Four Poems by Timmy Chong

Kings of the Court

“On that day, the Lord their God will save them, as the flock of His
people, for like the jewels of a crown they shall shine on his land.”

– Zechariah 9:16

basketball-court-2

Easter Sunday after service
we kissed our mothers goodbye.

We loosened our handshakes and ties
while crossing the street to Clemente’s

to shoot rainbows across
a rustic backdrop and dance
over every crack in the concrete.

Budding and blistered feet
in vibrant sneaks bouncing
off the blacktop with gusto,

bare backs glistering
glorious in the sunlight.

We blaze past backpedaling meddlers,
the friction setting fire to our soles.

We stay this way until the sun
stops moving our shadows, and
the orange of our eyes becomes
the blackest of blues.

Flushed and full of life
we tell ourselves that
this is holy ground,

and each of us just
a sunburnt kid

shooting
laughing
swishing

his way
to supper.

 

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Frat Boy

See,
they call us corrupt
because we travel in packs—
newfound adults in
pastel shorts and
backwards hats,
they say our brotherhood
bleeds mob mentality,
that we are aggressive
in our privilege
and childish for
buying the same brands,
spitting off of sidewalks,
stumbling at dawn, and
singing too loud our
chapter’s songs,
they judge us by the hint
of liquor on our breath,
shield their eyes
against the shine of
the letters on our chests,
there are times when they
won’t even be wrong to,
is this what
we’ve become?

So join us, brother
pay your dues
and down this cup,
bury the moments
that build you up
and let the shots
slide like water
in the name of
brotherly love and
those who were before us,
we are a family, and it
is tradition, let this be
your epitome of life:
waiting in line to
forget our nights,
spilling all our praises
to the young ladies
who want nothing
but sweet nothings
to get them by, boy
smile with your teeth
you won’t be gentle
but you will learn
how to be, boy
repeat after me

Virtue
Diligence and
Brotherly Love..

Old Town Glory

On any given evening,
half this town might sleep
after three and, tomorrow
still wear a smile to class as
bright as Sunday morning.

And to consider that
all the kids ever needed
was a place.

Friday night was a brick but
every brother brought
a bottle and a babe.
Witnessed kids shotgun
over the kitchen sink,
girls place their fists
in our basement roof, boys
turn to rooms where they’d flip
hourglass figures upside-down as if
they had all the time in the world.

We ruin
sunkissed Timbs from
the spring in the slush
among other things, and
our cherry red tips brave
the brisk like mavericks, we
chainsmoke when wilding
claiming the weekends as
excuses to stay childish.
In these streets, freedom
manifests in many ways
and them winter nights on
the Ocho’s deck in the rain
are the reason why
we became

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Yung Royals, Revisited

That the curse of this suburbia
runs deeper than the privilege.
That these kids will find the ways
to damn what they’ve been given.

It’s still not so tragic, just
never thought I’d be of the ones
making my way back to sweet nothings
‘cause I’ve known the taste and hold
of loving good loving, how
breaking day only comes if
you waste away in ‘em and
how demons only rest once
you finna dance with ‘em, see

All these internet kids’ve known
ugly and glory just like us, yo
we lived our quiet days young
and then we played with gusto,
but if you show a romantic
how to roll a spliff or
to love a bad habit, soon
you might watch him become stiff
or stop putting up a fuss, no more
afternoon cartoons or pop-punk or
kid brimming with goodness, even
if he grew up on wishing and
playing classical music and
reading books and shit, see
he ain’t soft no more, see

An addictive personality ain’t no thing
‘til you twist your words with your livid,
‘til you know twice shy once smitten,
‘til you trade in your blessings for
an archetype of beauty, or a fix,
or burn holes or bruises or
sinning, and

An addictive personality ain’t no thing
‘til you keep asking what today is,
‘til you drive to church on Sunday
and find no gospel on your playlists,
‘til you skip out on them flitting nights
‘cause people keep you anxious,
‘til you haven’t said good morning
in months to any saving graces and
you wonder if this’s the same
as forgetting all their faces.

That these kids are bold enough
to ask for anything but forgiveness.
That yung royals learn how strong
to start but never how to finish.

*******

Timmy Chong is an east coast millennial with an addictive personality who studies Journalism and Creative Writing at the University of Maryland. He believes in becoming a balanced man, and yet spends the lasts of his youth being otherwise. But he’s getting there.

Find him at theadventuresoftim-tim.tumblr.com // twitter.com/timmychongg 

 

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