Between Dusk and Dawn (Writing as Curiosity)

Photo taken from the WEB

Photo taken from the WEB

 

 

BETWEEN DUSK AND DAWN
 
If I should die
In the hours between
Dusk and dawn when
The silence of howling sea breezes
And melancholy of chirping crickets
Prevail—
I will sing a song of contentment
While sipping from a hot cup of tea
In my grandpa’s old rocking chair
By the open window.
 
© 2014 by Charles Banks, Jr.
Writing as Curiosity
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Solace (Writing as Black Angel)

Sad_Hoodie_Boy_by_consciousimage

 

Solace

To tune out the horrid sounds
of the outside world,
I will do anything!
It should be outlawed to openly discuss
celebrity tweets and political scandals.
Well, at least outside of coffee shops,
sports bars on Super Bowl Sunday,
and crowded Irish pubs on St. Patrick’s Day.
Such extraneous talk is not worth absorption.
I’ll settle for a dingy gray hoodie,
Beats headphones
blaring a symphony of Marshall Mathers
my encomium transmitters
of pertinent information
an outlet from impurity and bullshit.

© 2014 by Charles Banks, Jr.
Writing as Black Angel

Never Fade Away (Writing as Curiosity)

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Never Fade Away
Never fade into the abyss
Never drift in the breeze like a falling leaf.
Always rise above avalanches of distraction
Always drift with direction.
Never fade like the last rays of daylight
Never drift on a broken sailboat in shallow waters.
Always shine brightly in the imminence of darkness
Always captain your ship during treacherous storms.
Never fade with the most impossible of ambitions
Never drift on your disbelief.
Always cling to your hopes and dreams
Always savor each victory like fine wine.
Never fade and never waver
Never drift and never fold.
Always shine and always stand sturdy
Always have purpose and always win.
© 2013 by Charles Banks, Jr.
Writing as Curiosity

Disadvantage (Writing as Black Angel)

Photo taken from the WEB
DISADVANTAGE
My freedom to scribe is my only effect.
Without it, I border the shores of insanity.
I cling to it like a newborn to its mother.
Without it, I park my emotions on the nearest pier
and sit, wallowing in the thousands of tiny regrets
that devour me on a daily basis.
They have eaten so much that decayed bones
are all that remain of my true self.
There is a war that looms ahead, I can sense it.
I stand on one side with my pen ready to bludgeon.
A thousand qualms oppose me, ready to strike.
And my freedom to scribe is thrust in the middle,
playing the role of peacemaker.
© 2014 by Charles banks, Jr.
Writing as Black Angel
Excerpt from Burdens
Published by Spilt Ink Poetry

Flee (Writing as Black Angel)

Photo taken from the WEB

Photo taken from the WEB

 

FLEE

I am slipping
deeper and deeper
into this asylum
I call it my mind.

How do I escape?
Long enough to grab a smoke
and catch a fresh breath.
I promise to return once my time is up.

But the sun sets on my optimism
and the dusks of reality cascade over me.

I am slipping
deeper and deeper
into this windowless room
I call it my misery.

© 2014 by Charles Banks, Jr.
Writing as Black Angel
Excerpt from Burdens
Published by Spilt Ink Poetry.

Just How (Writing as Black Angel) Excerpt from “Burdens”

Photo taken from the WEB

Photo taken from the WEB

JUST HOW

How am I supposed to reach for the sky
When I know a storm lurks in the distance?

How do I entrust my faith in a God
When uncertainty always overpowers me?

How am I supposed to French kiss with life
When the thrill of adultery has vanished?

How do I embody a father’s dream
When doubt sinks me like the Titanic?

How am I supposed to appreciate fireworks
When I am blind to color?

How do I trust in a desert visual
When I know that mirages exist?

How am I supposed to believe in love
When it hurts so unbearably to trust?

How do I reach out to a sick mother
When forgiveness escapes me?

© 2014 by Charles banks, Jr.
Writing as Black Angel

Excerpt from “Burdens.”
Published by Spilt Ink Poetry

Bittersweet Blizzard (Writing as Black Angel)

Photo taken from the WEB

Photo taken from the WEB

 
Bittersweet Blizzard
 
Such chaotic intrusions—
 
Loud voices
Antagonize me
With the intent to dispirit.
 
An abrupt suspension—
 
Hushed voices
Soothe me
With a massage of comfort.
 
© 2013 by Charles Banks, Jr.
Writing as Black Angel