#AmericanWriters
She is the one who will notice that the first snapdragon of Spring is
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…
Going out to the garden this morning to plant seeds for my winter greens —the strong, fiery mustard
When the people have won a victory whether small or large do you ever wonder
Don’t be like those who ask for ev… praise, a blurb, a free ride in my… limousine. They ask for everything… anything in return. Be like those who can see that my…
The old men used to sing And lifted a brother Carefully Out the door I used to think they
Expect nothing. Live frugally On surprise. become a stranger To need of pity Or, if compassion be freely
I will keep Broken things: The big clay Pot
I Sing of Mumia brilliant and strong and of the captivity that few black men escape
Let other leaders Retire To play golf & write Memoirs
With your unknown to me Odd magic You came To me:
My desire is always the same; wherever Life deposits me: I want to stick my toe & soon my whole body
When you thought me poor, my poverty was shaming. When blackness was unwelcome we found it best that I stay home.
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