ApApril Is National Poetry Month! 

I TOO, HEAR AMERICA SINGING

Attribution: CIVIL RIGHTS MOVEMENT ARCHIVE

JULIAN BOND

CO-FOUNDER OF THE SNCC X CO-FOUNDER OF THE SPLC X 

CIVIL RIGHTS ACTIVIST X POLITICANX WRITER X PROFESSOR

I too, hear America singing 

But from where I stand
I can only hear Little Richard
And Fats Domino.
But sometimes
I hear Ray Charles
Drowning in his own tears
or Bird
Relaxing at Camarillo
Or Horace Silver doodling,
Then I don't mind standing
a little longer.

Read more about Civil Rights History and Poems @ CIVIL RIGHTS MOVEMENT ARCHIVE

April Is National Poetry Month! 

AMERICA

LANGSTON HUGHES

RENOWNED HARLEM RENAISSANCE POET X NOVELIST 

X ESSAYIST X PLAYWRIGHT X COLUMNIST X SOCIAL ACTIVIST

Little dark baby,
Little Jew baby,
Little outcast,
America is seeking the stars,
America is seeking tomorrow.
You are America.
I am America
America—the dream,
America—the vision.
America—the star-seeking I.
Out of yesterday
The chains of slavery;
Out of yesterday,
The ghettos of Europe;
Out of yesterday,
The poverty and pain of the old, old world,
The building and struggle of this new one,
We come
You and I,
Seeking the stars.
You and I,
You of the blue eyes
And the blond hair,
I of the dark eyes
And the crinkly hair.
You and I
Offering hands
Being brothers,
Being one,
Being America.
You and I.
And I?
Who am I?
You know me:
I am Crispus Attucks at the Boston Tea Party;
Jimmy Jones in the ranks of the last black troops marching for democracy.
I am Sojourner Truth preaching and praying for the goodness of this wide, wide land;
Today's black mother bearing tomorrow's America.
Who am I?
You know me,
Dream of my dreams,
I am America.
I am America seeking the stars.
America—
Hoping, praying
Fighting, dreaming.
Knowing
There are stains
On the beauty of my democracy,
I want to be clean.
I want to grovel
No longer in the mire.
I want to reach always
After stars.
Who am I?
I am the ghetto child,
I am the dark baby,
I am you
And the blond tomorrow
And yet
I am my one sole self,
America seeking the stars.

April Is National Poetry Month! 

IN AMERICA

BERNIE CASEY

POET X ARTIST X ACTOR X FORMER NFL PLAYER

he said

in america

would i like california?

in america

is much money?

in america

is large streets

and nice house.

in america

he said.

is good pretty country?

in america

you have indian

who don’t do so good

in america

the black man

is not so free yet, yes?

if in america

you speak of liberty

not for everybody, yes?

i think

in america

is some good

and some not so good

and i said

in america, yes

there is some good

and some not so good.  

April Is National Poetry Month! 

AMERICA

CLAUDE MCKAY

RENOWNED HARLEM RENAISSANCE POET X WRITER

Although she feeds me bread of bitterness,
And sinks into my throat her tiger's tooth,
Stealing my breath of life, I will confess
I love this cultured hell that tests my youth!
Her vigor flows like tides into my blood,
Giving me strength erect against her hate.
Her bigness sweeps my being like a flood.
Yet as a rebel fronts a king in state,
I stand within her walls with not a shred
Of terror, malice, not a word of jeer.
Darkly I gaze into the days ahead,
And see her might and granite wonders there,
Beneath the touch of Time's unerring hand,
Like priceless treasures sinking in the sand.

 April Is National Poetry Month! 

HYMN TO AMERICA

Published in “The 

Messenger Magazine,” August 

1925.

E. LUCIEN WAITHE

POET 

America I sing to you
A hymn of love mixed with my tears,
A hymn made up of thoughts that spring
From many, many cruel years.

I love you my America
Who would not want to call me yours ;
With all the wrongs that hemmed me in
I stood up to defend your doors.

Before I knew time, place, or scene,
My mother kept before my view
Your emblem lighted with the stars,
Which I still saw there as I grew.

And when I saw out in the bay
Shining above all other glare
The light that burns throughout the night,
I smiled and said I need not fear.

I thought it then a light to love,
To liberty and every good ;
But that was false — a light to hell
I found it soon after I stood

Upon the hill where Life took me
To view the things that are as rare,
To feel the teeth of poverty
And pull at opportunity's bar.

I had high hopes, bright dreams were mine,
A future roseate as the light
That limns the shadows of the hills
Against the sky as dawn grows bright.

Too soon hate's dark eclipse hid all
The brightness of this day of hope;
And your weak pride narrowed and bound
My every effort, every scope.

But still America I lived
Scourged by the jeers, the taunts, the scorn ;
Why should some men inherit love
And some to such strong hate be born ?

America I pay with love
For all the hate you give to me;
I take your jagged-edge cup and drink
The drug of dark hate fearlessly.

I know it can but drug the sense.
And hold ambition to the earth ;
For hate can never conquer me,
Nor wrong rob me of all my mirth.

I shall still cry, shall laugh and play
Until some larger heart should come
To light yours into flames of love
That burn for all and not for some.

And still a dream is in my soul
In which I see you handing me
A golden star of membership
In this great world's fraternity.

Then from the ruins of much wrong,
Within the shining shop of right
I'll forge for you a tower wherefrom
Shall gleam earth's purest brightest light.

Then all the nations of this world
Shall look to you and call you great ;
Because your light shall shine afar

When one large love replaces hate.

April Is National Poetry Month! 

TO AMERICA

Published in "THE CRISIS Magazine," NOVEMBER 

1917.

JAMES WELDON JOHNSON

RENOWNED HARLEM RENAISSANCEX POET X WRITER X 

NOVELIST X ESSAYIST X EDUCATOR X CIVIL RIGHTS ACTIVIST 

X DIPLOMAT X LAWYER X LYRICIST X PLAYWRIGHT 

 

How would you have us, as we are?
Or sinking 'neath the load we bear?
Our eyes fixed forward on a star?
Or gazing empty at despair?

Rising or falling? Men or things?
With dragging pace or footsteps fleet?
Strong, willing sinews in your wings?
Or tightening chains about your feet?

April Is National Poetry Month! 

AMERICA 

Published in "RACE RHYMES" 

in 1911.

CARRIE WILLIAMS CLIFFORD

POET

America is not another name for opportunity
To all her sons! Nay, bid me not be dumb —
I will be heard. Christians, I come
To plead with burning eloquence of truth
A brother's cause; ay, to demand, forsooth,
The manhood rights of which he is denied;
Too long your pretense have your acts belied.
What has he done to merit your fierce hate?
I charge you, speak the truth; for know, his fate
Irrevocably is bound up with yours,
For good or ill, as long as time endures.
Torn from his native home by ruthless hands,
For centuries he tilled your fruitful lands,
In shameful, base, degrading slavery;
Your humble, patient, loyal vassal, he —
Piling your coffers high with magic gold,
Himself, the while, like cattle bought and sold.

When devastating war stalked through the land,
And dangers threatened you on every hand,
These sons whose color you cannot forgive.
Did freely shed their blood that you might live
A nation, strong and great. And will you then
Continue to debase, degrade, contemn
Your loyal children, while with smiling face
You raise disloyal ones to power and place?

Is race or color crime, that for this cause
You draft against the Negro unjust laws?
Is race or color sin that he should be
For these things treated so outrageously?
O, boastful, white American, beware!
It is the handiwork of God you dare
Thus to despise and He will you repay
With generous measure overflowing, yea,
For all the good which in his life you've wrought.
For helpful deed, or kindly, loving thought —
For every act of cruelty you've done,
For every groan which you have from him wrung.
For every infamy by him endured,
He will you all repay, be thou assured!
Not here alone ere time shall cease to be,
But likewise There, through all eternity.