Blindfolded Jabs (Writing as Black Angel)

 

Blindfolded Jabs

My back was firmly against a cold brick wall
Of course I let life box me in.
I knew I had fighter’s blood runnin’ through my veins
Of course it was poisoned when I started poppin’ Tylenol.
The boulders were too heavy to carry on my shoulders.

I felt trapped behind bars in jail
Of course the bail was too steep a price.
My cold, poetic stanzas were graffiti on the cell’s walls
Of course I was goin’ insane in captivity.
The expectations had rendered my creativity useless.

I was stunned by a sharp left jab
Of course I regained my composure.
A swift right hook proceeded to paralyze my physique
Of course I remained out for the count.
The thought of quittin’ looked oh, so sexy.

I stared in the mirror at my busted façade
Of course I entertained the idea of conceding life.
I woke in the middle of the night to cold sweats
Of course the blindfold finally came off.
The stars in my eyes were so revealing.

© 2013 by Charles Banks, Jr.
Writing as Black Angel

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Bittersweet Blizzard (Writing as Black Angel)

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

Head Above Water (Writing as Curiosity)

     Photo taken from the WEB

 

 

Head above Water

You’ve seen me at my absolute worst

You’ve seen my obvious imperfections

You’ve seen me at rock bottom.

 

Now see me clean and smitten for life!

 

You’ve seen me slip on banana peels

You’ve seen my shaky judgment

You’ve seen me make alleyway transactions.

 

Now see me clean and smitten for life!

 

You’ve seen me fall prey to pills

You’ve seen my demons firsthand

You’ve seen me in my beggar’s state.

 

Now see me clean and smitten for life!

 

You’ve seen me throw around denial

You’ve seen my waned confidence

You’ve seen me at my absolute dirtiest.

 

Now see me clean and smitten for life!

 

© 2013 by Charles Banks, Jr.

Writing as Curiosity

Angel’s Passion (Five-Year Anniversary)

Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. Yesterday, October the sixth, marked the five-year anniversary of my second book of poetry, Angel’s Passion being published by PublishAmerica. Time sure has elapsed in such a quick manner. In celebration of this milestone date in time, I will be posting five poems from the book. I hope you enjoy! Once more, I am grateful to everyone that has continued to visit my poetry blog. I know you have plenty of other choices.

– Charles Banks, Jr.

 

Here’s the synopsis of Angel’s Passion:

“From the mind and heart of Charles Banks Jr. comes a poetic story of escaping the past and embracing the bright and vibrant light at the end of the tunnel. Angel’s Passion is the tale of a unique individual (Black Angel) who is lost within the confines of a self-inflicted dark tunnel. The tunnel is cold and is a constant reminder of the mistakes he has made in life. The tunnel of darkness serves as a greenhouse effect, a suppression of emotions, confliction of a confused mind, and a beacon of eternal despair. For Black Angel to escape this tunnel of darkness, the following are needed: love, freedom of spirituality, and self-understanding.”

 

Angel’s Passion can be found on Amazon.com: http://www.amazon.com/Angels-Passion-Charles-Banks-Writing/dp/1606727931/ref=sr_1_12?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1381162820&sr=1-12&keywords=Angel%27s+Passion

Angel’s Passion can also be found at Barnes and Noble.com: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/angels-passion-charl-banks-jr-writing-as-black-angel/1014803448?ean=9781606727935

As well as PublishAmerica.net: http://www.publishamerica.net/product11312.html

Published by PublishAmerica, LLLP.

Secret Affair (Writing as Curiosity)

A naïve man was trapped, wedged in a real pickle.

He was aware of his truest feelings.

He begged for more in his bashful glances.

He hinted for more in his hushed remarks.

 

Oh, he definitely wanted more!

In confessing his desires, he broke the cardinal rule:

“Never show emotions!”

A Slap in the face…

 

Then the truth sank in,

and he needed an ice pack for his left cheek.

He was merely a hold-me-over munch until lunch;

a clammy 3:00 P.M. appointment on a black leather couch.

 

But he aspired for more.

In spite of the shocking facts,

He wanted her beside him nightly.

Holding him…

Making him feel unscathed.

 

The naïve man knew his strings were being pulled.

Yet her inspirational aroma was too much to decline.

 

Touches of amorous lure

All trouble ceased to exist

Nothing else mattered anymore.

 

Intimate encounters by the fireplace.

Stormy nights wrestling between satin sheets.

Little did the naïve man know, it was all a prelude.

 

Morning’s first light came to his dismay.

He helplessly watched as she walked out his bedroom door.

She dashed across town as fast as her curvy stems could go.

She ventured back to the comforting confines of her condo;

to another man’s arms, no doubt.

 

© 2012 by Charles Banks, Jr.

Writing as Curiosity

Excerpt from End of the Road,

Published on Lulu.com in Print and eBook.

End it All Now (Writing as Curiosity)

Photo taken from the WEB

 

Put me outside of my misery

End this torrid nightmare of mine.

Stop this unease that matures,

This thing I label a false dream.

 

Go ahead!

I dare you!

 

Put the silver bullets in the chamber,

Aim the gun at my head,

And have the decency to pull the trigger.

 

You don’t have enough manners, do you?

Pull the goddamn trigger!

Put me outside of my misery!

 

If you aren’t in my life,

I might as well be dead.

You might as well load up your gun

And blow my brains out!

 

So do it!

What are you waiting for?

 

Put me outside of my misery

End this torrid nightmare of mine.

 

© 2012 by Charles Banks, Jr.

Writing as Curiosity

Excerpt from End of the Road

Available on Lulu.com in Print and eBook form.

Shadow in the Midnight (Writing as Black Angel) Rewrite

Photo taken from the WEB

Black I am, and I am hiding

from the man with the black beater in his hand,

and the shiny badge on his chest.

He is relentless in his pursuit

of finding and locking me up.

 

I hide in the alleyways with the overflowing dumpsters

that have been neglected

like the rest of the blacks.

I have never pointed the finger of blame

but now my hand may be forced.

 

As I see the real truth,

while knelt down on the cold, cracked floor,

avoiding the racist White cop,

I have come to the realization that

life is unfair,

and it never will be fair and just.

 

One of the many sad realizations

we have to face in America.

I never completely understood why

foreigners lust to come here.

 

Everything that is advertised in books and magazines,

 on film, and in music, slants the truth.

People are not exactly free!

The government can give two shits about me!

 

So, why would you want to come here,

my immigrant friend?

I love this great land,

do not misinterpret my words.

 

But I am not exactly free!

Look at my predicament,

simply walking down the street,

black hoodie, saggy jeans

a pack of skittles on my mind.

 

And now I am the shadow in the midnight,

hiding from the man

with the black beater in his hand

and the shiny badge on his chest.

 

© 2008 by Charles Banks, Jr.

Writing as Black Angel

Excerpt from page 120 of

“A Rose in the Name of Love”

Self-Published by Charles Banks, Jr.

and Lulu.com

A Rose in the Name of Love: Published by Lulu.com (February, 2009)