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Entries categorized as ‘African-American poetry’

Time for Haikus!

April 4, 2008 · Leave a Comment

Haiku, Japanese poem of three line. Made out of 5, 7 and 5 syllables. In Japanese on replaces syllables, it meaning sound units. Originally it was supposed to include a kigo, season word, expressing a connection to nature. Also, it only deal with one single mood. Here are some made by Mexican authors, and the African American author Richard Wright.

the flowing tears
of the black prostitute,
clear – like mine!

(José Juan Tablada – 1922)

721

As my anger ebbs,
The spring stars grow bright again
And the wind returns.

737

In the summer sun,
Near an empty whiskey bottle,
A sleeping serpent.

776

Empty autumn sky:
The bright circus tents have gone,
Taking their music.

http://www.terebess.hu/english/haiku/wright.html

Categories: African-American poetry · haikus
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Amiri Baraka

March 10, 2008 · Leave a Comment

Monday in B-Flat

I can pray
all day
& God
wont come.

But if I call
911
The Devil
Be here

in a minute!

Amiri Baraka was one of the most influencial writers during the Harlem Renaissance and in fairness it still sounds just as fresh as it was in the 60s.

Categories: African-American poetry

February 24, 2008 · Leave a Comment

Categories: African-American poetry · harlem renaissance

Amiri Baraka

February 10, 2008 · Leave a Comment

More online poems at http://www.english.uiuc.edu/maps/poets/a_f/baraka/onlinepoems.htm

Preface to a Twenty Volume Suicide Note

 

Lately, I’ve become accustomed to the way

The ground opens up and envelopes me

Each time I go out to walk the dog.

Or the broad edged silly music the wind

Makes when I run for a bus…

Things have come to that.

And now, each night I count the stars.

And each night I get the same number.

And when they will not come to be counted,

I count the holes they leave.

Nobody sings anymore.

And then last night I tiptoed up

To my daughter’s room and heard her

Talking to someone, and when I opened

The door, there was no one there…

Only she on her knees, peeking into

Her own clasped hands.

autobaraka.jpg

Categories: African-American poetry · religion

Gwendolyn Brooks

January 31, 2008 · Leave a Comment

“Some days you just feel real cool and want everyone to know”
The kind of poem you would read in a toilet and think, fuck!, it is actually so true!

We Real Cool

THE POOL PLAYERS.
SEVEN AT THE GOLDEN SHOVEL.

We real cool. We
Left school. We

Lurk late. We
Strike straight. We

Sing sin. We
Thin gin. We

Jazz June. We
Die soon.

G. Brooks

Categories: African-American poetry · Uncategorized