CURIOSITY AND BLACK ANGEL’S AUDIO POETRY!!!!

Good evening ladies and gentlemen, I hope you all are having a wonderful day or night! A quick update, I am offering audio performances of my poetry on Facebook.com and on ReverbNation! Links will follow at the end of this entry! Once again, I thank everyone who is constantly reading my work. Your support is felt. Also, my fourth book of poems, End of the Road is set to be released in January. I hope you all buy a copy.

Let us all share in love and peace!

– Charles Banks, Jr.

https://www.facebook.com/pages/Black-Angel-and-Curiosity/223003214420741?sk=app_2405167945

https://www.reverbnation.com/blackangelcuriosity

© 2011 by Charles Banks, Jr. Writing as CURIOSITY. (Cover Art Mastered by Selena Howard)

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Then and Now (Curiosity)

Photo taken from the WEB

THEN AND NOW

On top of soft, seductive verbs, we used to make love:

Yearn

Collide

Thrust

Love—

From cruel and far distances, we used to exchange texts:

Aimless

Tawdry

Steamy

Text messages—

On top of malicious, spiteful adjectives, we now make hate:

Hurtful

Slanderous

Deliberate

Hate—

From forgiving, close proximity, we now share in the end:

Mutual

Inevitable

Divorce

The end…

© 2011 by Charles Banks, Jr.

Writing as CURIOSITY

Untitled Poem (Curiosity) What Should The Title Be?

Photo Taken from the WEB

UNTITLED POEM

And October will always be the cruellest month,

for it homes the bastard child we conceived,

with a love so impure, it will surely doom our

unborn seed, who is nourished by hurtful deceit,

nurtured in the belly of a Judas.

The slit between madness and legibility has diminished;

my solace is restless these days.

It wafts in the drunken air that blows comfort into my poetry,

and drowns in a river of salty sadness.

I have covered the distance between madness and legibility;

and have conquered the stripped fields amid,

a space where deprivation is acquainted with normalcy.

October will always be the cruellest month…

Now, my words are home where we once stayed together,

Sophie can feel the creases and wrinkles of me

among my stanzas and around the curve of my honesty.

She listens to my murmurs,

She dwells in the lyrical content of my odes to her beauty.

I, too, embellish my verses with her smile.

…and October will always be the cruellest month,

for it homes the bastard child we conceived,

with a love so impure, it will surely doom our

unborn seed, who is nurtured in the belly of a Judas.

Now I die once again.

© 2011 by Charles Banks, Jr.

Writing as CURIOSITY

2011 Photo by Derrick Denton

Petite (Writing as Curiosity)

Photo Taken from the WEB
 
Mighty small, petite mon amie
I wish to approach thee, but you seem
To be so deep in a private thought.
And even if I did, when I’d stand before you,
My mouth would become sewed shut—
I’d hyperventilate, and choke on the whimsical salutation
I wish to whisper to you.
 
So I remain distanced,
Silently admiring your petite frame of thought.
 
© 2013 by Charles Banks, Jr.
Writing as CURIOSITY
 
Excerpt from Concrete Promises
Published by Spilt Ink Poetry

Pain Falls (Curiosity)

Photo taken from the WEB

PAIN FALLS

Rain, rain, rain—

No ray of hope

No pill to help one cope

Just the sound of intense rainfall

bashing against helpless for sale signs,

streaming down rusty rooftop pipes,

clanking against satellites and telephone poles.

All I hear are tears slamming

against my window as I trace them

one by one as they fall before me.

I feel a hurricane on

the horizon; the wind gusts

change my tear’s direction—

I have to retrace the drops.

Rain, rain, rain—

No ray of hope

No pill to help one cope

Just the sound of intense pain fall.

© 2011 by Charles Banks, Jr.

Writing as CURIOSITY

© 2011 Photo by Derrick Denton, for Caution Tape Poetry

Captain Savior (By Curiosity)

CAPTAIN SAVIOR

He beats her with emotional jabs,

Sets her up with the charming left,

Then the dashing right comes promptly after.

He punctures her gentle soul with splinters,

Slowly sucking away her grace.

She is blinded by youthful love,

Unable to register the truth.

Time and time again,

She is made out to be the fool,

Oblivious to all his goddamn lies.

The dishonesties tear her to shreds,

Crumbling a once pure-hearted woman

To her freshly scabbed knees.

It is my job,

To restore faith upon her soul.

It is my job,

To lay my hand upon her heart

And give life to her wavering spirit.

My job is to pull the wool from her eyes

And force her to accept the truth.

My job is to wipe away the salty tears

And bandage the scars left behind

From the emotional jabs of past love.

© 2011 by Charles Banks, Jr.

Writing as CURIOSITY