Life For Me Ain't Been

For My Best Poems Were All Written When I Felt The Worst. When I Was Happy, I Didn't Write Anything.

It Is The Duty Of The Younger Negro Artist . . . To Change Through The Force Of His Art That Old Whispering "i Want To Be White," Hidden In The Aspirations Of His People, To "why Should I Want To Be White? I Am A Negro - And Beautiful!"

When Poems Stop Talking About The Moon And Begin To Mention Poverty, Trade Unions, Color, Color Lines And Colonies, Somebody Tells The Police.

Never Look For A Worm In The Apple Of Your Eye.

Let The Rain Kiss You. Let The Rain Beat Upon Your Head With Silver Liquid Drops. Let The Rain Sing You A Lullaby. The Rain Makes Still Pools On The Sidewalk. The Rain Makes Running Pools In The Gutter. The Rain Plays A Little Sellp-song On Our Roof At Night- And I Love The Rain.