While poor black cherubs rise at seven
To do celestial chores.
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That brown girl’s swagger gives a twitch
Lad, never damn your body’s itchWhen loveliness is seen.For there is ample room for blissIn pride in clean brown limbs,And lips know better how to kissThan how to raise white hymns.And when your body’s death gives birthTo soil for spring to crown,Men will not ask if that rare earthWas white flesh once, or brown.
Some are teethed on a silver spoon,
I cut my teeth as the black racoon–For implements of battle.Some are swaddled in silk and down,And heralded by a star;They swathed my limbs in a sackcloth gownOn a night that was black as tar.For some, godfather and goddameThe opulent fairies be;Dame Poverty gave me my name,And Pain godfathered me.For I was born on Saturday–‘Bad…
Never love with all your heart,
And bit by bit to the smallest partThat organ will be breaking.Never love with all your mind,It only ends in fretting;In musing on sweet joys behind,too poignant for forgetting.Never love with all your soul,for such there is no ending;though a mind that frets may find control,and a shattered heart find mending.Give but a grain of…
This is not water running here,
That hurtle flesh and bone past fearDown alleyways of dreamsThis is a wine that must flow onNot caring how or whereSo it has ways to flow uponWhere song is in the air.So it can woo an artful fluteWith loose elastic lipsIts measurements of joy computeWith blithe, ecstatic hips.
I doubt not God is good, well-meaning, kind
The little buried mole continues blind,Why flesh that mirrors Him must some day die,Make plain the reason tortured TantalusIs baited by the fickle fruit, declareIf merely brute caprice dooms SisyphusTo struggle up a never-ending stair.Inscrutable His ways are, and immuneTo catechism by a mind too strewnWith petty cares to slightly understandWhat awful brain compels His…
‘Lord, being dark,’ I said, ‘I cannot bear
Lord, being dark, forewilled to that despairMy color shrouds me in, I am as dirtBeneath my brother’s heel; there is a hurtIn all the simple joys which to a childAre sweet; they are contaminate, defiledBy truths of wrongs the childish vision failsTo see; too great a cost this birth entails.I strangle in this yoke drawn…