#AmericanWriters
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
With your unknown to me Odd magic You came To me:
I will keep Broken things: The big clay Pot
You confide in me that you are lonely,
Expect nothing. Live frugally On surprise. become a stranger To need of pity Or, if compassion be freely
My desire is always the same; wherever Life deposits me: I want to stick my toe & soon my whole body
I said to Poetry:"I’m finished with you." Having to almost die before some wierd light comes creeping through
Let other leaders Retire To play golf & write Memoirs
I Sing of Mumia brilliant and strong and of the captivity that few black men escape
I have a friend who is turning gray, not just her hair, and I do not know why this is so.
When you thought me poor, my poverty was shaming. When blackness was unwelcome we found it best that I stay home.
How can Humanity look the deer in the face? How can I,
When they torture your mother plant a tree When they torture your father plant a tree When they torture your brother
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...
The old men used to sing And lifted a brother Carefully Out the door I used to think they