In a wilderness of reasons
not to write, he wrote. Just wrote.
Each word was the belief
in the possibility of the next.
He kept it going.
Mostly his days and words talk
quietly, though he could rant and rage.
Mention is what his voices usually do
in a world of self-convinced noise.
Truth mentioned is a sweet brass
note you’ll never forget. Writing,
Langston showed writing to be
an unashamed act, one of the few
in a shameful, shaming world. Words
grin. Words reside. Words throw
a meal together for unexpected friends,
make a garden in front of a brownstone,
come back from long sea voyages
alive. Words aren’t everything,
are not the rent, often
may be only change left from
a last dollar spent in Paris or Reno.
The world goes to its terrible work
of silencing souls. Out
of an open window comes a tapping—
the tick, the tack, the click and the clack,
Jack, of writing. And all those sorry rooftops
get red, get glad, get suave, get saved.
You have lit a candle love the write
WOW! WOW! WOW! What a wonderful, exquisite tribute to one of the world's great poetic voices! It humbles me to think I presume to write poetry, too. Thank you for this jewel! Yen
Bork bork bork bork BOrK
Lovely tribute to literary icon nicely penned with insight. Thanks for sharing Hans.
I like chicken they go BOK BOK
Awesome writer was Langston Hughes.
Chick finger great write too :)
Awesome 'piece' Hans! Thanks for sharing!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem
Greatness! ! ! ! Thanks so much for sharing