#AmericanWriters
I Sing of Mumia brilliant and strong and of the captivity that few black men escape
Knowing you might some day come and how unprepared I’ve always been like Mr. Sloppy in Charles Dickens’
His posture From so many years Holding his robe with one hand Is odd. His gait
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 have a friend who is turning gray, not just her hair, and I do not know why this is so.
How can Humanity look the deer in the face? How can I,
When the people have won a victory whether small or large do you ever wonder
I will keep Broken things: The big clay Pot
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
in our lifetime. Which makes the idea of elections Notice how this word has “man” right in the middle of it? That’s one reason I like it. He is right there, front and center. But he i...
Word reaches us that you are sleeping, sleeping. Dismayed we have turned to the sea. We encounter among others
I said to Poetry:"I’m finished with you." Having to almost die before some wierd light comes creeping through
You confide in me that you are lonely,
Before I leave the stage I will sing the only song I was meant truly to sing. It is the song of I AM.
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...
