The Poetry of John Henrik Clarke, Pt. II.


When leaves hang sleepy
From the trees,
And no sound is heard
Not even the hum of busy bees,
I creep quietly from my cottage
Into the glowing moonlight
And steal some lines for a sooner
Out of the stillness of the night.

(J.H.Clark „Rebellion in rhyme“, p.93)

On Passing an Old Lady’s Home

I passed by and saw them sitting there
Like withered and forlorn flowers;
Dreaming of days that once were rare,
While waiting for the final hour.
The grim curtain of age has fallen
Upon their lives that once were gay;
Stories of childhood pleasantness they tell ...
While waiting for death to take them away.

(J.H.Clark „Rebellion in rhyme“, p.92)


How can you sing America?
With your souls baptized in glee,
Advertising your greatness,
Boasting of your victories,
While men denied justice,
Are hanging from your trees

(J.H.Clark „Rebellion in rhyme“, p. 3)


Who is justice? I would like to know,
Whosoever she is, I could love her so.
I could love her, though my race
So seldom looks upon her face.

(J.H.Clark „Rebellion in rhyme“, p. 5)

*All of these poems were taken from the J.H.Clark’s book „Rebellion in rhyme

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