Amiri Baraka Poems

He came back and shot. He shot him. When he came
back, he shot, and he fell, stumbling, past the
shadow wood, down, shot, dying, dead, to full halt.
...

Lately, I've become accustomed to the way
The ground opens up and envelopes me
Each time I go out to walk the dog.
...

'A closed window looks down
on a dirty courtyard, and Black people
call across or scream across or walk across
...

I can pray
all day
& God
...

A political art, let it be
tenderness, low strings the fingers
touch, or the width of autumn
...

I am inside someone
who hates me. I look
out from his eyes. Smell
...

If you ever find
yourself, some where
lost and surrounded
...

Who has ever stopped to think of the divinity of Lamont Cranston?
(Only jack Kerouac, that I know of: & me.
The rest of you probably had on WCBS and Kate Smith,
...

African blues
does not know me. Their steps, in sands
of their own
land. A country
...

He had got, finally,
to the forest
of motives. There were no
...