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I cannot sing because when a child, My mother often hushed me. The others she allowed to sing, No matter what their melody. And since I’ve grown to manhood All music I applaud, But have no voice for singing, So, I write my songs to God. I have ears and know the measures, And I’ll write a song for you, But the world […]learn more
I would liken you To a night without stars Were it not for your eyes. I would liken you To a sleep without dreams Were it not for your songs. Langston Hugheslearn more
I needed you in love hopefully grading on to what we had unjustly you fleet abnormal in just finished of what is love conjunction,Bleeding form are love force on attached by are father’s graced by the idea and govern of power they looked in fear and enjoyment shamed for their adroitly, We looked in are […]learn more
God of our weary years, God of our silent tears, thou, who has brought us thus far along the way, thou, who has by thy might led us into the light, keep us forever in the path we pray, lest our feet stray from the places, our God, where we met thee, lest our hearts drunk with the wine of the world, we forget thee.
Shadowed beneath thy hand, may we forever stand true to thee, oh God, and true to our native land.
We truly give thanks for the glorious experience we’ve shared this day.
We pray now, oh Lord, for your blessing upon thy servant Barack Obama, the 44th president of these Unitedlearn more
*The poets say that all who love are blind;
But I’m in love and I know what time it is!
The Good Book say’s “Go seek and ye shall find”.
Well I have sought and my what a climb it is!
My life is just like the weather,
It changes with the hours;
When he’s near I’m fair and warmer,
When he’s gone I’m cloudy with showers;
In emotion, like the ocean its either sink or swim
When a woman loves a man like I love him.
Never treats me sweet and gentle the way he should;
I got it bad and that ain’t good!
My poor heart is sentimental not made of wood
I got it bad and that ain’t good!
There’s a yellow rose in Texas
That I am a going to see
No other soldier knows her
No one only me
She cried so when I left her
It like to broke my heart
And if I ever find her
We nevermore will part
She’s the sweetest rose of color
This soldier ever knew
Her eyes are bright as diamonds
They sparkle like the dew
You may talk about dearest May
and sing of Rosa Lee
But the yellow rose of Texas
Beats the belles of Tennessee
And now I’m going southward, for my heart is full of woe,
I’m going back to Georgia, to see my Uncle Joe.
You may talk about your Beauregar
Wind in your hair, sun on your skin
You’re looking good, girl, all over again
Hey there, Miss Brown
I want you to know I love you
Brown as the sand, you’re soft as the shore
You’re leaving me hungry, I’m crying for more
Ooh, we, baby, girl, you’re such a score
And I want you to know that, you know what, girl
I love you
I bet you didn’t know that, girl
You didn’t know that
I need you
Right now, baby, right now, baby
And I bet you didn’t know that ebony eyes
My momma was an Afrikan woman,
My wife is an Afrikan woman,
My grandmother was a Afrikan woman,
My sisters are Afrikan women,
My nieces are Afrikan women,
Is it a wonder why I don’t love Afrikan women?
Can you understand why I don’t, won’t call an Afrikan woman a “ho?”
Do you see why I don’t, won’t call an Afrikan woman a Bitch?
I spent nine months in the womb of an Afrikan woman, in the warmth of her bosom,
When I cried, it was an Afrikan woman that comforted me.
When I got lost, it was an Afrikan woman who found me and brought me home.
Can you understand why I don’t, won’t physi
I placed a flower on your grave today.
I knew you were not there—
but far away
A fleecy white cloud floated
Blotting out a million miles of mystery and blue.
Perhaps in future years–
beyond the sun–
I’ll stroll the Great White Way—
my task all done.
Perhaps I’ll see you in the passing
I’ll call your name—
And we’ll be pals anew….
AVH, 1955learn more
My questions concern the subject poetry is whatever runs out/ whatever digs my guts til there’s is no space in myself
Cryin wont help/ callin mama wont help lover are detour/ no way to assuage this poem/ but in the words & they are deceitful/ all of you to share me/ & I hide under my bed/
Poetry is unavoidable connection/ some people get married/ others join the Church I carry notebooks/ so I can tell us what happened/ midnight snacks in bed with whoever/ are no compensation/ when I’m listening to multitudes of voices / I consume yr every word & move/
During the day you are initiated ilearn more