Thank you! Awesome.

52 years old and was never able to grasp the beauty of poetry.

Is it that my brain works differently I wonder?

I am a college graduate too. Never could figure out Theater 100 class either now that I think of it.

Wonderful clip of 6 year old boy reciting Hughe's "I Too Sing America"

http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=loB66KKw2XY

What a beautiful poet. So many great artists came out of the Harlem Renaissance, but none could write as beautifully as Huges.

WOW - that's some kinda good stuff.

Thanks for sharing.

My favorite poem by him is "Dreams." It's short and simple but I love it.

Thank you, Kent, for the reminder. Thank you, Langston Hughes, for the poems.

Can a conservative be a poet ? What prose and artistic imagery we could fabricate from deep within our imaginative and genius minds. I want to be the Poet Laureate of Fox News Corp.

"Freedom is fleeting" I'm working on it, keep yall posted.

Thank you for your contribution, Ricky. It's always nice to realize you numbskulls are the ones who will never "get it." Proof once again that the average white American male is lower on the evolutionary scale than an amoeba.

THIS IS FASCINATING . . . It's from 2004, so the perspective might be a little different today, but there is A LOT to learn here:

"The error that progressives have consistently committed over the years is to underestimate the vitality of ignorance in America. "

From:

The Unteachable Ignorance of the Red States

http://www.slate.com/articles/news_and_politics/politics/2004/11/why_americans_hate_democratsa_dialogue_8.html

wanted to share my favorite Langston Hughes poem:

Let America be America Again

Let America be America again.
Let it be the dream it used to be.
Let it be the pioneer on the plain
Seeking a home where he himself is free.

(America never was America to me.)

Let America be the dream the dreamers dreamed—
Let it be that great strong land of love
Where never kings connive nor tyrants scheme
That any man be crushed by one above.

(It never was America to me.)

O, let my land be a land where Liberty
Is crowned with no false patriotic wreath,
But opportunity is real, and life is free,
Equality is in the air we breathe.

(There's never been equality for me,
Nor freedom in this "homeland of the free.")

Say, who are you that mumbles in the dark?
And who are you that draws your veil across the stars?

I am the poor white, fooled and pushed apart,
I am the Negro bearing slavery's scars.
I am the red man driven from the land,
I am the immigrant clutching the hope I seek—
And finding only the same old stupid plan
Of dog eat dog, of mighty crush the weak.

I am the young man, full of strength and hope,
Tangled in that ancient endless chain
Of profit, power, gain, of grab the land!
Of grab the gold! Of grab the ways of satisfying need!
Of work the men! Of take the pay!
Of owning everything for one's own greed!

I am the farmer, bondsman to the soil.
I am the worker sold to the machine.
I am the Negro, servant to you all.
I am the people, humble, hungry, mean—
Hungry yet today despite the dream.
Beaten yet today—O, Pioneers!
I am the man who never got ahead,
The poorest worker bartered through the years.

Yet I'm the one who dreamt our basic dream
In the Old World while still a serf of kings,
Who dreamt a dream so strong, so brave, so true,
That even yet its mighty daring sings
In every brick and stone, in every furrow turned
That's made America the land it has become.
O, I'm the man who sailed those early seas
In search of what I meant to be my home—
For I'm the one who left dark Ireland's shore,
And Poland's plain, and England's grassy lea,
And torn from Black Africa's strand I came
To build a "homeland of the free."

The free?

Who said the free?  Not me?
Surely not me?  The millions on relief today?
The millions shot down when we strike?
The millions who have nothing for our pay?
For all the dreams we've dreamed
And all the songs we've sung
And all the hopes we've held
And all the flags we've hung,
The millions who have nothing for our pay—
Except the dream that's almost dead today.

O, let America be America again—
The land that never has been yet—
And yet must be—the land where every man is free.
The land that's mine—the poor man's, Indian's, Negro's, ME—
Who made America,
Whose sweat and blood, whose faith and pain,
Whose hand at the foundry, whose plow in the rain,
Must bring back our mighty dream again.

Sure, call me any ugly name you choose—
The steel of freedom does not stain.
From those who live like leeches on the people's lives,
We must take back our land again,
America!

O, yes,
I say it plain,
America never was America to me,
And yet I swear this oath—
America will be!

Out of the rack and ruin of our gangster death,
The rape and rot of graft, and stealth, and lies,
We, the people, must redeem
The land, the mines, the plants, the rivers.
The mountains and the endless plain—
All, all the stretch of these great green states—
And make America again!

45 years ago, community activists took an old Woolworth building and turned it
into the Langston Hughes Community Library and Cultural Center in Corona, NY! I
was privileged to be there and part of the experience from the very beginning!
Today, LHL as we call it has the second larges collection of books and material
on African history and culture outside of the Schomburg in Harlem. LHL was not
just a place of books but art, music and dance and politics! Local and well
known artists came and performed for free! We had an outdoor festival, Family Day,
which continues to this day!

Langston Hughes Library was unlike the libraries of that time; it truly was a Community
Center of learning and cultural enrichment. It also became the physical
prototype for the modern libraries of today. It is also the place where I first
tried my hand at poetry inspired by the library namesake!

As you may be able to tell, I am very proud of my long standing association and involvement with this great institution! Happy Birthday, Langston Hughes!