I could not help but think that somewhere along the way we had missed what was radical about our faith and replaced it with what is comfortable.
My verses are my diary. My poetry is a poetry of proper names.
Who sleeps at night? No one is sleeping. In the cradle a child is screaming. An old man sits over his death, and anyone young enough talks to his love, breathes into her lips, looks into her eyes.
There are books so alive that you're always afraid that while you weren't reading, the book has gone and changed, has shifted like a river; while you went on living, it went on living too, and like a river moved on and moved away. No one has stepped twice into the same river. But did anyone ever step twice into the same book?
Wings are freedom only when they are wide open in flight. On one's back they are a heavy weight.
I refuse to be. In the madhouse of the inhuman I refuse to live. With the wolves of the market place I refuse to howl.
I am a shadow’s shade, a lunatic, perhaps, Of two dark moons.
I'm not out there picking out every single item that we sell, and also we don't even make every single item that we sell.
I want to realize brotherhood or identity not merely with the beings called human, but I want to realize identity with all life, even with such things as crawl upon earth.
Gospel music in those days of the early 1930s was really taking wing. It was the kind of music colored people had left behind them down South and they liked it because it was just like a letter from home.
Politicians and corporations have always placed economic interests above moral interests. This is now hurting the entire planet.