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Blog Archive

Thu, 24.09.2009

THE CRAFTSMAN by Marcus B. Christian.

I ply with all the cunning of my art this little thing, and with consummate care I fashion it-so that when I depart, Those who come after me shall find it fair And beautiful.

It must be free of flaws-Pointing no laborings of weary hands; And there must be no flouting of the laws Of beauty-as the artist understands.

Through passion, yearnings infinite-yet dumb-I lift you from the debts of my own mind and glide you with my souls white heat to plumb The souls of future men.

I leave behind This thing that in return this solace gives:
He who creates true beauty ever lives.

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Thu, 24.09.2009


The cotton blouse you wear, your mother said,
After a day of toil, “I guess I’ll buy it”;
For ribbons on your head and blouse she paid
Two-bits a yard-as if you would deny it!

And nights, after a day of kitchen toil,
She stitched your re-made skirt of serge-once blue-
Weary of eye, beneath a lamp of oil:
McDonogh would be proud of her and you.

Next, came white “creepers” and white stockings, too-
They almost asked her blood when they were sold;
Like some dark princess, to the school go you,
With blue larkspur and yellow marigold;
But few would know-or even guess this fact:

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New Poem Each Day

Poetry Corner

When Sister Rosa sat on that bus, she didn't sit alone, She had the visible image of the Master on the high throne. There were passengers on that bus that no... COTTIN PICKIN’ FREEDOM RIDERS by Evelyn Dilworth-Williams
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