Alice Walker


National Poetry Month Spotlight-Alice Walker

Alice Malsenior Walker (born February 9, 1944) is an American novelist, short story writer, poet, and activist. She wrote the critically acclaimed novel The Color Purple (1982) for which she won the National Book Award and the Pulitzer Prize for Fiction.[2][a][3] She also wrote Meridian and The Third Life of Grange Copeland, among other works (source Wiki) 

We Alone”

fethers and shells

We alone can devalue gold
by not caring
if it falls or rises
in the marketplace.

Wherever there is gold
there is a chain, you know,
and if your chain
is gold
so much the worse
for you.

Feathers, shells
and sea-shaped stones
are all as rare.

This could be our revolution:
to love what is plentiful
as much as
what’s scarce.



“Expect Nothing”


Expect nothing.
Live frugally
On surprise.

Become a stranger
To need of pity
Or, if compassion be freely
Given out
Take only enough
Stop short of urge to plead
Then purge away the need.

Wish for nothing larger
Than your own small heart
Or greater than a star;
Tame wild disappointment
With caress unmoved and cold
Make of it a parka
For your soul.

Discover the reason why
So tiny human midget
Exists at all
So scared unwise
But expect nothing.
Live frugally
On surprise.


“I Said to Poetry”

 Broken Pencil

I said to Poetry: “I’m finished
with you.”

Having to almost die
before some wierd light
comes creeping through
is no fun.

“No thank you, Creation,
no muse need apply.”

I’m out for good times–
at the very least,
some painless convention.”

Poetry laid back
and played dead
until this morning.

I wasn’t sad or anything,
only restless.

Poetry said: “You remember
the desert, and how glad you were
that you have an eye
to see it with? You remember
that, if ever so slightly?”
I said: “I didn’t hear that.”

Besides, it’s five o’clock in the a.m.

“I’m not getting up
in the dark
to talk to you.”

Poetry said: “But think about the time
you saw the moon
over that small canyon
that you liked so much better
than the grand one–and how suprised you were
that the moonlight was green
and you still had
one good eye
to see it with.”
Think of that!”
“I’ll join the church!” I said,
huffily, turning my face to the wall.

“I’ll learn how to pray again!”
“Let me ask you,” said Poetry.

“When you pray, what do you think
you’ll see?”
Poetry had me.

“There’s no paper
in this room,” I said.

“And that new pen I bought
makes a funny noise.”

“Bullshit,” said Poetry.

“Bullshit,” said I.


“In search of my mother’s garden, I found my own.”  Alice Walker …Happy Friday!DiAnnes Scribbles  logo


About DiAnne Ebejer

I am retired and live on the East coast of Florida where I spend much of my time reading, playing with photography and trying to write some "poetry and then some" at I care deeply about many things and wish there was much more love and compassion in this world today. I also have a part time blog "Thought You Might Like This" used for special projects and occasional things of interest
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