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Best Famous Audre Lorde Poems

Here is a collection of the all-time best famous Audre Lorde poems. This is a select list of the best famous Audre Lorde poetry. Reading, writing, and enjoying famous Audre Lorde poetry (as well as classical and contemporary poems) is a great past time. These top poems are the best examples of Audre Lorde poems.

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by Audre Lorde | |

Who Said It Was Simple

 There are so many roots to the tree of anger 
that sometimes the branches shatter 
before they bear.
Sitting in Nedicks the women rally before they march discussing the problematic girls they hire to make them free.
An almost white counterman passes a waiting brother to serve them first and the ladies neither notice nor reject the slighter pleasures of their slavery.
But I who am bound by my mirror as well as my bed see causes in color as well as sex and sit here wondering which me will survive all these liberations.


by Audre Lorde | |

Hanging Fire

 I am fourteen
and my skin has betrayed me
the boy I cannot live without 
still sucks his tumb 
in secret
how come my knees are 
always so ashy
what if I die
before the morning comes
and momma's in the bedroom
with the door closed.
I have to learn how to dance in time for the next party my room is too small for me suppose I de before graduation they will sing sad melodies but finally tell the truth aout me There is nothing I want to do and too much that has to be done and momma's in the bedroom with the door closed.
Nobody even stops to think about my side of it I should have been on Math Team my marks were better than his why do I have to be the one wearing braces I have nothing to wear tomorrow will I live long enough to grow up and momma's in the bedroom with the door closed.


by Audre Lorde | |

The Black Unicorn

 The black unicorn is greedy.
The black unicorn is impatient.
'The black unicorn was mistaken for a shadow or symbol and taken through a cold country where mist painted mockeries of my fury.
It is not on her lap where the horn rests but deep in her moonpit growing.
The black unicorn is restless the black unicorn is unrelenting the black unicorn is not free.


by Audre Lorde | |

The Electric Slide Boogie

 New Year's Day 1:16 AM
and my body is weary beyond
time to withdraw and rest
ample room allowed me in everyone's head
but community calls
right over the threshold
drums beating through the walls
children playing their truck dramas
under the collapsible coatrack
in the narrow hallway outside my room

The TV lounge next door is wide open
it is midnight in Idaho
and the throb easy subtle spin
of the electric slide boogie
step-stepping
around the corner of the parlor
past the sweet clink
of dining room glasses
and the edged aroma of slightly overdone
dutch-apple pie
all laced together
with the rich dark laughter
of Gloria
and her higher-octave sisters

How hard it is to sleep 
in the middle of life.


by Audre Lorde | |

Coal

 I 
is the total black, being spoken 
from the earth's inside.
There are many kinds of open how a diamond comes into a knot of flame how sound comes into a words, coloured by who pays what for speaking.
Some words are open like a diamond on glass windows singing out within the crash of sun Then there are words like stapled wagers in a perforated book—buy and sign and tear apart— and come whatever will all chances the stub remains an ill-pulled tooth with a ragged edge.
Some words live in my throat breeding like adders.
Other know sun seeking like gypsies over my tongue to explode through my lips like young sparrows bursting from shell.
Some words bedevil me Love is word, another kind of open.
As the diamond comes into a knot of flame I am Black because I come from the earth's inside Now take my word for jewel in the open light.


by Audre Lorde | |

Never To Dream Of Spiders

 Time collapses between the lips of strangers
my days collapse into a hollow tube 
soon implodes against now
like an iron wall
my eyes are blocked with rubble 
a smear of perspectives
blurring each horizon 
in the breathless precision of silence
One word is made.
Once the renegade flesh was gone fall air lay against my face sharp and blue as a needle but the rain fell through October and death lay a condemnation within my blood.
The smell of your neck in August a fine gold wire bejeweling war all the rest lies illusive as a farmhouse on the other side of a valley vanishing in the afternoon.
Day three day four day ten the seventh step a veiled door leading to my golden anniversary flameproofed free-paper shredded in the teeth of a pillaging dog never to dream of spiders and when they turned the hoses upon me a burst of light.