The Negro Mother

Children, I come back today To tell you a story of the long dark way That I had to climb, that I had to know In order that the race might live and grow. Look at my face - dark as the night - Yet shining like the sun with love's true light. I am the dark girl who crossed the red sea Carrying in my body the seed of the free. I am the woman who worked in the field Bringing the cotton and the corn to yield.

‘carnal Apple, Woman Filled, Burning Moon,’

Carnal apple, Woman filled, burning moon, dark smell of seaweed, crush of mud and light, what secret knowledge is clasped between your pillars? What primal night does Man touch with his senses? Ay, Love is a journey through waters and stars, through suffocating air, sharp tempests of grain: Love is a war of lightning, and two bodies ruined by a single sweetness. Kiss by kiss I cover your tiny infinity, your margins, your rivers, your diminutive villages,

Haiku (Birds Singing...)

Birds singing in the dark —Rainy dawn.

A Poet's Death Is His Life Iv

The dark wings of night enfolded the city upon which Nature had spread a pure white garment of snow; and men deserted the streets for their houses in search of warmth, while the north wind probed in contemplation of laying waste the gardens. There in the suburb stood an old hut heavily laden with snow and on the verge of falling. In a dark recess of that hovel was a poor bed in which a dying youth was lying, staring at the dim light of his oil lamp, made to flicker by the entering winds. He a man in the spring of life who foresaw fully that the peaceful hour of freeing himself from the clutches of life was fast nearing. He was awaiting Death's visit gratefully, and upon his pale face appeared the dawn of hope; and on his lops a sorrowful smile; and in his eyes forgiveness.

Come In

As I came to the edge of the woods, Thrush music - hark! Now if it was dusk outside, Inside it was dark. Too dark in the woods for a bird By sleight of wing To better its perch for the night, Though it still could sing.

Dear Reader

Baudelaire considers you his brother, and Fielding calls out to you every few paragraphs as if to make sure you have not closed the book, and now I am summoning you up again, attentive ghost, dark silent figure standing in the doorway of these words.

From The Dark Tower

We shall not always plant while others reap The golden increment of bursting fruit, Not always countenance, abject and mute, That lesser men should hold their brothers cheap; Not everlastingly while others sleep Shall we beguile their limbs with mellow flute, Not always bend to some more subtle brute; We were not made to eternally weep. The night whose sable breast relieves the stark, White stars is no less lovely being dark,

America, A Prophecy

The shadowy Daughter of Urthona stood before red Orc, When fourteen suns had faintly journey'd o'er his dark abode: His food she brought in iron baskets, his drink in cups of iron: Crown'd with a helmet and dark hair the nameless female stood; A quiver with its burning stores, a bow like that of night, When pestilence is shot from heaven: no other arms she need! Invulnerable though naked, save where clouds roll round her loins Their awful folds in the dark air: silent she stood as night;

Divorce

Woke up suddenly thinking I heard crying. Rushed through the dark house. Stopped, remembering. Stood looking out at bright moonlight on concrete.

Answer To A Sonnet By J.H.Reynolds

"Dark eyes are dearer far Than those that mock the hyacinthine bell." Blue! 'Tis the life of heaven,—the domain Of Cynthia,—the wide palace of the sun,— The tent of Hesperus, and all his train,— The bosomer of clouds, gold, gray, and dun. Blue! 'Tis the life of waters:—Ocean And all its vassal streams, pools numberless, May rage, and foam, and fret, but never can

The Rainy Day

Written at the old home in Portland The day is cold, and dark, and dreary; It rains,and the wind is never weary; The vine still clings to the mouldering wall, But at every gust the dead leaves fall, And the day is dark and dreary. My life is cold, and dark, and dreary; It rains,and the wind is never weary;

Fear

I am afraid, oh I am so afraid! The cold black fear is clutching me to-night As long ago when they would take the light And leave the little child who would have prayed, Frozen and sleepless at the thought of death. My heart that beats too fast will rest too soon; I shall not know if it be night or noon, -- Yet shall I struggle in the dark for breath? Will no one fight the Terror for my sake, The heavy darkness that no dawn will break?

As Bronze May Be Much Beautified

As bronze may be much beautified By lying in the dark damp soil, So men who fade in dust of warfare fade Fairer, and sorrow blooms their soul. Like pearls which noble women wear And, tarnishing, awhile confide Unto the old salt sea to feed, Many return more lustrous than they were.

Dungeon

He whom I enclose with my name is weeping in this dungeon. I am ever busy building this wall all around; and as this wall goes up into the sky day by day I lose sight of my true being in its dark shadow. I take pride in this great wall, and I plaster it with dust and sand lest a least hole should be left in this name; and for all the care I take I lose sight of my true being.

A Night Of Storm

Oh city, whom grey stormy hands have sown, With restless drift, scarce broken now of any, Out of the dark thy windows dim and many Gleam red across the storm. Sound is there none, Save evermore the fierce wind's sweep and moan, From whose grey hands the keen white snow is shaken In desperate gusts, that fitfully lull and waken, Dense as night's darkness round they towers of stone. Darkling and strange art thou thus vexed and chidden;

Black Hole

There's a black hole In my consciousness I feel less whole Diminishing As it swallows up the light Diminished by my lack of Faith, Dark, dark, dark, I become As the sun consumed by night. In a distant park

Krishnakali

In the village they call her the dark girl but to me she is the flower Krishnakali On a cloudy day in a field I saw the dark girl's dark gazelle-eyes. She had no covering on her head, her loose hair had fallen on her back. Dark? However dark she be, I have seen her dark gazelleeyes.

This Girl

This Girl In The Dark Has a beautiful face without a name And a beautiful smile to hide the pain This Girl In the Dark Has cuts up her arm Loves nothing more then self harm This Girl in the dark Doesn't know how much longer she can keep trying Everyday she's slowly dying This Girl in the Dark

Fields Of Soria

Hills of silver plate, grey heights, dark red rocks through which the Duero bends its crossbow arc round Soria, shadowed oaks, stone dry-lands, naked mountains, white roads and river poplars, twilights of Soria, warlike and mystical, today I feel, for you, in my hearts depths, sadness,

Dark Dark Girl

Dark girl so filled with strife Dark Dark girl she'll take your life Dark girl stay for a while Dark Dark girl she makes me smile Dark girl she shows no fear Dark Dark girl is always near Dark girl wont see her cry Dark Dark girl just wants to die But Dark girl lives in the dark