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I, Too, Sing America by Langston Hughes

The Red Wheelbarrow William Carlos Williams so much depends upon a red wheel barrow glazed with rain water beside the white. I, Too, Sing America by Langston Hughes.

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I, Too, Sing America by Langston Hughes

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  1. The Red WheelbarrowWilliam Carlos Williamsso much dependsupona red wheelbarrowglazed with rainwaterbeside the white

  2. I, Too, Sing America by Langston Hughes • II, too, sing America.I am the darker brother.They send me to eat in the kitchenWhen company comes,But I laugh,And eat well,And grow strong.Tomorrow,I'll be at the tableWhen company comes.Nobody'll dareSay to me,"Eat in the kitchen,"Then.Besides, They'll see how beautiful I amAnd be ashamed--I, too, am America.

  3. Dream Variations by Langston Hughes • To fling my arms wideIn some place of the sun,To whirl and to danceTill the white day is done.Then rest at cool eveningBeneath a tall treeWhile night comes on gently,Dark like me-That is my dream!To fling my arms wideIn the face of the sun,Dance! Whirl! Whirl!Till the quick day is done.Rest at pale evening...A tall, slim tree...Night coming tenderlyBlack like me.

  4. April Rain Songby Langston Hughes • Let the rain kiss you. • Let the rain beat upon your head with silver liquid drops. • Let the rain sing you a lullaby. • The rain makes still pools on the sidewalk. • The rain makes running pools in the gutter. • The rain plays a little sleep-song on our roof at night— • And I love the rain.

  5. kitchenette buildingby Gwendolyn Brooks • We are things of dry hours and the involuntary plan, • Grayed in, and gray. “Dream” makes a giddy sound, not strong • Like “rent,” “feeding a wife,” “satisfying a man.” • But could a dream send up through onion fumes • Its white and violet, fight with fried potatoes • And yesterday’s garbage ripening in the hall, • Flutter, or sing an aria down these rooms • Even if we were willing to let it in, • Had time to warm it, keep it very clean, • Anticipate a message, let it begin? • We wonder. But not well! not for a minute! • Since Number Five is out of the bathroom now, • We think of lukewarm water, hope to get in it.

  6. The New Colossus • Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame, • With conquering limbs astride from land to land; • Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand • A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame • Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name • Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand • Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command • The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame. • "Keep ancient lands, your storied pomp!" cries she • With silent lips. "Give me your tired, your poor, • Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, • The wretched refuse of your teeming shore. • Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me, • I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"

  7. I Hear America SingingBy Walt Whitman1819-1892 • I hear America singing, the varied carols I hear, Those of mechanics, each one singing his as it should be blithe and strong, The carpenter singing his as he measures his plank or beam, The mason singing his as he makes ready for work, or leaves off work, The boatman singing what belongs to him in his boat, the deckhand singing on the steamboat deck, The shoemaker singing as he sits on his bench, the hatter singing as he stands, The wood-cutter's song, the ploughboy's on his way in the morning, or at noon intermission or at sundown, The delicious singing of the mother, or of the young wife at work, or of the girl sewing or washing, Each singing what belongs to him or her and to none else, The day what belongs to the day--at night the party of young fellows, robust, friendly, Singing with open mouths their strong melodious songs.

  8. A Rock, A River, A TreeHosts to species long since departed,Mark the mastodon.The dinosaur, who left dry tokensOf their sojourn hereOn our planet floor,Any broad alarm of their of their hastening doomIs lost in the gloom of dust and ages.But today, the Rock cries out to us, clearly, forcefully,Come, you may stand upon myBack and face your distant destiny,But seek no haven in my shadow.I will give you no hiding place down here.You, created only a little lower thanThe angels, have crouched too long inThe bruising darkness,Have lain too longFace down in ignorance.Your mouths spelling wordsArmed for slaughter.The rock cries out today, you may stand on me,But do not hide your face.Across the wall of the world,A river sings a beautiful song,Come rest here by my side.Each of you a bordered country,Delicate and strangely made proud,Yet thrusting perpetually under siege.Your armed struggles for profitHave left collars of waste uponMy shore, currents of debris upon my breast.Yet, today I call you to my riverside,If you will study war no more.Come, clad in peace and I will sing the songsThe Creator gave to me when IAnd the tree and stone were one.Before cynicism was a bloody sear across your browAnd when you yet knew you still knew nothing.The river sings and sings on.There is a true yearning to respond toThe singing river and the wise rock.. So say the Asian, the Hispanic, the Jew,The African and Native American, the Sioux,The Catholic, the Muslim, the French, the Greek,The Irish, the Rabbi, the Priest, the Sheikh,The Gay, the Straight, the Preacher,The privileged, the homeless, the teacher. They hear. They all hearThe speaking of the tree.Today, the first and last of every treeSpeaks to humankind. Come to me, here beside the river.Plant yourself beside me, here beside the river.Each of you, descendant of some passed onTraveller, has been paid for.You, who gave me my first name,You Pawnee, Apache and Seneca,You Cherokee Nation, who rested with me,Then forced on bloody feet,Left me to the employment of other seekers--Desperate for gain, starving for gold.You, the Turk, the Swede, the German, the Scot...You the Ashanti, the Yoruba, the Kru,Bought, sold, stolen, arriving on a nightmarePraying for a dream.Here, root yourselves beside me.I am the tree planted by the river,Which will not be moved.I, the rock, I the river, I the treeI am yours--your passages have been paid.Lift up your faces, you have a piercing needFor this bright morning dawning for you.History, despite its wrenching pain,Cannot be unlived, and if faced with courage,Need not be lived again.Lift up your eyes uponThe day breaking for you.Give birth again On The Pulse Of Morningby Maya AngelouAmerican Poet Delivered January 19, 1993 at the Inauguration of President Clinton

  9. On The Pulse Of Morningby Maya AngelouAmerican Poet Delivered January 19, 1993 at the Inauguration of President Clinton • They hear. They all hearThe speaking of the tree.Today, the first and last of every treeSpeaks to humankind. Come to me, here beside the river.Plant yourself beside me, here beside the river.Each of you, descendant of some passed onTraveller, has been paid for.You, who gave me my first name,You Pawnee, Apache and Seneca,You Cherokee Nation, who rested with me,Then forced on bloody feet,Left me to the employment of other seekers--Desperate for gain, starving for gold.You, the Turk, the Swede, the German, the Scot...You the Ashanti, the Yoruba, the Kru,Bought, sold, stolen, arriving on a nightmarePraying for a dream.Here, root yourselves beside me.I am the tree planted by the river,Which will not be moved.I, the rock, I the river, I the treeI am yours--your passages have been paid.Lift up your faces, you have a piercing needFor this bright morning dawning for you.History, despite its wrenching pain,Cannot be unlived, and if faced with courage,Need not be lived again.Lift up your eyes uponThe day breaking for you.Give birth again

  10. They hear. They all hearThe speaking of the tree.Today, the first and last of every treeSpeaks to humankind. Come to me, here beside the river.Plant yourself beside me, here beside the river.Each of you, descendant of some passed onTraveller, has been paid for.You, who gave me my first name,You Pawnee, Apache and Seneca,You Cherokee Nation, who rested with me,Then forced on bloody feet,Left me to the employment of other seekers--Desperate for gain, starving for gold.You, the Turk, the Swede, the German, the Scot...You the Ashanti, the Yoruba, the Kru,Bought, sold, stolen, arriving on a nightmarePraying for a dream.Here, root yourselves beside me.I am the tree planted by the river,Which will not be moved.I, the rock, I the river, I the treeI am yours--your passages have been paid.Lift up your faces, you have a piercing needFor this bright morning dawning for you.History, despite its wrenching pain,Cannot be unlived, and if faced with courage,Need not be lived again.Lift up your eyes uponThe day breaking for you.Give birth again

  11. Knoxville, Tennesseeby Nikki GiovanniPoem: "Knoxville, Tennessee" by Nikki Giovanni. Used with permission of the author. (Knoxville, Tennessee • I always like summer bestyou can eat fresh cornfrom daddy's gardenand okraand greensand cabbageand lots of barbecueand buttermilk and homemade ice-creamat the church picnicand listen to gospel musicoutside at the churchhomecoming and go to the mountains with your grandmotherand go barefootedand be warmall the timenot only when you go to bedand sleep

  12. America The Beautiful by Bates • O beautiful for spacious skies,For amber waves of grain,For purple mountain majestiesAbove the fruited plain!America! America!God shed his grace on theeAnd crown thy good with brotherhoodFrom sea to shining sea! • O beautiful for pilgrim feet,Whose stern, impassioned stressA thoroughfare for freedom beatAcross the wilderness!America! America!God mend thy every flaw,Confirm thy soul in self control,Thy liberty in law! • O beautiful for heroes provedIn liberating strife,Who more than self their country loved,And mercy more than life!America! America!May God thy gold refine,Till all success be noblenessAnd every gain divine! • O beautiful for patriot dreamThat sees beyond the yearsThine alabaster cities gleamUndimmed by human tears!America! America!God shed his grace on theeAnd crown thy good with brotherhoodFrom sea to shining sea!

  13. THIS LAND IS YOUR LAND words and music by Woody Guthrie • Chorus:This land is your land, this land is my land • From California, to the New York Island • From the redwood forest, to the gulf stream waters • This land was made for you and me • As I was walking a ribbon of highway • I saw above me an endless skyway • I saw below me a golden valley • This land was made for you and me • Chorus • I've roamed and rambled and I've followed my footsteps • To the sparkling sands of her diamond deserts • And all around me a voice was sounding • This land was made for you and me • ChorusThe sun comes shining as • I was strollingThe wheat fields waving and the dust clouds rolling • The fog was lifting a voice come • chanting • This land was made for you and me • Chorus As I was walkin' - I saw a sign there • And that sign said - no tress passin'But on the other side .... it didn't say nothin • Now that side was made for you and me! • Chorus In the squares of the city – • In the shadow of the steeple • Near the relief office - I see my people • And some are grumblin‘ • and some are wonderin • 'If this land's still made for you and me.

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