graves grow no green that you can use.
gwendolyn brooks
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to the young who want to die by Gwendolyn Brooks
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my dreams, my works, must wait till after hell
by Gwendolyn Brooks
I hold my honey and I store my bread
In little jars and cabinets of my will.
I label clearly, and each latch and lid
I bid, Be firm till I return from hell.
I am very hungry. I am incomplete.
And none can tell when I may dine again.
No man can give me any word but Wait,
The puny light. I keep eyes pointed in;
Hoping that, when the devil days of my hurt
Drag out to their last dregs and I resume
On such legs as are left me, in such heart
As I can manage, remember to go home,
My taste will not have turned insensitive
To honey and bread old purity could love.
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"I am a writer perhaps because I am not a talker."
- Gwendolyn Brooks
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Visit "To The Young Who Want To Die" if you'd like to hear it read by the author!
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Gwendolyn Brooks, from “To be in love”
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Books are meat and medicine and flame and flight and flower steel, stitch, cloud and clout, and drumbeats on the air.
Gwendolyn Brooks
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Even in winter it shall be green in my heart
When the green woods laugh with the voice of joy
And the dumpling stream runs laughing by
When the air does laugh with our merry wit
And the green hill laughs with the noise of it
As long as you're green, you're growing. As soon as you're ripe, you start to rot
A man who contemplates revenge keeps his wounds green
oom sha la la, Haley Heyderickx//Lydia Reid for Harper’s Bazaar Australia//Gwendolyn Brooks//The green knight (2021)//Frederic Chopin//William Blake//Oribe ware ewer, Japan, Edo Period 1615-1624, glazed stoneware//Ray Kroc//Francis Bacon//Solar power, Lorde//Franny Choi
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Gwendolyn Brooks, (1980), To These of My Sisters Who Kept Their Naturals (Never to look a hot comb in the teeth), in Primer For Blacks, Third World Press, Chicago, IL, 1991, pp. 12-13
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gwendolyn brooks understands how to start a fucking poem
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okay hold on this is so cool. bear with me
1) read this terrance hayes poem
2) read this gwendolyn brooks poem
3) go back to the terrance hayes poem and pay attention to the ends of lines
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Gwendolyn Brooks
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