Posts tagged Black Queer.

This is what your dying looks like.
You believe in the sun. You believe
I don’t love you. Always be closing,
Said our favorite professor before
He let the gun go off in his mouth.
I turned 29 the way any man turns
In his sleep, unaware of the earth
Moving beneath him, its plates in
Their places, a dated disagreement.
Let’s fight it out, baby. You have
Only so long left. A man turns
In his sleep, so I take a picture.
He won’t look at it, of course. It’s
His bad side, his Mr. Hyde, the hole
In a husband’s head, the O
Of his wife’s mouth. Every night,
I take a pill. Miss one, and I’m gone.
Miss two, and we’re through. Hotels
Bore me, unless I get a mountain view,
A room in which my cell won’t work,
And there’s nothing to do but see
The sun go down into the ground
That cradles us as any coffin can.

jericho brown, another elegy. (via black-poetry)

to summon up a son by reginald shepherd

For Joan Houlihan

Molded him out of shit and spit and love, mud
and a box of matchstick bones
to be my child, the son I’ll never have
to comfort my young age, ages from the here
and now of sunlessness (the deepest blizzard
ever written down), a week
of overcast, a month, a year, and snow
I had forgotten to remember
to forget. Mined him out of my scarred history
and stories stolen from late night songs
on FM radio, in stereo to call my son,
out of contaminated blood,
it’s dangerous to love these days
and nights of zero zero something or another
's coming. Something unpromised is coming,
something uncompromised, a something
wished for and given up, what was his name
I heard myself calling to supper? I hear him
calling father, further, faith in me, I thought
I heard him say wait for my signal to wake up
before you, or remember
who I might be, make me the apple that seizes
thine eye, heard him and then did not, my
never all over again. I made him stop, or maybe
that was my biohazard blood, said Closed
for business, please come back
another day (I’ll do my best not to die
till then), a week of rain when I had thought
I saw some children playing at being snow, a child’s
footprints in snow. Mixed him up
from memories and refrigerator magnets,
stirred up regrets and recompense, my confusion
made him shine, and rise, my son.

reginald shepherd
the american poetry review -  vol. 37 no. 5
2008

black-boys:

Another Morning With Darius, 2013. John Edmonds

Reading clouds beyond the road
I calculate our distance, survey
the space between our clothes
where rising curves and mountain
tug for air, touch, release.

You drive to the hairpin slope,
hesitate, turn up and in. We ride
on every naked fear you have
and discover that men like us
are not all granite, shale,
deceptive quartz, or
glittering layers of mica.

From here you see the whole world
differently: brownskin,
tufts of black grass.
And many times I have given myself
to summits like these.
Ride in, ride high.
Ride until the clouds break.

You will learn to read rain. You will
follow the white gravel it leaves.

melvin dixon, getting your rocks off. (via black-poetry)

the friend
reginald shepherd
november 92 - poetry magazine

brohogany:

We have to consciously study how to be tender with each other until it becomes a habit because what was native has been stolen from us. - Audre Lorde #houseofbaldwin #familia #twisting | photo: Marfuh

(via curmudgeoning)

I respond to urgency, to a sense of felt necessity, to passion.