#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’
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
Look into her eyes and know: She does not think
Word reaches us that you are sleeping, sleeping. Dismayed we have turned to the sea. We encounter among others
The old men used to sing And lifted a brother Carefully Out the door I used to think they
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
When you thought me poor, my poverty was shaming. When blackness was unwelcome we found it best that I stay home.
Let other leaders Retire To play golf & write Memoirs
When they torture your mother plant a tree When they torture your father plant a tree When they torture your brother
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…
His posture From so many years Holding his robe with one hand Is odd. His gait
You confide in me that you are lonely,
If I was President The first thing I would do is call Mumia Abu—Jamal. No, if I was president