My blues ain’t yours!
my blues be,
maybe more
but no less then
400 years of,
broken black
... [+]
Poetry
1 min
My blues ain’t yours!
my blues be,
maybe more
but no less then
400 years of,
broken black
... [+]
The way things were when there was a time of freedom as a child playing wild with no worries, only ... [+]
To Quit on Sunday:
Debt free
Investments decent
Savings is minimal
No plan
Probably meet a
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And the poor have the sufferings to which they are fairly accustomed
And each in the cell of
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Live the boom, unruffled,
busts, in the shade.
Spiralling gold prices,
frozen pay checks
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My grandfather had
Disdain for all ethnic
Groups Irish were Micks
Jews were
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My neighbors’ American flag hangs over their porch
and looks so bedraggled I guess they
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He could be any professor with thick glasses,
graying hair, the turned slant of his eyes
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They are fighting in the library:
whether or not to label classic books,
the well-loved
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I’m a million persons.
I am Black.
It is the color of my roots,
my unknown family
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When I was a child, being Asian-American meant breaking wooden chopsticks over a noodle lunchbox ... [+]
Middle Of The Dead End Street
Folding Tables Connect
Brought From Different Homes
PotLuck
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A benediction of starling breath
through Gianna’s bedroom curtain
stirred he
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Oh, my daughter son, my child,
you were so young
when I sent you off to win the war
on
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