#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’
As if I’ve swallowed A watermelon And Sidestepping My digestive tract
Word reaches us that you are sleeping, sleeping. Dismayed we have turned to the sea. We encounter among others
Remember When we ended It all —for a weekend— & how
With your unknown to me Odd magic You came To me:
You confide in me that you are lonely,
I have a friend who is turning gray, not just her hair, and I do not know why this is so.
Going out to the garden this morning to plant seeds for my winter greens —the strong, fiery mustard
How can Humanity look the deer in the face? How can I,
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
I said to Poetry:"I’m finished with you." Having to almost die before some wierd light comes creeping through
His posture From so many years Holding his robe with one hand Is odd. His gait
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...
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