Poem at 30- Sonia Sanchez

it is midnight
no magical bewitching
hour for me
I know only that
I am here waiting
remembering that
once as a child
I walked two
miles in my sleep.
did I know
then where I
was going?
travelling. I’m
always travelling.
I want to tell
you about me
about nights on a
brown couch when
I wrapped my
bones in lint and
refused to move
no one touches
me anymore.
father do not
send me out
among strangers.
you you black man
stretching scraping
the mold from your body
here is my hand
I am not afraid
of the night

Songs for the People-Frances Ellen Watkins Harper

Let me make the songs for the people,
   Songs for the old and young;
Songs to stir like a battle-cry
   Wherever they are sung.

Not for the clashing of sabres,
   For carnage nor for strife;
But songs to thrill the hearts of men
   With more abundant life.

Let me make the songs for the weary,
   Amid life’s fever and fret,
Till hearts shall relax their tension,
   And careworn brows forget.

Let me sing for little children,
   Before their footsteps stray,
Sweet anthems of love and duty,
   To float o’er life’s highway.

I would sing for the poor and aged,
   When shadows dim their sight;
Of the bright and restful mansions,
   Where there shall be no night.

Our world, so worn and weary,
   Needs music, pure and strong,
To hush the jangle and discords
   Of sorrow, pain, and wrong.

Music to soothe all its sorrow,
   Till war and crime shall cease; 
And the hearts of men grown tender
   Girdle the world with peace.