December 0

Blog Archive

Thu, 24.09.2009

THE BANJO PLAYER by Fenton Johnson.

There is music in me, the music of a peasant people.
I wander through the levee, picking my banjo and singing my songs of the cabin and the field.
At last chance saloon I am as welcome as the Violets in March; there is always food and drink for me there, and the dimes of those who love honest music.
Behind the railroad tracks the little children clap their hands and love me as they love Kris Kringle.
But I fear that I am a failure.
Last night a woman called me a troubadour.
What is a troubadour?

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Thu, 24.09.2009

TIRED by Fenton Johnson.

I am tired of work; I am tired of building up somebody else’s civilization.

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Thu, 24.09.2009

WHO IS THAT A-WALKING IN THE CORN? by Fenton Johnson.

Who is that a-walking in the corn?
I have looked to East and looked to West
But nowhere could I find him who walks
Master’s cornfield in the morning.

Who is that a-walking in the corn?
Is it Joshua, the son of Nun?-
Or King David come to fight the giant
Near the cornfield in the morning?

Who is that a-walking in the corn?
I have looked to East and looked to West
But nowhere could I find him who walks
Master’s cornfield in the morning…..

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New Poem Each Day

Poetry Corner

I will track you down the years, Down the night, Till my anguish falls away, Stat by star, And my heart spreads flaming wings Where you are. I will find you, never fear- Make you mine. Think... QUEST by Naomi Long Madgett.
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