When Poems Stop Talking About The Moon

Let The Rain Kiss You. Let The Rain Beat Upon Your Head With Silver Liquid Drops. Let The Rain Sing You A Lullaby.

Sometimes I Wish The Public Were Equally Aware Of The Men Of Our Race In The Cultural Fields. You, For Instance, Have You Ever Bought A Book By A Negro Writer?

I Stuck My Head Out The Window This Morning And Spring Kissed Me Bang In The Face.

Teach Us All To Do Right, Lord, Please, And To Get Along Together With That Atom Bomb On This Earth Because I Do Not Want It To Fall On Me-nor Thee-nor Anybody Living. Amen!

I Did Not Believe Political Directives Could Be Successfully Applied To Creative Writing . . . Not To Poetry Or Fiction, Which To Be Valid Had To Express As Truthfully As Possible The Individual Emotions And Reactions Of The Writer.