Section: «Poems»

Verse (ancient Greek ὁ στίχος — row, structure), a term in versification used in several meanings: artistic speech organized by division into rhythmically commensurate segments; poetry in the narrow sense; in particular, it implies the properties of versification of a particular tradition ("antique verse", "Akhmatova's verse", etc.); a line of poetic text organized according to a certain rhythmic pattern ("My uncle of the most honest rules").

Growing Down

Time was I thought of growing up,But that was ere the babies came;I'd dream and plan to be a manAnd win my share of wealth and fame,For age held all..

© Edgar Albert Guest

The Crucible Of Life

Sunshine and shadow, blue sky and gray,Laughter and tears as we tread on our way;Hearts that are heavy, then hearts that are light,Eyes that are..

© Edgar Albert Guest

Departed Friends

The dead friends live and always will;Their presence hovers round us still.It seems to me they come to shareEach joy or sorrow that we bear.Among the..

© Edgar Albert Guest

Constant Beauty

It's good to have the trees again, the singing of the breeze again,It's good to see the lilacs bloom as lovely as of old.It's good that we can feel..

© Edgar Albert Guest

Since Jessie Died

We understand a lot of things we never did before,And it seems that to each other Ma and I are meaning more.I don't know how to say it, but since..

© Edgar Albert Guest

The Sermon On The Warpland

“The fact that we are blackis our ultimate reality.”—Ron KarengaAnd several strengths from drowsiness campaignedbut spoke in Single Sermon on the..

© Gwendolyn Brooks

The Blackstone Rangers

IAS SEEN BY DISCIPLINESThere they are.Thirty at the corner.Black, raw, ready.Sores in the citythat do not want to heal.IITHE LEADERSJeff. Gene...

© Gwendolyn Brooks

The Sundays Of Satin-Legs Smith

Inamoratas, with an approbation,Bestowed his title. Blessed his inclination.He wakes, unwinds, elaborately: a catTawny, reluctant, royal. He is..

© Gwendolyn Brooks

The Rites For Cousin Vit

Carried her unprotesting out the door.Kicked back the casket-stand. But it can't hold her,That stuff and satin aiming to enfold her,The lid's..

© Gwendolyn Brooks

The Life Of Lincoln West

Ugliest little boythat everyone ever saw.That is what everyone said.Even to his mother it was apparent—when the blue-aproned nurse came into..

© Gwendolyn Brooks

Of De Witt Williams On His Way To Lincoln Cemetery

He was born in Alabama.He was bred in Illinois.He was nothing but aPlain black boy.Swing low swing low sweet sweet chariot.Nothing but a plain black..

© Gwendolyn Brooks

Tommy

I put my seed into the groundAnd said, 'I'll watch it grow.'I watered it and cared for itAs well as I could know.One day I walked in my back yard,And..

© Gwendolyn Brooks

The Children Of The Poor

1People who have no children can be hard:Attain a mail of ice and insolence:Need not pause in the fire, and in no senseHesitate in the hurricane to..

© Gwendolyn Brooks

A Penitent Considers Another Coming Of Mary

For Reverend Theodore RichardsonIf Mary came would MaryForgive, as Mothers may,And sad and second SaviourFurnish us today?She would not shake her..

© Gwendolyn Brooks

Jessie Mitchell’s Mother

Into her mother’s bedroom to wash the ballooning body.“My mother is jelly-hearted and she has a brain of jelly:Sweet, quiver-soft, irrelevant. Not..

© Gwendolyn Brooks

When You Have Forgotten Sunday: The Love Story

—And when you have forgotten the bright bedclothes on a Wednesday and a Saturday,And most especially when you have forgotten Sunday—When you have..

© Gwendolyn Brooks

Mayor Harold Washington

Mayor. Worldman. Historyman.Beyond steps that occur and close,your steps are echo-makers.You can never be forgotten.We begin our health.We enter the..

© Gwendolyn Brooks

One Wants A Teller In A Time Like This

One wants a teller in a time like thisOne's not a man, one's not a woman grownTo bear enormous business all alone.One cannot walk this winding street..

© Gwendolyn Brooks

The Vacant Lot

Mrs. Coley’s three-flat brickIsn’t here any more.All done with seeing her fat little formBurst out of the basement door;And with seeing her African..

© Gwendolyn Brooks

Young Afrikans

of the furiousWho take Today and jerk it out of jointhave made new underpinnings and a Head.Blacktime is time for chimefulpoemhoodbut they decree..

© Gwendolyn Brooks

Truth

And if sun comesHow shall we greet him?Shall we not dread him,Shall we not fear himAfter so lengthy aSession with shade?Though we have wept for..

© Gwendolyn Brooks

Primer For Blacks

Blacknessis a title,is a preoccupation,is a commitment Blacksare to comprehend—and in which you areto perceive your Glory.The conscious shoutof all..

© Gwendolyn Brooks

Boy Breaking Glass

To Marc Crawfordfrom whom the commissionWhose broken window is a cry of art(success, that winks awareas elegance, as a treasonable faith)is raw: is..

© Gwendolyn Brooks

Of Robert Frost

There is a little lightning in his eyes.Iron at the mouth.His brows ride neither too far up nor down.He is splendid. With a place to stand.Some..

© Gwendolyn Brooks

A Song In The Front Yard

I’ve stayed in the front yard all my life.I want a peek at the backWhere it’s rough and untended and hungry weed grows.A girl gets sick of a rose.I..

© Gwendolyn Brooks