The Negro Mother (Langston Hughes Poem)
Children, I come back today To tell you a story of the long dark way That I had to climb, ...
Children, I come back today To tell you a story of the long dark way That I had to climb, ...
i belch acre upon acre of cotton wool and there is still not enough for his beard (Rg Gregory)
How astonishing it is that language can almost mean, and frightening that it does not quite. Love, we say, God, ...
railroad yard in San Jose I wandered desolate in front of a tank factory and sat on a bench near ...
Each of us like the four needing to be ready lifting up our neighbors bringing them to the Lord All ...
The frost, alive in white aglow on the milkweeds erupting in flight in the bright autumn sun ablaze in glory ...
Pure white clouds like pulled cotton partially transparent translucent, shining a living backdrop for the willows dancing Arms moving like ...
He must have been a beggar unable to enter the temple maybe without family sitting begging by the gate Four ...
The crushed rose gathered yet so much living yet resting on the sleeve of my jacket taken off for the ...
As if daubed by a cotton ball rich bright color or maybe a fan brush adding whitening to the sky ...
After getting home driving in the gossamer snow the dance of the crystals falling in the air accumulating on the ...
In every part of creation, the message to those who would hear the love of the creator, the means of ...
Rising and falling together undulating across the sky from left to right out over the river, just feet above me ...
a cluster of open milkweed pods brown flat seeds, a ball of cotton candy silk waiting for the wind, to ...
Harkenings of memories and moments to come. Summer leads to fall Fog over the fields and marshes, the wet places, ...
There overtook me and drew me in To his down-hill, early-morning stride, And set me five miles on my road ...
EVERYTHING is jazz: snails, jails, rails, tails, males, females, snow-white cotton bales. Knee-bone, thigh, hip-bone. Jazz slips you percussion bone ...
The blue forest, chilled and blue, like the lips of the dead if the lips were gone. The year has ...
Sweet Stay-at-Home, sweet Well-content, Thou knowest of no strange continent; Thou hast not felt thy bosom keep A gentle motion ...
Dear to my heart are the ancestral dwellings of America, Dearer than if they were haunted by ghosts of royal ...
There is fog upon the river, there is mirk upon the town; You can hear the groping ferries as they ...
The turquoise pool rose up to meet us, its slide a silver afterthought down which we plunged, screaming, into a ...
Ah blame me not, Catcott, if from the right way My notions and actions run far. How can my ideas ...
(co-written by Sharon Robinson) Everybody knows that the dice are loaded Everybody rolls with their fingers crossed Everybody knows that ...
'Of course,' I said, 'we cannot hope to find What we are looking for in anyone; They glitter, maybe, but ...
As there I left the road in May, And took my way along a ground, I found a glade with ...
Well, eight months ago one clear cold day, I took a ramble up Broadway, And with my hands behind my ...
Poplars are standing there still as death And ghosts of dead men Meet their ladies walking Two by two beneath ...
As there I left the road in May, And took my way along a ground, I found a glade with ...
A field of cotton-- as if the moon had flowered. (Matsuo Basho)
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