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. Unsuspecting 1/3/2003
15. Cotton Song 1/3/2003
16. Her Lips Are Copper Wire 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

  • 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.
    2 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

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

    Why video, could be text

    5 person liked.
    12 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)


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


    14 person liked.
    13 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.
    35 person did not like.
Best Poem of Jean Toomer


To those fixed on white,
White is white,
To those fixed on black,
It is the same,
And red is red,
Yellow, yellow-
Surely there are such sights
In the many colored world,
Or in the mind.
The strange thing is that
These people never see themselves
Or you, or me.

Are they not in their minds?
Are we not in the world?
This is a curious blindness
For those that are color blind.
What queer beliefs
That men who believe in sights
Disbelieve in seers.

O people, if you but used
Your other eyes
You would see beings.

Read the full of People

Georgia Dusk

The sky, lazily disdaining to pursue
The setting sun, too indolent to hold
A lengthened tournament for flashing gold,
Passively darkens for night's barbeque,

A feast of moon and men and barking hounds.
An orgy for some genius of the South
With blood-hot eyes and cane-lipped scented mouth,
Surprised in making folk-songs from soul sounds.

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