1 min read
Слушать(AI)People
To those fixed on white,
White is white,
To those fixed on black,
It is the same,
And red is red,
Yellow, yellow-Surely there are such
In the many colored world,
Or in the mind.
The strange thing is
These people never see
Or you, or me.
Are they not in their minds?
Are we not in the world?
This is a curious
For those that are color blind.
What queer
That men who believe in
Disbelieve in seers.
O people, if you but
Your other
You would see beings.
Jean Toomer
Jean Toomer (born Nathan Pinchback Toomer, December 26, 1894 – March 30, 1967) was an American poet and novelist commonly associated with the Ha
Comments
You need to be signed in to write comments
Other author posts
A Certain Man
A certain man wishes to be a Of this earth; he also wants to beA saint and master of the being-world Conscience cannot exist in the first: The second cannot exist without conscience
Tell Me
Tell me, dear beauty of the dusk, When purple ribbons bind the hill, Do dreams your secret wish fulfill, Do prayers, like kernels from the
Her Lips Are Copper Wire
whisper of yellow globesgleaming on lamp-posts that swaylike bootleg licker drinkers in the fogand let your breath be moist against melike bright beads on yellow globestelephone the power-housethat the main wires are insulate(her words play softly...
November Cotton Flower
Boll-weevil's coming, and the winter's cold, Made cotton-stalks look rusty, seasons old, And cotton, scarce as any southern snow, Was vanishing; the branch, so pinched and slow,