The Rhythm Of Life Is A Jazz

The Past Has Been A Mint Of Blood And Sorrow. That Must Not Be True Of Tomorrow.

Lawrence Has A Wonderful Hill In It, With A University On Top And The First Time I Ran Away From Home, I Ran Up The Hill And Looked Across The World: Kansas Wheat Fields And The Kaw River, And I Wanted To Go Some Place, Too. I Got A Whipping For It.

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

I Asked You, Baby, If You Understood- You Told Me That You Didn't, But You Thought You Would.

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!"