December 0

Blog Archive

Thu, 24.09.2009

WHEN MAHALIA SINGS by Quandra Prettyman.

We used to gather in the high window of the holiness church and, tip-toe, look in and laugh at the dresses, too small on the ladies, and how wretched they all looked-an old garage for a church, for pews, old wooden chairs.
It seemed a lame excuse for a church.

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New Poem Each Day

Poetry Corner

In Cuba a dark skin woman ask me if I’m from Angola I try to explain in the no Spanish I know that I am American she finds... SPANISH CONVERSATION by E. Ethelbert Miller.
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