Believing Everything She Read In The Daily

I Loved My Friend He Went Away From Me There's Nothing More To Say The Poem Ends, Soft As It Began- I Loved My Friend.

Gather Quickly Out Of Darkness All The Songs You Know And Throw Them At The Sun Before They Melt Like Snow.

For My Best Poems Were All Written When I Felt The Worst. When I Was Happy, I Didn't Write Anything.

I Am A Negro: Black As The Night Is Black, Black Like The Depths Of My Africa.

To Create A Market For Your Writing You Have To Be Consistent, Professional, A Continuing Writer - Not Just A One-article Or A One-story Or A One-book Man.