#AmericanWriters
His posture From so many years Holding his robe with one hand Is odd. His gait
She is the one who will notice that the first snapdragon of Spring is
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
Be nobody’s darling; Be an outcast. Take the contradictions Of your life And wrap around
I said to Poetry:"I’m finished with you." Having to almost die before some wierd light comes creeping through
My desire is always the same; wherever Life deposits me: I want to stick my toe & soon my whole body
When they torture your mother plant a tree When they torture your father plant a tree When they torture your brother
I Sing of Mumia brilliant and strong and of the captivity that few black men escape
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
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...
Look into her eyes and know: She does not think
When you see water in a stream you say: oh, this is stream water; When you see water in the river you say: oh, this is water
With your unknown to me Odd magic You came To me: