Birmingham Jail

Send me a letter

And send it by mail.

Send it in care of

The Birmingham jail.

Down in Alabama,

They arrested us.

Took us bodily

Off the freedom bus.

Was running crazy,

Tripped over a log.

I was escaping

A big vicious dog.

In Mississippi

The waters arose.

We were swept over

By a big fire hose.

The sky is burning,

Here there is shooting,

And nobody yet

Has defined looting.

Send me a letter

And send it by mail.

Send it in care of

American jail.




Illustration: file photo, Birmingham, Alabama 1963
Poem was written on the occasion of the Freedom Buses of 1961

When Johnny...

There was a lad named Johnny Gray.

            Hooray!            Hooray!

His mother cried when he went away.

            Today!            Today!

When Johnny comes marching home again,

            Hooray!            Hooray!

We will cry and shout and jump then,

When Johnny comes home once again,

If Johnny comes marching home again.

Poor Johnny won’t be marching here,

            I fear!              I fear!

They shot him down over there.

            I hear!              I hear!

He won’t be here to see no more,

Won’t have his face inside our door.

Johnny won’t be marching anymore.

Little Light

Sometimes in evening dusk ending day,

The sun sets red, yet still the sky stays white,

And one finds a room where lights of lamps play.

The fireplace coal is caught and burning bright,

Yet still ‘tis dark for hearts long shut away

In worlds alone and suffering a plight

By being locked in grim unwanted gloom.

Silence rumbles the darkest empty room.

Quiet shakes the wall and falls down to sit

Upon the carpet nap its noiseless mark.

Dusk shades the boards and time is stalled with it,

Hiding what you may need within the dark.

The mist of light is growing now a bit.

How soft it spreads its comfort. Warm its spark.

With life again, your heart can start to cope.

We have a name anew. Mankind has His hope.

Wedding

The bell shall toll within the church tower

A man waits in the sanctuary room.

The bell has knell for his wedding hour.

Organ notes pump, the bride approaches soon

In procession. The bride a white flower.

An air of apprehension brushes the groom.

He turns. She takes his soul upon this aisle.

They return this path with different smile.