#AmericanWriters
I Sing of Mumia brilliant and strong and of the captivity that few black men escape
When you thought me poor, my poverty was shaming. When blackness was unwelcome we found it best that I stay home.
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...
Going out to the garden this morning to plant seeds for my winter greens —the strong, fiery mustard
His posture From so many years Holding his robe with one hand Is odd. His gait
My brothers knew The things you know. I did not scorn learning them; It’s just my mind
I have a friend who is turning gray, not just her hair, and I do not know why this is so.
Expect nothing. Live frugally On surprise. become a stranger To need of pity Or, if compassion be freely
Knowing you might some day come and how unprepared I’ve always been like Mr. Sloppy in Charles Dickens’
With your unknown to me Odd magic You came To me:
Let other leaders Retire To play golf & write Memoirs
Before I leave the stage I will sing the only song I was meant truly to sing. It is the song of I AM.
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