Tag: America

“Morning Song of Love” by Paul Laurence Dunbar

Post author By TDarris
Post date May 9, 2015
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Darling, my darling, my heart is on the wing,
It flies to thee this morning like a bird,
Like happy birds in springtime my spirits soar and sing,
The same sweet song thine ears have often heard.

The sun is in my window, the shadow on the lea,
The wind is moving in the branches green,
And all my life, my darling, is turning unto thee,
And kneeling at thy feet, my own, my queen.

The golden bells are ringing across the distant hill,
Their merry peals come to me soft and clear,
But in my heart’s deep chapel all incense-filled and still
A sweeter bell is sounding for thee, dear.

The bell of love invites thee to come and seek the shrine
Whose altar is erected unto thee,
The offerings, the sacrifice, the prayers, the chants are thine,
And I, my love, thy humble priest will be.

Tags 19th century, african american history, African American poet, african-american, African-American Poetry, America, american, american poet, American poetry, art, Arts, Black History, Black Poet, Black Poetry, Love and Friendship, love poem, love poetry, Paul Laurence Dunbar, tdarris

African-American American Black History Harlem Renaissance James Weldon Johnson

“The Glory of the Day Was In Her Face” by James Weldon Johnson

Post author By TDarris
Post date May 8, 2015
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The glory of the day was in her face,
The beauty of the night was in her eyes.
And over all her loveliness, the grace
Of Morning blushing in the early skies.

And in her voice, the calling of the dove;
Like music of a sweet, melodious part.
And in her smile, the breaking light of love;
And all the gentle virtues in her heart.

And now the glorious day, the beauteous night,
The birds that signal to their mates at dawn,
To my dull ears, to my tear-blinded sight
Are one with all the dead, since she is gone.

Tags 19th century, 20th century, african american history, African American poet, african-american, African-American Poetry, America, american, american poet, American poetry, art, Arts, Black, Black History, Black Poet, Black Poetry, tdarris

Alfred Joyce Kilner American Celebration

“Trees” by Alfred Joyce Kilner

Post author By TDarris
Post date May 4, 2015
1 Comment on “Trees” by Alfred Joyce Kilner

I think that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree.

A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
Against the earth’s sweet flowing breast;

A tree that looks at God all day,
And lifts her leafy arms to pray;

A tree that may in summer wear
A nest of robins in her hair;

Upon whose bosom snow has lain;
Who intimately lives with rain.

Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree.

Tags 19th century, 20th century, America, american, american poet, American poetry, art, Arts, rhymed stanza, United States, United States of America

American Edward Lear

“The Owl and the Pussycat” by Edward Lear

Post author By TDarris
Post date May 4, 2015
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The Owl and the Pussy-cat went to sea

In a beautiful pea green boat,

They took some honey, and plenty of money,

Wrapped up in a five pound note.

The Owl looked up to the stars above,

And sang to a small guitar,

“O lovely Pussy! O Pussy my love,

What a beautiful Pussy you are,

You are,

You are!

What a beautiful Pussy you are!”

Pussy said to the Owl, “You elegant fowl!

How charmingly sweet you sing!

O let us be married! too long we have tarried:

But what shall we do for a ring?”

They sailed away, for a year and a day,

To the land where the Bong-tree grows

And there in a wood a Piggy-wig stood

With a ring at the end of his nose,

His nose,

With a ring at the end of his nose.

Tags 19th century, America, american, american poet, American poetry

African-American American Black History Harlem Renaissance Melvin B. Tolson

“A Song for Myself” by Melvin B. Tolson (1898 – 1966)

Post author By TDarris
Post date May 1, 2015
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I judge

My soul

Eagle

Nor mole:

A man

Is what

He saves

From rot.

African-American American Black History

“A Mathematical Problem in Verse” by Benjamin Banneker

Post author By TDarris
Post date April 30, 2015
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A COOPER and Vintner sat down for a talk,

Both being so groggy, that neither could walk,

Says Cooper to Vintner, “I’m the first of my trade,

There’s no kind of vessel, but what I have made,

And of any shpe, Sir, -just what you will,-

And of any size, Sir, -from a ton to a gill!”

“Then,” says the Vintner, “you’re the man for me,-

Make me a vessel, if we can agree.

The top and the bottom diameter define,

To bear that proportion as fifteen to nine,

Thirty-five inches are just what I crave,

No more and no less, in the depth, will I have;

Just thirty-nine gallons this vessel must hold,-

Then I will reward you with silver or gold,-

Give me your promise, my honest old friend?”

“I’ll make it tomorrow, that you may depend!”

So the next day the Cooper his work to discharge,

Soon made the new vessel, but made it too large;-

He took out some staves, which made it too small,

And then cursed the vessel, the Vintner and all.

He beat on his breast, “By the Powers!” – he swore,

He never would work at his trade any more.

Now my worthy friend, find out, if you can,

The vessel’s dimensions and comfort the man!*

* The greater diameter would be 24.7460 inches, the lesser 14.8476.

Tags 19th century, abolition, african american history, African American poet, african-american, African-American Poetry, America, american, american poet, American poetry, american slavery, art, Arts, Black, Black History, Black Poet, Black Poetry

African-American American Black History Harlem Renaissance Jean Toomer

“Georgia Dusk” by Jean Toomer (1894 – 1967)

Post author By TDarris
Post date April 30, 2015
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The sky, lazily disdaining to pursue

The setting sun, too indolent to hold

A lengthened tournament for flashing gold,

Passively darkens for night’s barbecue,

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.

The sawmill blows its whistle, buzz-saws stop,

And silence breaks the bud of knoll and hill,

Soft settling pollen where plowed lands fulfill

Their early promise of a bumper crop.

Smoke from the pyramidal sawdust pile

Curls up, blue ghosts of trees, tarrying low

Where only chips and stumps are left to show

The solid proof of former domicile.

Meanwhile, the men, with vestiges of pomp,

Race memories of king and caravan,

High-priests, an ostrich, and a juju-man,

Go singing through the footpaths of the swamp.

Their voices rise . . the pine trees are guitars,

Strumming, pine-needles fall like sheets of rain . .

Their voices rise . . the chorus of the cane

Is caroling a vesper to the stars . .

O singers, resinous and soft your songs

Above the sacred whisper of the pines,

Give virgin lips to cornfield concubines,

Bring dreams of Christ to dusky cane-lipped throngs.

African-American American Black History

“A Golden Day” by Paul Laurence Dunbar

Post author By TDarris
Post date April 30, 2015
No Comments on “A Golden Day” by Paul Laurence Dunbar

I Found you and I lost you,
All on a gleaming day.
The day was filled with sunshine,
And the land was full of May.

A golden bird was singing
Its melody divine,
I found you and I loved you,
And all the world was mine.

I found you and I lost you,
All on a golden day,
But when I dream of you, dear,
It is always brimming May.

Tags 19th century, african american history, African American poet, african-american, African-American Poetry, America, american, american poet, American poetry, art, Arts, Ohio, United States

African-American American Black History

“The Birth of John Henry” by Melvin B. Tolson (1898 – 1966)

Post author By TDarris
Post date April 29, 2015
No Comments on “The Birth of John Henry” by Melvin B. Tolson (1898 – 1966)

The night John Henry is born an ax

of lightning splits the sky,

and a hammer of thunder pounds the earth,

and the eagles and panthers cry!

John Henry—he says to his Ma and Pa:

“Get a gallon of barleycorn.

I want to start right, like a he-man child,

the night that I am born!”

Says: “I want some ham hocks, ribs, and jowls,

a pot of cabbage and greens;

some hoecackes, jam, and buttermilk,

a platter of pork and beans!”

John Henry’s Ma—she wrings her hands,

and his Pa—he scratches his head.

John Henry—he curses in giraffe-tall words,

flops over, and kicks down the bed.

He’s burning mad, like a bear on fire—

so he tears to the riverside.

As he stoops to drink, Old Man River gets scared

and runs upstream to hide!

Some say he was born in Georgia—O Lord!

Some say in Alabam.

But it’s writ on the rock at the Big Bend Tunnel:

“Lousyana was my home. So scram!”

Tags 19th century, 20th century, african american history, African American poet, african-american, African-American Poetry, America, american, american poet, American poetry, art, Arts, Black History, Black Poet, Black Poetry, John Henry

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