.
After school I caught up with her right before she dove into her mother’s car.
What is it? I demanded, eyes big and wide. “Not here,” she told me. “Maybe inside.”
I tried again after I climbed in the car, but she shook her head ‘no’, hushing me.
My mind was going haywire, with the things it could be. Drugs? Her? Could not be.
I telephoned her the second I got inside my house.
What is it? I hollered. “Are you okay?” I was thinking thief, convict, killer, by now.
My imagination was going absolutely a hundred percent berserk as only it knows how.
“I’m a…..”
I pressed my ear harder to the phone. A what?
“A sleepwalker,” she whispered.
I thought I had heard wrong.
A what?
“A sleepwalker,” she hissed.
And I began to laugh.
Sleepwalking is so common in my family, we thought we had invented it.
We sometimes bump heads in our family before we wake up, and I told her this too.
“Sleep walking is nothing,” I shared. “Wait until you have what I have, then you can really boo hoo.
I’m a sleep fighter.”
Ever since I was little if anyone tried to pick me up and carry me to bed,
I would come up swinging fists, straight toward their head.
My dad got a black eye once, when I was about eight,
Because he tried to pick me up in full sleep mode.
Mom tried to signal him, give him a code.
But by the time he caught on, he had a shiner from me.
I have been sleep fighting since the age of three.
We began laughing hysterically, my friend and I.
Sleepwalking is nothing when you are a sleep fighter.
If you do not believe me, you should give it a try.
Written July 19, 2018
Entered Sleepwalking Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: John Hamilton
hard lover
he claims to love you
yet you can't stop the tears
cos his brutality is written
all over you
how could you be still
in love with a woman beater
how could you prefer to cry
all night long
cos he is out there with another
woman
no this love must be hard
oh baby you are a
hard lover
hard lover
he claims to love you
yet he can't stop pushing
you around like a slave
he claims you are his one
and only
yet when you ask him of
the other girls he sleeps with
you have a black eye
just for opening up your mouth
how could this be love
when you are like a punch bag
all the time
how could you be this abuse
yet you are still in love
with an ugly coward
oh no this love must be hard
oh baby you are a
hard lover
hard lover
he claims to love you
but other girls keep showing up
in the apartment
he claims he loves you
yet he don't even remember
your birthday
either does he get you gifts
on Christmas
every time you look depress
so many time I see you unkept
you deprive your self a lot fun
always at home after work
preparing his meals always
while he is at another woman's arms
enjoying her warm breast
yet you keep waiting
hopeing for never coming change
for this love is hard as you are a
hard lover
hard lover
he claims he loves you
alot of times he tells you
how much he can't do without you
yet alot of times he cheat on you
despite you know
you prefer forgiveness over caution
somany years you have spent
trying to change a monster to a
good guy
that he never and will never want
to be
so many ways you have sacrificed
alot of your valuable trust
just to put things right
yet the monster is not
appreciative
he got no plans for you
either are you on his agenda
yet despite all
you remain faith full
your heart remains harder and harder
as always you are a
hard lover
Do not mistake me for a Bear.
True, I look like one, but my features
Resemble those of a raccoon.
Unlike the hulking Grizzly Bear,
I'm not an aggressive meat lover.
I couldn't be more peaceful!
I enjoy a plant-based diet.
Give me a bamboo any day!
No, I don't mind berries, fruit, flowers,
Grasses, bark, and small animals.
Never think "Bear" when you see me!
I do not hibernate;
I simply relax and sleep out in the open.
We couldn't look more different!
Bears wear uniform colors:
Brown, black, or white.
I, on the other hand,
Don a black and white coat
With a prominent black eye markings.
I'm one of the rarest and shyest...
Of wild animals; a solitary beast from China.
I live in cold and damp conditions,
But my dense, waterproof coat
Gives me absolute protection.
An extremely agile climber, I escape...
Larger predators with ease.
I'm a glutton that spends
Two-thirds of my waking hours eating.
Here's a bit more about me...
I stand 5' ft erect.
As a female, I'm shorter in stature.
I weigh up to 265 lbs.
As a female, I weigh less.
I give birth to usually one cup.
Did I mention I'm not a Bear?
Date written: 06/12/2023
When I imagined what it would
be like to be a writer,
I saw myself hunched over a
typewriter with bourbon on the
rocks sweating a ring onto my desk.
I could smell the ink on my fingers
and feel the burn of alcohol in my gut
and hear the keys clapping, a standing ovation
for the poor sad boy who wrote wings onto
his back and flew away from the red mud county.
But it's quiet here.
I sit alone at my desk and I reach into my guts
and I grab fistfuls of blood and viscera
and the keys don't move
I choke up the rage my father left in me
and the keys don't move
I cut out the fear my mother so lovingly placed
and the keys don't move
I drag out every black eye, bloody nose, and split lip I ever earned, every fight I lost, every single argument I had, every sunset I was a brother beneath, every truck cab I ever fell in love in and
THE KEYS DO NOT MOVE