By Noah Vale The first time I was here was in my headI’d say maybe three months ago. Today I lay on my bedAnd there was a man outside screaming morbidly at the torment of the demons I too dreadStruggling with loss and drunk thoughts wrapped around those long dead. “You killed my father, there’s... Continue Reading →
By Noah Vale She left, but at least she left me with materialAnd since then, the ink’s been unapologetic.Batho ba lemogana loetong only once you're dragging limbstoo tired to fake the smile anymore.And I’ve gone from casual rhymesto “A phalana tse re kile re a ne re di letsa!” Because before I spiral into one... Continue Reading →
by Noah Vale She said that man touched her inappropriately.That was a problem to me. I’m conflictedmaybe it’s my mother in me,maybe my father,maybe both. I love her.But something in me kept quiet. When she asked me to speak,I said, “next week.”Or maybe, “I’ll see.” She broke a little in front of me.And I felt... Continue Reading →
By Noah Vale She looks for a father’s love in your son’s armsravaging a spine of light in dark mattercheated out her dress by your son’s tongue After what had felt like a dreamin her innocence she’s rushed outonce the sun’s out And your son knows no betterhis hunger mistaking her body for love She... Continue Reading →
By Noah Vale I wrote a poem today and hated it And in its mirror, I hated me How can I love a woman when I grew up Thinking my mother hated me And how can I have a daughter and be the The father she needs A cruel reminder thinking a woman Deserves it... Continue Reading →
By Noah Vale A calling in flame and drumbeat.They gathered in silence older than bone,Around a fire that didn’t burn,But remembered.Ash and ember spoke my name,In tongues I hadn’t learned yet:YanguYanguYangu!The drums weren’t playedThey were summoned;Each beat, a footstep from the unseen.Each rhythm, a fingerprint of my past,Tapping at my chest chanting:Do you hear us... Continue Reading →
By Noah Vale The women I love I could never writePoems aboutThe words would slip through my fingers,Spilled ink drying before meaning couldForm.But whiskey, painkillers, and cigarettesI could lead forums about,Speak in tongues of smoke and burn,Turn my wounds into well-crafted sentences. They listen when I talk about the bottle’sComfort,The numbing lull of little white... Continue Reading →
