#AmericanWriters
I said to Poetry:"I’m finished with you." Having to almost die before some wierd light comes creeping through
Knowing you might some day come and how unprepared I’ve always been like Mr. Sloppy in Charles Dickens’
Before I leave the stage I will sing the only song I was meant truly to sing. It is the song of I AM.
My brothers knew The things you know. I did not scorn learning them; It’s just my mind
When the people have won a victory whether small or large do you ever wonder
When you thought me poor, my poverty was shaming. When blackness was unwelcome we found it best that I stay home.
As if I’ve swallowed A watermelon And Sidestepping My digestive tract
The tree of life has fallen on my small house. I thought it was so much bigger! But it is not. There in the distance I see the m…
His posture From so many years Holding his robe with one hand Is odd. His gait
Word reaches us that you are sleeping, sleeping. Dismayed we have turned to the sea. We encounter among others
Did you ever understand this? If my spirit was poor, how could… Was I depressed? Understanding editing, I see how a comma, removed or inse…
Remember When we ended It all —for a weekend— & how
I Sing of Mumia brilliant and strong and of the captivity that few black men escape
I will keep Broken things: The big clay Pot
My desire is always the same; wherever Life deposits me: I want to stick my toe & soon my whole body
