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Quote by Robert Hayden

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Collected Poems

This book is a collection of poems that spans different styles and themes, showcasing the diversity of poetic expression. more

Author

Robert Hayden
Robert Hayden

Robert Hayden was an American poet known for his profound exploration of race and identity. His poetry often reflected the history and culture of the African American community, having a significant impact on contemporary poetry. more

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“here among them the americans this baffling multi people extremes and variegations their noise restlessness their almost frightening energy how best describe these aliens in my reports to The Counselors disguise myself in order to study them unobserved adapting their varied pigmentations white black red brown yellow the imprecise and strangering distinctions by which they live by which they justify their cruelties to one another charming savages enlightened primitives brash new comers lately sprung up in our galaxy how describe them do they indeed know what or who they are do not seem to yet no other beings in the universe make more extravagant claims for their importance and identity”

PoetryCultureCommunityRacePoemRacismRace RelationsAmericans
Book:Collected Poems
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“Know Your Ground Despite my blistered hands And calloused knuckles And over-taxed knees I cannot grow tomatoes It’s the soil, they said, Have your tested your levels? Calcium. Sand. Nitrogen. Clay. You must know your ground. But only lately have I walked this land Of my inheritance, Only recently looked At the wild mystery That lives beneath my toes, Only newly raked My fingers through earth And wondered, Is this bone that eroded To silt in my hand? Life that bled iron To fashion this bed? History that tastes So sweet on my tongue? In my frivolous hunger I surrendered my birthright. In your just disapproval I fled from my ground And now I fear this dormant soil Will never grow for me.”

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Book:Carolina Clay: A Collection of Poems on Love and Loss
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“The Fairy Bride The fairy bride picked the lock And tiptoed through the summer wood She gave no mind to life behind Or shadows thrown by bad or good She gave no mind to wrong or right Or screeching call of owls at night She listened for the haunting cries That called her from her blushing bud Ferns unfurl a tickled fronds Laughing at her slightest brush Dewdrops glisten with green eyes Meadows sway with lightest hush A captive note arrests her breath Dreamers weave intricate maze Lithe and quick she shines the light Illuminating shadow glades She gives no mind to life and limb Or captor’s hiss from deep within Her purity will seize the thread Dangling loose from dreamer’s web She spins a silver spool of light To catch the rays of stars at night Now innocence can spread its wings Making haste for freedom flight She gives no mind to where they fly Or how tall grasses lift her high She clicks the lock and in she glides All nature hails the fairy bride”

PoetryPoemInnocenceFairyNature PoemFairy BrideSummer Wood
Book:The Soul in Words: A collection of Poetry & Verse
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“Via Negativa Sometimes it's too hard with words or dark or silence. Tonight I want a prayer of high-rouged cheekbones and light: a litany of back-lit figures, lithe and slim, draped in fabrics soft and wrinkleless and pale as onion slivers. Figures that won't stumble or cough: sleek kid-gloved Astaires who'll lift ladies with glamorous sweeps in their hair— They'll bubble and glitter like champagne. They'll whisper and lean and waltz and wink effortlessly as figurines twirling in music boxes, as skaters in their dreams. And the prayer will not be crowded. You'll hear each click of staccato heel echo through the glassy ballrooms—too few shimmering skirts; the prayer will seem to ache for more. But the prayer will not ache. When we enter, its chandeliers and skies will blush with pleasure. Inside we will be weightless, and our goodness will not matter in a prayer so light, so empty it will float.”

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“Ligeia, Annabel Lee, and Berenice, Supernal beauties, pleasing to the eye, Were temporary mates and marble-cheeked Like timeless funerary monuments. Tremaine’s Rowena, Lady Madeline, Insidiously felled and pushed offstage, Had met goth’s Mister Goodbar on the page. First, females got top billed — — then burying. What makes an author kill his heroines? [Source: "Poe and His Women" a poem by LindaAnn LoSchiavo; first published by Bewildering Stories Magazine, 2019]”

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Book:A Route Obscure and Lonely
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