Joseph Seamon Cotter
On the Bardstown, Kentucky plantation where Stephen Collins Foster composed "My Old Kentucky Home", lived a young slave girl in whose soul were interesting melodies of her own. Strong in spirit and dramatic flair, Martha Vaughn faithfully served as the personal maid to Mrs. Rebecca Rowan, mistress of the Old Kentucky Home. Yet her vivid accounts of visions and dramatic recitations of her original stories and plays while she worked, forced plantation owners to send her away concerned that she would disrupt discipline among the other slaves. It's been said that of such mothers are seers and poets born. And so in this instance it proved to be.
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Joseph Seamon Cotter Poems
A thousand years of darkness in her face, She turns at last from out the centurys' blight Of labored moan and dull oppression's might, To slowly mount the rugged path and trace
Is It Because I Am Black?
Why do men smile when I speak, And call my speech The whimperings of a babe That cries but knows not what it wants?
There is naught in the pathless reach Of the pale, blue sky above, There is naught that the stars tell, each to each, As over the heavens they rove;
An April Day
On such a day as this I think, On such a day as this, When earth and sky and nature's whole Are clad in April's bliss;
And Thou Art One
And Thou art One--One with th' eternal hills, And with the flaming stars, and with the moon, Translucent, cold. The sentinel of noon That clothes the sky in robes of light and fills
A Woman at Her Husband's Grave
Peace to his ashes! I cannot for the soul of me Sorrowing bow, Tho I search through the heart of me
The slender moon in its silvery sheen, The golden stars with the blue between Of a dreamy, summer sky; And still the night winds sigh.
The burnished glow of the old-gold moon Shines brightly over me. A thousand stars, like a thousand isles In a dark and placid sea,
Old Moloch walks the way tonight On Flander's poppied field, Where foe meets foe in steel and might And never one shall yield.
As I lie in bed, Flat on my back; There passes across my ceiling An endless panaroma of things--
Looking at a Portrait
O why are there eyes like these, That sparkle and dapple and tease, So wide with the morning, so deep with the night, Dancing and gleaming in passioned delight?
I Sometimes Wonder If the Mighty God
I sometimes wonder if the mighty God Cares aught about the little deeds of men; And if their day and time can reach his ken Or raise their breath above the hungry sod.
Comments about Joseph Seamon Cotter
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
A thousand years of darkness in her face,
She turns at last from out the centurys' blight
Of labored moan and dull oppression's might,
To slowly mount the rugged path and trace
Her measured step unto her ancient place.
And upward, ever upward towards the light
She strains, seeing afar the day when right
Shall rule the world and justice leaven the race.
Now bare her swarthy arm and firm her sword,
She stands where Universal Freedom bleeds,
And slays in holy wrath to save the word
Of nations and their puny, boasting creeds.
Sear with the truth, ...