FOUR POEMS by T.A. JONES
Summer Peaches/Autumn Cream
Aqueous midsummer skies birth
apricot sunsets that lie
deep in your soft, serene eyes.
Round and bright, they
lead me to lips that bring
peach flavored kisses
bringing hot nights to life.
Brisk autumn breezes gift
violet hued dews that
flood our thoughts in tune.
Cream dreams seep sweet
as we hold each other,
our warm bodies crease
and voices peacefully cease.
The Sunset In the Corner of My Eye
Luminous leaves twinkle at the edge of
what I see as I drive along this
long and daunting road.
It gives me hope.
Delicate, natural grace blesses
everything behind me to give
perspective on what was.
Always peeking at the corner of my cornea,
I used to not appreciate what was given
but rather all that was taken.
This light lets me love the sunsets
no longer in sight as they will
forever stay in the back of mind.
Creeping up every now and then to say,
"Hi."
What if Jesus Had a Piece?
Jesus wouldn’t be dead if he had a piece.
I mean
just because you’re holy,
it don’t mean you can’t strike
back at those who want you
dead and gone.
I mean if he weren’t dead
he wouldn’t be in as many songs.
The very people he wanted to
protect wouldn’t attack sinners
in his name just to get his love back.
I mean
if Jesus had a piece
maybe he would have lived in peace.
Never going to sleep knowing he will
die and feel the silence of
death for three days of peace.
Not worrying about the betrayal
at the table of friends from which they
eat and they are forced to
practice what they preach.
I mean
if Jesus was given peace
maybe I would never need my piece?
Beretta Ballads Bring Grief
Songs that soar through the air
singe shirts and sink in skin
because they killed my bruddanem.
My sistanem mourn especially
since they lost fathers, brothers, cousins,
and the supporter of their
future family that didn’t know
they were soon to be a new family.
Retaliation or provocation,
sometimes related
bring families together far too often
for relations attended by death himself.
No sirens sing but they wait in the wings
knowing deaths at funerals
are far too common of a thing.
As someone lacking wasn’t packing
a heater to protect the life
of the one person they couldn’t protect.
I know why the choppa sings...
But the day Beretta ballads are silent,
I’ll sleep soundly of silence.
T.A. Jones (he/him) is a Black poet/writer based in Atlanta, Georgia. He graduated from Western Carolina University with a bachelors in English and minor in Creative Writing. He currently works as a preschool teacher and occasional music journalist/podcaster for CentralSauce. He’s finishing his first poetry compilation, "Obsidian Sun."