December 0

Blog Archive

Thu, 24.09.2009

COTTON SONG by N. Jean Toomer.

Come, brother, come. Let’s lift it;
Come now, hewit!

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Thu, 24.09.2009

SONG OF THE SON by N. Jean Toomer.

Pour O pour that parting soul in song, O pour it in the sawdust glow of night. Into the velvet pine-smoke air to-night.
And let the valley carry it along.

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Thu, 24.09.2009

GEORGIA DUSK by N. Jean Toomer.

The sky, lazily disdaining to pursue
The setting sun, too indolent to hold
A lengthened tournament for flashing gold,
Passively darkens for night’s barbeque,

A feast of moon and men and barking hounds.
A orgy for some genius of the south
White blood-hot eyes and cane-lipped scented mouth,
Surprised with making folk-songs from soul sounds.

The sawmill blows its whistle buzz-saws stop,
And silence breaks the bud of knoll and hill,
Soft settling pollen where plowed lands fulfill
The early promise of a bumper crop.

Smoke from the pyramid sawdust pile
Curls up, blue ghost of tre

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New Poem Each Day

Poetry Corner

O’ de wurl’ ain’t flat,An’ de wurl’ ain’t roun’,H’it’s one long stripHangin’ up an’ down—Jes’ Souf an’ Norf;Jes’ Norf an’ Souf. —from Ariel Williams Holloway, “Northboun'” , 1926 “NORTHBOUND'” by Ariel Williams Holloway
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