Marcus Garvey

Nothing about us at all

lost land

that hold our brothers in Angola, In Mozambique,

Everywhere is war –

hot race

And girls glanced lovelier as the air grew dim,- In the old times, before he threw away his knees.

He sat in a wheeled chair, waiting for dark, And shivered in his ghastly suit of grey,

But for him it was not an important failure

when the aged are reverently, passionately waiting

let me not forget for a moment

let me ever feel that the long journey is still before me

I

I cannot understand. Like Picasso— Why he always show A man with funny shape Head and body all mixed up?

But still I must admit I don’t like poetry Very much.

I like the music to be sentimental Like at night while dim light in my room,

I can make us loved, just say the word.

Backwards

Maybe we’re okay kid, maybe she keeps the baby.

Step-Dad spits liquor back into glass, Mum’s body rolls back up the stairs,

you know you say things are “much of a muchness”—did you ever see such a thing as a drawing of a muchness?’

‘You might just as well say that “I see what I eat” is the same thing as “I eat what I see”!’

‘What can all that green stuff be?’ said Alice. ‘And where have my shoulders got to? And oh, my poor hands, how is it I can’t see you?’

Like one who, on a lonely road, Doth walk in fear and dread, And, having once turned round, walks on, And turns no more his head; Because he knows a frightful fiend Doth close behind him tread.

Sometimes my pulse beat so quickly and hardly that I felt the palpitation of every artery; at others

enthusiasm

His limbs were in proportion, and I had selected his features as beautiful. Beautiful! Great God! His yellow skin scarcely covered the work of muscles and arteries beneath; his hair was of a lustrous black, and flowing; his teeth of a pearly whiteness; but these luxuriances only formed a more horrid contrast with his watery eyes, that seemed almost of the same colour as the dun-white sockets in which they were set, his shrivelled complexion and straight black lips.

Mr. Hume’s sentiments

if girls were allowed to take sufficient exercise and not confined in close rooms till their muscles are relaxed and their powers of digestion destroyed.

arbitrary

Women, I argue from analogy, are degraded by the same propensity to enjoy the present moment; and, at last, despise the freedom which they have not sufficient virtue to struggle to attain.