Jean Toomer

(26 December 1894 – 30 March 1967 / Washington D.C.)

Jean Toomer Poems

1. A Poem From Transatlantic 5/14/2012
2. Banking Coal 12/26/2011
3. Storm Ending 12/26/2011
4. For M.W. 1/3/2003
5. Portrait In Georgia 1/20/2003
6. Harvest Song 1/3/2003
7. Georgia Dusk 1/3/2003
8. Conversion 1/3/2003
9. Song Of The Son 1/3/2003
10. Tell Me 1/3/2003
11. The Lost Dancer 1/3/2003
12. November Cotton Flower 1/13/2003
13. Evening Song 1/3/2003
14. Cotton Song 1/3/2003
15. Her Lips Are Copper Wire 1/3/2003
16. Unsuspecting 1/3/2003
17. Reapers 1/3/2003
18. A Portrait In Georgia 1/3/2003
19. A Certain Man 1/3/2003
20. People 1/3/2003

Comments about Jean Toomer

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    0 person liked.
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  • xX_69Poem_Master420_Xx (2/23/2019 7:50:00 AM)

    he using wordbot, its like ambot but for words. reported for hacking

    5 person liked.
    3 person did not like.
  • yeet 2.0 (5/25/2018 11:08:00 AM)

    yeet yeet yeet yeet yeet yeet yeet yeet yeet yeet yeet yeet yeet yeet yeet yeet yeet

    18 person liked.
    8 person did not like.
  • Yo Mom (3/2/2018 8:46:00 AM)

    Why video, could be text

    5 person liked.
    14 person did not like.
  • gaylord123 (2/26/2018 9:05:00 AM)

    jean toomer looks like hitler...

    9 person liked.
    11 person did not like.
  • Jean Toomer (2/12/2018 11:40:00 AM)

    all y'all nerds aint got nothin right about my life

    11 person liked.
    11 person did not like.
  • Yesss (2/8/2018 1:16:00 PM)

    Yesssssssssssssssssssss𝓈ssşs𝓈ssşs𝓈sŞ𝔰sşss

    11 person liked.
    11 person did not like.
  • nopee (1/11/2018 1:28:00 PM)

    nopeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeèeëeeęeee

    14 person liked.
    14 person did not like.
  • Lamont Palmer (2/19/2006 7:35:00 AM)

    Largely obscure now, but a very fine poet in his day.

    50 person liked.
    36 person did not like.
Best Poem of Jean Toomer

Reapers

Black reapers with the sound of steel on stones
Are sharpening scythes. I see them place the hones
In their hip-pockets as a thing that's done,
And start their silent swinging, one by one.
Black horses drive a mower through the weeds,
And there, a field rat, startled, squealing bleeds,
His belly close to ground. I see the blade,
Blood-stained, continue cutting weeds and shade.

Read the full of Reapers

A Certain Man

A certain man wishes to be a prince
Of this earth; he also wants to be
A saint and master of the being-world.
Conscience cannot exist in the first:
The second cannot exist without conscience.
Therefore he, who has enough conscience
To be disturbed but not enough to be
Compelled, can neither reject the one
Nor follow the other...