#AmericanWriters
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…
With your unknown to me Odd magic You came To me:
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…
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
The old men used to sing And lifted a brother Carefully Out the door I used to think they
Going out to the garden this morning to plant seeds for my winter greens —the strong, fiery mustard
My brothers knew The things you know. I did not scorn learning them; It’s just my mind
If I was President The first thing I would do is call Mumia Abu—Jamal. No, if I was president
His posture From so many years Holding his robe with one hand Is odd. His gait
Let other leaders Retire To play golf & write Memoirs
Look into her eyes and know: She does not think
I Sing of Mumia brilliant and strong and of the captivity that few black men escape
Remember When we ended It all —for a weekend— & how
You confide in me that you are lonely,