#Americans #Blacks #PulitzerPrize #Women #XIXCentury #XXCentury
I Sing of Mumia brilliant and strong and of the captivity that few black men escape
Expect nothing. Live frugally On surprise. become a stranger To need of pity Or, if compassion be freely
Remember When we ended It all —for a weekend— & how
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
Knowing you might some day come and how unprepared I’ve always been like Mr. Sloppy in Charles Dickens’
When you thought me poor, my poverty was shaming. When blackness was unwelcome we found it best that I stay home.
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...
As if I’ve swallowed A watermelon And Sidestepping My digestive tract
I said to Poetry:"I’m finished with you." Having to almost die before some wierd light comes creeping through
My brothers knew The things you know. I did not scorn learning them; It’s just my mind
His posture From so many years Holding his robe with one hand Is odd. His gait
When they torture your mother plant a tree When they torture your father plant a tree When they torture your brother
If I was President The first thing I would do is call Mumia Abu—Jamal. No, if I was president
My desire is always the same; wherever Life deposits me: I want to stick my toe & soon my whole body