you down so that greeds flee and steal the good things for hungry little bellies to eat. between the page, with the heart and the mind, wrestling upon it. and the year which later will receive those limbs of light as perfect harmony. there's a stillness who's volume speaks word of words defiant. treasures of the unstable. secrets of the heavy

enchantment and the never ending gathering at the lips of the kiss of poem. now, >> [applause]. >> now, i understand them causing an enormous amount of anguish of my voice. i brought my girlfriend. she is going to read 3 poems to you so you get another dimention of my voice. please welcome, agnes ford >> the house of the setting sun. the comrade again and the poorist way wave you.

to the red flag. i put my mount to your misery new orleans. here, war lies piles so high. this floating prison of a cementary cries of range. this delta lies on its side. rows and rows upon it's own government and crushed. summertime is over and the living is dead. and around midnight all hopes are looted. no one will ever come clean of the katrina of the new orleans and the stinking house of the

setting sun. but it's the black and the blue of the loving on the shoes, let alone a dime or water, america, you are always scotched earth in our mouth. always a rain of disaster of streams of our broken eyes. now the rags are the most turn. our pores the poorest that can be worn in the souls shop. now that all is lost and there is only nothing to lose. long live the courage and the

poor. they begin to waiver. [applause]. >> vennetia. i was enranged at your body enettia. chicanery that cried out of an awfulor gast. slowly i found you should side streets where you practice a strolling stillness without any engine sounds and the skies turning on into color and then eternal magnificence of

twilight, it accompanies your every move and theirs doubt about it, you are more adorable without the car wrapped around you, where you can be what you are. walking water. that gently laps. i have come to you this midnight and lane down in your black body with it's soft red blush and pulled the starkly blue cover over a cheek or moon blushing through the midst. and the final for me. juna. that's juna bomb. that she lived on board avenue. 3 blocks away from the street isn't bronx i grew up on.

just what are you getting out june abonus, that an alphabet, i would be visiting on a masterpiece and writing a bistro of poems. scones. 47 years later. she has long since ash, the world has become unmitigated cash. a woman gazing into the face of a cell phone. i gave me lover a cherry and lived on. endure these bitter hips and hot heads and the empty collapse.

night will still holdup after all these years. summer snap. >> virginia tech. the loner is here. the one who stopped listening. the one with the hidden fuse. with the fist. with the hole in his heart. with the cool guns, the one who blasts away. who kills just because. who kills as well because there's nothing left but the dead. kills himself. suicide on top of all these kills and now you know, what a

mar gin in old baghdad in the wrong place at the wrong time why you're mourning is going in one ear of the deaf tomorrow. and out the deafening utter. air cane. one, the sorrow these many months isn't because celebrities put eyes all over my body as i was in the u.s. again. not the other america. it comes from the footprint of a kick stab in my back.

got riding a bus to a reading with some really destitute brothers and sisters in a 16, 3 office space. i am sitting in the rear of the bus reading a translation of the book of the concealed mystery. my eyes are risen from a black woman standing and talking on her cell phone. i voice decibeled, latino black and white workers. when i arrive, i accidentally grace her sleeve with an excuse me. she pushed me. shouts don't touch me with hate

red and what the hell do you think you did to me. the eyes coiled and in denial or at once and set to spring. when my shoulders i bear a gentle but insistent arms and turning from a black man, you don't want to go here. here's your stop. he leads me to the stair well, but no sooner do i begin descending when i feel myself hurtled down my a kick to my back falling and landing up a level on my feet as the door closes with a snicker and the

bus pulls away. from my amazement what they do, the latina asks in startled urgency on the sidewalk. and home wards make me realize, i am 72. for the first time in my life. 2. one could i suppose chaplin it a way. how for no reason suddenly one is popped or clobbered with the cane. kicked in the ass for a slap stick for silence. but it just happens, humiliation sounds very depth. just happens, a wound knows no depth of time and not so random

is the karma of lungs breezing arkayicly. i didn't know the volatility of the hatred, i could only think dike. but if you prophecy be true that it will be reasoned. and reasoned must find it's violence in order to be for violence is the memory a horror carried by the soul of the blood to sect. she, a violent of resistance is

also a violence for, if she said or of me. why not take all of me and shove it up your ass because you can just about sit with your lips. because i am inside you now in violation of you and are american filthy crumb of a loaf of people. i am here and everywhere. no matter how hold you will always be the snot nosed with the shame spread over your brains from a rumble doubt of gang bang wooden zips where the

real thing went down on haight then ran in torn threads of a dead dawn to bring hot rolls and milk to 2 kids in a dump near palieu. 3, chalk it up like the gutters and walls of our breaths. between tilted ties singing the day is night and the night moves inside this long, lonesome bread of glues. don't climb to the top. you can fall in and we'll never again find you.

so many come at the midnight taint. paint the world where the sunshine aid ain't. go back to what beginning? a serial suck. a kick in the butt. oh, derelict devil in this hell's night. stay carton. be full of disstress. you can pull the race are card out of your hat. see the mother of memories. the ors slide of the richness. know and your can't pull the race card out of the-bra

neither. if she pushed you and kicked you, curse and spit you who touched her raped her mother and grandmother. you can't do this . we the thunder that never stopped shaking rooms. we are born to hate. hate. learn to hate. was wife and then that white didn't mean. or shinola. just meaningless. feeding the rebirth where i be.

i and you be. you and nothing will ever be between, but tragic race disgrace. cause you and i are on 2 to be slaves. black and white. that's why. the consumer trees grow long, long limbs. there's money in rape and murder. bloody blood talk. war though. war duh. everyone riding hump back in their own dodgy.

be and w. you noted stake of a putrid clan of worms insane and greatly dangerous. put your sincere hatreds and stupidity away. come together from under the skin with where soul is blood and beneath the sea and rise the wave and the furl class. and money tyranny and be what

revels that has to be. [applause]. >> i will read one more poem. and i will read it, it's a title poem. all that's left. all that's left in the world. whether in cuba venezuela, bolivia. as well as in china, japan, the united states europe. the middle east. africa. all of them cannot despise their resistance. despite their refusal stop that

march of death. despite their resistance. communists repressives. zionists and anarchists. none can evade the march. this one is not coming with hammer and sickles . all wars surrender to. but when comes the cry? when will it really happen as

death is peace? when can i truly die. you will never know yet you may have already and this life is your way of paying hommage to the power that loves and you left you with the taste of immortality on your lips. nothing mystical. no cries. power, your way. or buddha in the wings. even lying on your back, you are mocking. this is not a cynical, or pessimist or neonnist poem.

join deaths to your life and you will live as if there 1 drum to march to. there is no march at all. you are there. all will be well for all. [applause]. >> >> >> >>

>> thank you. thank you. i have um... thank you and peace be with you. there's three mike's here so i

don't know if i should put this down. um... before i start, i've had the great honor to - i love to talk at schools. k through graduate school and one question i ask children in america is i ask them how many of you have talked great detail to your grandparents or elders or fore father's about world war ii or the depression or vietnam or civil rights movement, or perhaps if your parents or grandparents came from another country and settled here what it's like. only five to ten percent of the ands come up. if i asked that same question in afghanistan or pakistan or africa 90% of ands come up and i think the as great tragedy we've lost that oral tradition and a

rich tradition about folklore and heritage and faith and heritage. to honor that today i'd like to share with you a little story. it's a hard cover book that came out in march of 2006. anybody have a hard cover. wave it up here. you might not want it after i say this. i got to pick the title. three cups of tea but viking told me they would pick the subtitle and they picked one man mission to fight terrorism one school at a time. i objected because obviously there's- ways to fight tear riz m with education but i said i do this to promote peace and i started 8 years before 911 and this is about promoting peace through education. i've worked afghanistan and pakistan many years and i said we need to have a tribal

council. i went to manhattan in the fall of 2005 and the big boss of the whole group, nancy shepherd and carlin coburn in publicity. we met in a little room and i stated my case and they said, this is your first book so you need to listen to a few things here. first of all only 12 percent of nonfiction books make a profit and 2/3 are pre chosen by the publisher. we'd like to put our marketing arm behind us but your having to fight tear riz m to this. since i grew up in africa and worked pakistan for many years you never settle a deal without driving a hard bargain so i said if the hard cover doesn't do well, i'd like the subtitle changed later on for the paper

back. julia and our other board relently pounded away month after month. i was in pakistan of december of 2006 and there was a new editor on the book and they said they decided to change the title to one man's mission to promote peace. the hard cover didn't do that well. sold 20,000 copies. while the paper back came out on january 30th of this year and since out it's been on the new york times best seller selling over 700,000 copies now. and it's one man's mission to promote peace. and they're still baffleed manhattan because they're scratching their heads the first month because there's only - well no big city book editor did it so to be a best seller you need new york times or the

chronicle or boston globes to give you good book reviews. no national t.v. or, m pr so paul said what's going on out there. i said, you know this is what i think it's about book clubs and women's groups, synagogues, mosques and churches and an incredible amount of book clubs here in the bay view area and about people yearning for piece and looking for the answers of peace. any ways it's been really incredible and aspire together see people from all walks of life i really think can re late to promoting peace one child at a time. we got some news last month that the pentagon purchased 5,000 copies. let me finish it. and it's for counter intelligence training, 101 and

mandatory reading for they're course encounter intelligence. this is in tan sa any a. i went there when i was three years old and my father founded a medical center and my mother started a school. it was a wonderful childhood. i went to school with children from two dozen countries. with jews and christians and hindus and for me that was the way the world was. finally it came time to come back to america. i was in high school and really looking forward to coming back to a place whether i heard about fourth of jewels lies anulies . i got beat up.