#AmericanWriters #BlackWriters #FemaleWriters #PulitzerPrize #XIXCentury #XXCentury
Before I leave the stage I will sing the only song I was meant truly to sing. It is the song of I AM.
I Sing of Mumia brilliant and strong and of the captivity that few black men escape
The old men used to sing And lifted a brother Carefully Out the door I used to think they
Knowing you might some day come and how unprepared I’ve always been like Mr. Sloppy in Charles Dickens’
My brothers knew The things you know. I did not scorn learning them; It’s just my mind
Reminding us, as they witnessed our curiosity about them, that no matter the losses, there’s something fabulous going on at every stage of Life, something to let go of, maybe, but for d...
in our lifetime. Which makes the idea of elections Notice how this word has “man” right in the middle of it? That’s one reason I like it. He is right there, front and center. But he i...
Expect nothing. Live frugally On surprise. become a stranger To need of pity Or, if compassion be freely
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…
When the people have won a victory whether small or large do you ever wonder
As if I’ve swallowed A watermelon And Sidestepping My digestive tract
With your unknown to me Odd magic You came To me:
I will keep Broken things: The big clay Pot
When they torture your mother plant a tree When they torture your father plant a tree When they torture your brother
My desire is always the same; wherever Life deposits me: I want to stick my toe & soon my whole body
