Sanchez Poetry Quotes

Come windless invader I am a carnival of Stars, a poem of blood.

I hope you find someone who holds you like you're the greatest piece of art God's ever put in their hands.

but i am what i am. woman. alone amid all this noise.

3. i have told you my name so there is tomorrow. 4. see me through your own eyes i am here.

There is a war inside you begging for peace. I pray you find your strength.

Women: the softest creatures with the strongest bite.

Let her be. She got a right to be different. She gonna stumble on herself one of these days. Just let the child be.

It’s okay if we ever walk away from this Trying to find something else to be happy. Maybe when we come back, we will know It’s okay to hold on to what your heart wants

you, man, will you remember me when i die? will you stare and stain my death and say i saw her dancen among swallows far from the world’s obscenities? you, man, will you remember and cry?

For we the people will always be arriving a ceremony of thunder waking up the earth opening our eyes to human monuments. And it'll get better it'll get better if we the people work, organize, resist, come together for peace, racial, social and sexual justice it'll get better it'll get better.

And you told us: the storm is rising against the privileged minority of the earth, from which there is no shelter in isolation or armament and you told us: the storm will not abate until a just distribution of the fruits of the earth enables men (and women) everywhere to live in dignity and human decency.

To P.J. (2 yrs old who sed write a poem for me in Portland, Oregon) if i cud ever write a poem as beautiful as u little 2/yr/old/brotha, I wud laugh, jump, leap up and touch the stars cuz u be the poem i try for each time i pick up a pen and paper. u. and Morani and Mungu be our blue/blk/stars that will shine on our lives and makes us finally BE. if i cud ever write a poem as beautiful as u, little 2/yr/old/brotha, poetry wud go out of bizness.

When I first saw [James Baldwin] on television in the early sixties, I felt immediately a kinship with this man whose anger and disappointment with America's contradictions transformed his face into a warrior's face, whose tongue transformed our massacres into triumphs. And he left behind a hundred TV deaths: scholars, writers, teachers, and journalists shipwrecked by his revivals and sermons. And the Black audiences watched and shouted amen and felt clean and conscious and chosen.

The news of [James Baldwin's] death reached me in Trinidad around midnight. I was lecturing in the country about African-American literature and liberation, longevity and love, commitment and courage. I could not sleep. I got up and walked out of my hotel room into a night filled with stars. And I sat down in the park and talked to him. About the world. About his work. How grateful we all are that he walked on the earth, that he breathed, that he preached, that he came toward us baptizing us with his holy words. And some of us were saved because of him. Harlem man. Genius. Piercing us with his eyes and his pen. How to write of this beautiful big-eyed man who took on the country with his words? How to make anyone understand his beauty in a country that hates Blacks?

It might seem difficult, but all you should do is come here Hold on to my hand tight as I introduce you to my world

I played your favourite tunes on the old piano I sang mindlessly the song you loved the most I wished for you to walk in and sing with me Then I realized your favourite song has changed

I try to think of metaphors that suit him best, but he was made of the sea and the stars and the sun, and one wouldn’t do him justice.

death is a five o'clock door forever changing time.

It is essential that we always repeat: we the people, we the people, we the people.

i saw you vincent van gogh perched on those pennsylvania cornfields communing amid secret black bird societies. yes.

What do I think about my neighbors? These people. These people who have sprayed the word nigger on my door. These people who finally threatened my children. My children did you hear me? Have you ever held a child in your arms while she shook her insides out? She was so scared I cried her to sleep. How do you ever tell a child again that she's safe? Huh? What do I think of these people? Huh? What should anyone think? What should you reporters think? What should the city think? What should the mayor think? What should the country think?

This is the time for the creative Man. Woman. Who must decide that She. He. Can live in peace. Racial and sexual justice on this earth. This is the time for you and me. African American. Whites. Latinos. Gays. Asians. Jews. Native Americans. Lesbians. Muslims. All of us must finally bury the elitism of race superiority the elitism of sexual superiority the elitism of economic superiority the elitism of religious superiority So we welcome you on the celebration of 218 years Philadelphia. America.

love between us is speech and breath. loving you is a long river running.

some times i dream bout u & me runnen down a street laughin. me no older u no younger than we be.

am gonna take me seriously. toooday. & study myself.

how sad it must be to love so many women to need so many black perfumed bodies weeping underneath you.

yeh. billie. if someone had love u like u shud have been loved ain't no tellin what kinds of songs u wud have swung gainst this country's wite mind. or what kinds of lyrics wud have pushed us from our blue / nites. yeh. billie. if some blk / man had reallee made u feel permanentlee warm. ain't no tellen where the jazz of yo/songs wud have led us.

this country might have been a pio neer land once. but. there ain’t no mo indians blowing custer’s mind with a different image of america. this country might have needed shoot/ outs/daily/ once. but. there ain’t no mo real/white/ allamerican bad/guys. just. u & me. blk/and un/armed. this country might have been a pion eer land. once. and it still is. check out the falling gun/shells on our blk/tomorrows.