#AmericanWriters
I’ve got the children to tend The clothes to mend The floor to mop The food to shop Then the chicken to fry
Give me your hand Make room for me to lead and follow you beyond this rage of poetry.
We were entwined in red rings Of blood and loneliness before The first snows fell Before muddy rivers seeded clouds Above a virgin forest, and
The sun has come. The mist has gone. We see in the distance... our long way home. I was always yours to have.
We, this people, on a small and lo… Traveling through casual space Past aloof stars, across the way o… To a destination where all signs t… It is possible and imperative that…
She came home running back to the mothering blackness deep in the smothering blackness white tears icicle gold plains of… She came home running
Some clichty folks don’t know the facts, posin’ and preenin’ and puttin’ on acts, stretchin’ their backs.
You may write me down in history With your bitter, twisted lies, You may trod me in the very dirt But still, like dust, I’ll rise. Does my sassiness upset you?
I keep on drying again. Veins collapse, opening like the Small fists of sleeping Children. Memory of old tombs,
The night has been long, The wound has been deep, The pit has been dark, And the walls have been steep. Under a dead blue sky on a distant…
Lying, thinking Last night How to find my soul a home Where water is not thirsty And bread loaf is not stone
Her arms semaphore fat triangles, Pudgy hands bunched on layered hip… Where bones idle under years of fa… And lima beans. Her jowls shiver in accusation
Shadows on the wall Noises down the hall Life doesn’t frighten me at all Bad dogs barking loud Big ghosts in a cloud
One innocent spring your voice meant to me less than tires turning on a distant street. Your name, perhaps spoken,
We, unaccustomed to courage exiles from delight live coiled in shells of lonelines… until love leaves its high holy te… and comes into our sight