#AmericanWriters #BlackWriters #FemaleWriters #PulitzerPrize #XIXCentury #XXCentury
Remember When we ended It all —for a weekend— & how
His posture From so many years Holding his robe with one hand Is odd. His gait
If my sorrow were deeper I’d be, along with you, under the ocean’s floor; but today I learn that the oil that pools beneath the ocean floor
You confide in me that you are lonely,
I said to Poetry:"I’m finished with you." Having to almost die before some wierd light comes creeping through
As if I’ve swallowed A watermelon And Sidestepping My digestive tract
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…
I will keep Broken things: The big clay Pot
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...
Let other leaders Retire To play golf & write Memoirs
Expect nothing. Live frugally On surprise. become a stranger To need of pity Or, if compassion be freely
To change the world enough you must cease to be afraid of the poor. We experience your fear as the lea… humiliations; in the past
When you see water in a stream you say: oh, this is stream water; When you see water in the river you say: oh, this is water
My brothers knew The things you know. I did not scorn learning them; It’s just my mind