Category: African-American
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“My Little Dreams by Georgia Douglas Johnson (1880 – 1966)
My Little Dreams BY GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON I’m folding up my little dreams Within my heart tonight, And praying I may soon forget The torture of their sight. For time’s deft fingers scroll my brow With fell relentless art— I’m folding up my little dreams Tonight, within my heart.
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“The Harlem Dancer” by Claude McKay (1889 – 1948)
The wine-flushed, bold-eyed boys, and even the girls, Devoured her shape with eager, passionate gaze; But looking at her falsely-smiling face, I knew her self was not in that strange place.
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“blessing the boats” by LUCILLE CLIFTON (1936 – 2010)
“…the wind then turn from it certain that it will love your back may you open your eyes to water water waving forever…”
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“won’t you celebrate with me” by LUCILLE CLIFTON (1936 – 2010)
won’t you celebrate with me BY LUCILLE CLIFTON won’t you celebrate with me what i have shaped into a kind of life? i had no model. born in babylon both nonwhite and woman what did i see to be except myself? i made it up here on this bridge between starshine and clay, my one…
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“It Was a Dream” by Lucille Clifton (1936 – 2010)
“…whirling in a gyre of rage at what my days had come to. what, i pleaded with her, could i do, oh what could i have done?”
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“Regret” by OLIVIA WARD BUSH-BANKS (1869 – 1944)
“Then, what a bitter fate was mine; No language could my grief define; Tears of deep regret could not unsay…”
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“The Wife-Woman” by Anne Spencer (1882 – 1975)
“I cannot love them; and I feel your glad Chiding from the grave, That my all was only worth at all, what Joy to you it gave.”
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“Translation” by Anne Spencer (1882 – 1975)
Translation BY ANNE SPENCER We trekked into a far country, My friend and I. Our deeper content was never spoken, But each knew all the other said. He told me how calm his soul was laid By the lack of anvil and strife. “The wooing kestrel,” I said, “mutes his mating-note To please the harmony of…
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“Dunbar” by Anne Spencer (1882 – 1975)
Dunbar BY ANNE SPENCER Ah, how poets sing and die! Make one song and Heaven takes it; Have one heart and Beauty breaks it; Chatterton, Shelley, Keats and I— Ah, how poets sing and die!
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“At the Carnival” by Anne Spencer (1882 – 1975)
“…There, too, were games of chance With chances for none; But oh! Girl-of-the-Tank, at last!”