#AmericanWriters
You confide in me that you are lonely,
When you thought me poor, my poverty was shaming. When blackness was unwelcome we found it best that I stay home.
Before I leave the stage I will sing the only song I was meant truly to sing. It is the song of I AM.
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...
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…
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 tree of life has fallen on my small house. I thought it was so much bigger! But it is not. There in the distance I see the m…
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
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
I will keep Broken things: The big clay Pot
The old men used to sing And lifted a brother Carefully Out the door I used to think they
Knowing you might some day come and how unprepared I’ve always been like Mr. Sloppy in Charles Dickens’
I have a friend who is turning gray, not just her hair, and I do not know why this is so.
With your unknown to me Odd magic You came To me: