With Melted Opals For My Milk, Pearl-leaf

Goodness Begins Simply With The Fact Of Life Itself.

The Poetry Is Myself.

The Forties And Fifties Were Years Of High Poet-incense; The Language-flowers Were Thickly Sweet. Those Flowers Whined And Begged White Folks To Pick Them, To Find Them Lovable. Then The '60s: Independent Fire!

When You Use The Term Minority Or Minorities In Reference To People, You're Telling Them That They're Less Than Somebody Else.

Life For My Child Is Simple, And Is Good.