April Is National Poetry Month! 

LIFE EVERY VOICE AND SING 

BLACK NATIONAL ANTHEM

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

Lift every voice and sing
Till earth and heaven ring,
Ring with the harmonies of liberty;
Let our rejoicing rise
High as the listening skies,
Let it resound loud as the rolling sea
Sing a song full of the faith that the dark past has taught us,
Sing a song full of the hope that the present has brought us,
Facing the rising sun of our new day begun
Let us march on till victory is won
Stony the road we trod,
Bitter the chastening rod,
Felt in the days when hope unborn had died;
Yet with a steady beat,
Have not our weary feet
Come to the place for which our fathers sighed
We have come over a way that with tears has been watered,
We have come, treading our path through the blood of the slaughtered,
Out from the gloomy past,
Till now we stand at last
Where the white gleam of our bright star is cast
God of our weary years, God of our silent tears,
Thou who has brought us thus far on the way;
Thou who has by Thy might lead 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 our God,
True to our native land

April Is National Poetry Month! 

LIFE IS THE ART OF DRAWING

APPEARED IN "TODAY'S NEGRO VOICES: AN ANTHOLOGY BY 

YOUNG NEGRO POETS."

Attribution: CIVIL RIGHTS MOVEMENT ARCHIVE

CAROLYN J. OGLETREE 

POET X PAINTER 

Life is the art of drawing

Lines, oil, paint, and chalk

Red, white and blue

America

Life is the art of drawing

Brushes, pencil on canvas

Red, white and blue

America

Life is the art of drawing

From bed to bed and room to room

Red, white and blue

America

Life is the art of drawing

Boy, girl, marriage

Saint Mary’s church

Red, white and blue

America

Life is the art of drawing

House, car and society

Red, white and blue

America

Life is the art of drawing

5, 4, 3, 2, 1, children-P.T.A.

Red, white and blue

America

Life is the art of drawing

Black and white, no harmony

Red, white and blue

America

Life is the art of drawing

Wars and countless deaths

Red, white and blue

America

Life is the art of drawing

Peace

Red, white and blue

America

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

April Is National Poetry Month! 

THE VOICE OF FREEDOM

Attribution: CIVIL RIGHTS MOVEMENT ARCHIVE

ROBERT LEE 

FORMER FREEDOM SCHOOL STUDENT

I am the voice that is heard everywhere;

Each day I struggle to get segregation away from 

here.

I am the voice that men call upon

for Unity

for Brotherhood

for Now

for Eternity

I am the voice of Freedom.

Gaining me is America's task;

Through striving and sacrifice

Segregation will be unmasked.

I am the voice that speaks with great pride:

Segregation and discrimination will be cast aside.

I am the voice that proclaims,

"I will bring justice,"

"I will bring equality."

I am the voice that shouts,

"Segregation is dead."

I am the voice of freedom.

I will be -America! 

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

April Is National Poetry Month! 

CHANGING THE AMERICAN STAGE

ELNORA FONDREN 

FORMER FREEDOM SCHOOL STUDENT

Attribution: CIVIL RIGHTS MOVEMENT ARCHIVE

America is a stage life land,

All people have parts to learn in hand.

If I were to walk down the street and say,

"I want my freedom this very day,"

I'd raise my fingers and lift my face,

But my people would look at me in disgrace.

"Why should I try to be free?

I already have my liberty."

The people are walking as statues do;

I have no right to look at you.

My face is different, my face is black,

But why should you want to hold me back?

We are a nation, and it is said,

"A Nation when parted is a stage that's dead."

I was once a patriot true.

Now you try to take me with you:

Not to be brothers and to let me be free,

But only to take care of thee.

I still have to play my part;

I am still a slave in my heart.

To look at our flag, and say to thee,

''I am here, but am I free?"

The Nation of America is never to be

Until we have our liberty.

If Khrushchev walked to my hometown,

I'd try my best to show him around,

Even though he is a man in wrong,

I still would try to help him along.

A man is a man, and life is life;

I am a man, and he is in life.

The trail of freedom is all around,

I wish it would come through this sorrowed town.

In this nation, I want you to know,

I am a citizen, and I want to be treated so.

This nation has got to get together

And leave it to God to decide who is better.

I am here to testify,

I want my freedom, and that ain't no lie.

So Mr. Charlie, you are the best,

But I am as equal as you and the rest.

I am telling you the earnest truth,

We are people just like you.

So get ready for the fright of your life.

These people are going to get their freedom in height.

Try to be ready, try to be strong,

But you won't hold the black man down for long.

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

 April Is National Poetry Month! 

ELEGY WRITTEN IN AMERICA 

FRENCH HODGES

POET X ACTOR X EDUCATOR

Born down in Georgia

Died in Tennessee

Non-violence was his method

Love was his plea.

He lived with a dream

Told it to all he met

Many still remember

Others will forget.

Believed in the ballot

Taught it all around

Taught it in the country

Taught it in the town.

In nineteen-hundred, sixty three

He went to cash a check

Tried to cash a check for freedom

America shot him in the neck.

Many things they called him

Nigger, gentle warrior, king,

Fool, dreamer, prophet, saviour,

He who bade freedom ring.

Freedom never did start its ring,

The dream never came true

The check never was cashed,

A debt unpaid comes due.

Born down in Georgia

Shot down in Tennessee

Love was his greatest gift

Freedom was his plea.

April Is National Poetry Month! 

IN MEMORIAM: MARTIN LUTHER KING, JR. 

JUNE JORDAN

RENOWNED POET X PLAYWRIGHT X WRITER X ESSAYIST X 

TEACHER X ACTIVIST

honey people murder mercy U.S.A.
the milkland turn to monsters teach
to kill to violate pull down destroy
the weakly freedom growing fruit
from being born

America

tomorrow yesterday rip rape
exacerbate despoil disfigure
crazy running threat the
deadly thrall
appall belief dispel
the wildlife burn the breast
the onward tongue
the outward hand
deform the normal rainy
riot sunshine shelter wreck
of darkness derogate
delimit blank
explode deprive
assassinate and batten up
like bullets fatten up
the raving greed
reactivate a springtime
terrorizing

death by men by more
than you or I can

STOP

2

They sleep who know a regulated place
or pulse or tide or changing sky
according to some universal
stage direction obvious
like shorewashed shells

we share an afternoon of mourning
in between no next predictable
except for wild reversal hearse rehearsal
bleach the blacklong lunging
ritual of fright insanity and more
deplorable abortion
more and
more

April Is National Poetry Month! 

JUSTICE AND JIVE

(A History Poem of American Justice)

Attribution: CIVIL RIGHTS MOVEMENT ARCHIVE

MARGARET BLOCK

POET X CIVIL RIGHTS ACTIVIST X FORMER MEMBER OF SNCC

Justice wasn't in America's plan when they took away the Indian Nation's land,
Like the Arapahoe, the Apache, the Cherokee, the Choctaw, the Navajo and many more.
Was it a just plan when you banished them to an isolated land
And infected them with smallpox and hives, you just knew that they wouldn't survive
These injustices can never be justified,
You call it Justice, but it's just another word for Jive.
Where was Justice when slavery abounded,
Perhaps she was helping Old Master keep Swobo's nose to the ground.
They took away his children, his culture, his language and his identity
but they could not take his dignity.
Madame Justice, you can't hide, we charge you with genocide.
You call it Justice but it's just another word for Jive.
Justice was nowhere around when all of the lynchings were going down.
The Klan strung us up and didn't try to hide
Because they knew that Justice wasn't on our side,
When Billie Holliday sang "Strange Fruit," she was singing about dead bodies hanging from a poplar tree.
She could have been singing about you or me.
She knew that justice would never preside,
You call it Justice but Billie called it Jive.
Justice comes with a dollar sign although justice is supposed to be blind.
I can't buy Justice and pay my rent. I make minimum wage with no benefits.
It seems to me that Justice is only for the rich.
If you don't have money Justice will be denied.
You call it Justice but it's just another word for Jive.
If Justice is really color blind then why are so many black and brown brothers doing time?
You lock them up on some homemade facts but that was always your plan of attack.
Langston Hughes once said that justice is a blind goddess to whom we blacks are wise,
Her bandage covers two festering sores that once perhaps were eyes.
You call it Justice but Langston called it Jive.
Madame Justice must be really tired.
She's permitting the cops to do black profiles,
they watch us and stop us for no good reason.
We feel like sitting ducks during hunting season.
It's about time for Justice to be on our side.
You call it Justice, but it's just another word for Jive.
Mr. President, if Justice was really intact, then why did you create the Patriot Act?
Your homeland security is an injustice in disguise
but Mr. Bush, unlike Justice, we're not blind. We all have eyes.
You call it justice but it's just another word for Jive.
Now Mrs. Bush, Justice had to have been deaf, mute and blind
when you helped create No Child Left Behind.
You're setting children up for a great big fall.
Mrs. Bush, an injustice to one is an injustice to all.
Justice should be on the children's side.
You call it Justice, but even the children know it's Jive.
Where was Justice when Katrina went down?
Perhaps she was hiding out with the FEMA director, that incompetent Michael Brown.
The people at the Superdome sent up a prayer in hopes that FEMA
would soon be there but Bush and Brown really didn't care.
They wished that they all had just floated away while they plotted and
lied and created an inexcusable delay, but someone once said that
Justice delayed is Justice denied.
You call it Justice, but we can all recognize Jive.

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

April Is National Poetry Month! 

RIGHT ON: WHITE AMERICA

 

SONIA SANCHEZ 

ICONIC POET OF THE BLACK ARTS MOVEMENT X WRITER X 

ESSAYIST X PROFESSOR X PLAYWRIGHT

this country might have been a pio

neer land

once.

but. there ain’t

no mo

indians blowing

custer’s mind

with a different

image of america.

this country

might have

needed shoot/

outs/ daily/

once.

but. there ain’t

no mo real/ white allamerican

bad/guys.

just.

u & me

blk/ and un/armed.

this country might have been a

pio

neer land once.

and it still is.

check out

the falling

gun/shell on our blk/ tomorrows.  

April Is National Poetry Month! 

AMERICUS, GEORGIA IN SIXTY THREE

PUBLISHED in 1975

LULU WESTBROOK GRIFFIN 

ONE OF 32 GIRLS LOCKED AWAY IN 1963 IN AN OLD 

CIVIL WAR STOCKADE FOR PROTESTING SEGREGATION IN 

HER HOMETOWN OF AMERICUS, GEORGIA.

CIVIL RIGHTS ACTIVIST X SPEAKER X POET

Attribution: CIVIL RIGHTS MOVEMENT ARCHIVE

Americus, Georgia in sixty three
There were obvious signs of bigotry,
Laws of Segregation were everywhere
White Supremacist Groups did not care.

The hatred they had for People of colour
Was blantant and vicious,
Toward my little sisters and brothers.

There were perpetrators, spectators,
Instigators, violators, Vigilantes, Agitators,
KKKS and NEGRO haters.

We marched with our Placards
And sang The FREEDOM Songs,
We were beaten and jailed
while making History at home.

Many fought for their freedom
to change the JIM CROW LAWS,
Now AMERICUS has signs of "LIBERTY"
And no more Segregated walls.

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

April Is National Poetry Month! 

AMERICA BLEEDS

FIRST APPEARED IN "MOTIVE MAGAZINE."

 

ANGELO LEWIS 

POET

it does, it does, i have seen it

bleeding brothers & sisters, 

i have seen it, i have seen it,

come rushing, walk crippled,

fall flatly on tears of sad streets

where creatures fall onward with

cold eyes over them, armies on

streets over them, police on

pavements over them, tear gas

in faces over them, fires &

minds, living dreams living,

all of them innocents, yes,

yes, i have seen it, it bleeds,

it bleeds, have seen it bleed,

spill blood at my brothers,

cough no at our dignity,

i tell you, i tell you, we must,

kick on this monster, till it

dies, till it dies, dies, dies,

dies, dies, lies in the dirt

with its blood & its sickness,

head fall rolling in gutter,

red, white, & blue, flow freely,

flow freely, move over, fall down,

down, down, be finished at

last.

April Is National Poetry Month! 

ARSON AND COLD LACE

(or how i yearn to burn baby burn)

"ARSON AND COLD LACE," FIRST APPEARED IN "UMBRA."

WORTH LONG

POET X FORMER STAFF COORDINATOR OF SNCC

We have found you out

Falsed face America

We have found you out

We have found you out

False farmers

We have found you out

The sparks of suspicion

Are melting your waters

and water can’t drown them

These fires a-burning

and firemen can’t calm them

With falsely appeasing

and preachers can’t pray

with hopes for deceiving

Nor leaders deliver

A lecture on losing

Nor teachers inform them

The chosen are choosing

For now is the fire

And fires won’t answer

To logic and listening

and hopefully seeming

Hot flames must devour

The kneeling and fleeing

and torture the masters

Whose idiot pleading

Gits lost in the echoes

Of dancing and bleeding

We have found you out

False farmers

We have found you out

We have found you out

False faced America

We have found you out

 April Is National Poetry Month! 

AMERICA 

APPEARED IN "AN ANTHOLOGY OF MODERN POEMS BY BLACK 

AMERICANS."

BOBB HAMILTON

POET X SCULPTOR X EDITOR

America

Is a fairyland fraud

Where democracy is pronounced

Dippty-Do

Ten Times on a T.V. commercial -----

insulting my

Black mother,

My black sister

My black wife,

My black self.

April Is National Poetry Month! 

I WANT TO HEAR AN AMERICAN POEM

DEF JAM POETRY EDITION

RAS BARAKA

POET X AUTHOR X EDUCATOR X SOCIAL ACTIVIST X POLITICAN 

X MAYOR OF NEWARK

Are there any American poets in here?

I wanna hear an American poem
Something American
South Carolina slave shouter
Alabama backwoods church shack call and response

I wanna hear an American poem
An American poem about
Share croppers on the side of the road
Of families in cardboard boxes
Not about kings or majestic lands
Or how beautiful ugly can be

I wanna hear some American Poetry
About projects
And lead poison
And poverty
And children in jail

I wanna hear a poem about a picket line
In a Joe Hill legend
Struggle for an 8 hour day
Hey you
Hey you
Where are all the American poems
About Harlem number runners
And barbershop conversations about
Colored faces on colored TVS

I wanna hear an American poem
Something American
As American as jazz
Or a South Bronx burner brandished on abandoned buildings
A scratch tune
A breakbeat
A backspin
A beatboxer
A rap song
In congo square
Niggas beating on buckets on broad street
As American as the Zulu Nation
And Latin Kings

I wanna hear an American poem
About a dead girl on Chadwick Avenue
With a bullet in her neck
From a cop doing his job
Ordered by Fascism
And crack cocaine

You know
Something made in the USA
Something American
And Afro-Cuban
New Yorican
Latin tinge
Beaten boom by and playna
Spiralling out of the wide open tenement windows
In the middle of winter
On the verge of East Harlem or North Newark
Palms of brown colonies
Of Albizu being tortured for breathing Taíno blood
Screaming African tongues
Dialoguing in Spanish for being him
Puerto Rican self, and
Worst of all
Loving it

My God where is all the American poetry
Just death marches
And stoic laughter
Niggas being funny
No more American poets
No I won't boost your morale
Or play your songs
Or make you feel comfortable
Or build your ego
Or Play my part

I just wanna hear an American poem
Something native
Like Trail of Tears
Wounded Knee
Like smallpox
And blankets

You know, American
Something that represents us
A colored rainbow
A big bright fist
An uncorrected sentence
Improper English

As American as COINTELPRO
As Peekskill, New York
As Robeson singing out the back of his truck
Like Nina Simone playing at the Village Gate
With Baldwin next to her on a piano stool
And Amiri and Amina Baraka in the audience
Air filled with Cognac
And Mississippi goddamn
Capture that moment!
Write Something about that

An American masterpiece
You know
An American poem
Something, strictly American
Like Red Summer
Strange fruit
pomarades

Hey you! Yeah you! Yeah you!
You, you!
Something American!
USA! America!
USA! America!
USA!

As American as the KKK

A poem about Emmett Till will do
The Tallahatchie River
Church bombings
Or child murders
About Alabama red dirt
And boycotts in Montgomery
About families migrating North
With dignity and shotguns

I wanna hear a poem,
A poem about a beautiful black boy
Can't you see him?
A beautiful black boy colored into the night
His eyes, the stars, his hands, our will
About a beautiful black boy in the middle of a project
Playing checkers with glass and stones
Who beat buckets or drums
And play the horn in his sleep

I wanna hear a poem
A poem about a beautiful brown girl
An incredibly beautiful brown girl
With an age, mahogany, smile, and
Flower pedals for her lips
And a beautiful brown girl with a poem in her eyes
A poem in her eyes
And a gun in her hand
Sitting in a puddle of tears
In Clinton’s women's facility
In the garden state
In the land of the free

You know something American
Something that represents me

 April Is National Poetry Month! 

AMERICA

Attribution: CIVIL RIGHTS MOVEMENT ARCHIVE

ZELLIE RAINY ORR

FORMER FREEDOM SCHOOL STUDENT

I have believed in America
though she has never believed in me;
she enslaved my ancestors
in her Land of Liberty.

She used me in building America
but refused to give me pay;
even manipulated justice
to look the other way.

She gave me an education
second-rate at that;
and blames me for illiteracy,
poverty, and rats.

She threw me in her crowded jails
even beat me unmercifully;
when I stood up for my civil rights
and protested peacefully.

She brainwashed my mind—
destroyed my self-esteem;
denied me my God-given right
to be the best, I can be.

I see her flag of freedom
flying majestically for all to see;
but I know her stars and stripes
do not wave to me.

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

April Is National Poetry Month! 

I, TOO SING, AMERICA

LANGSTON HUGHES

RENOWNED HARLEM RENAISSANCE POET X NOVELIST 

X ESSAYIST X PLAYWRIGHT X COLUMNIST X SOCIAL ACTIVIST

I, Too, Sing, America.

I am the darker brother.

They send me to eat in the kitchen

When company comes,

But I laugh,

And eat well,

And grow strong.

Tomorrow,

I’ll be at the table

When company comes

Nobody’ll dare

Say to me,

“Eat in the kitchen,”

Then.

Besides,

They’ll see how beautiful I am

And be ashamed--

I, too, am American.

 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?