#AmericanWriters
I have a friend who is turning gray, not just her hair, and I do not know why this is so.
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
Knowing you might some day come and how unprepared I’ve always been like Mr. Sloppy in Charles Dickens’
Let other leaders Retire To play golf & write Memoirs
Look into her eyes and know: She does not think
His posture From so many years Holding his robe with one hand Is odd. His gait
I will keep Broken things: The big clay Pot
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 thought me poor, my poverty was shaming. When blackness was unwelcome we found it best that I stay home.
Word reaches us that you are sleeping, sleeping. Dismayed we have turned to the sea. We encounter among others
You confide in me that you are lonely,
How can Humanity look the deer in the face? How can I,
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…
Going out to the garden this morning to plant seeds for my winter greens —the strong, fiery mustard
Before I leave the stage I will sing the only song I was meant truly to sing. It is the song of I AM.