Poetry of the Civil Rights Movement “Ballad of Birmingham” “Mother dear, may I go downtown Instead of out to play, And march the streets of Birmingham In a Freedom March today?” “No, baby, no, you may not go, For the dogs are fierce and wild, And clubs and hoses, guns and jails Aren’t good for a little child.” “But, mother, I won’t be alone. Other children will go with me, And march the streets of Birmingham To make our country free.” “No, baby, no, you may not go, For I fear those guns will fire. But you may go to church instead And sing in the children’s choir.” She has combed and brushed her night-dark hair, And bathed rose petal sweet, And drawn white gloves on her small brown hands, And white shoes on her feet. The mother smiled to know her child Was in the sacred place, But that smile was the last smile To come upon her face. For when she heard the explosion, Her eyes grew wet and wild. She raced through the streets of Birmingham Calling for her child. She clawed through bits of glass and brick, Then lifted out a shoe. “O, here’s the shoe my baby wore, But, baby, where are you?”



- Dudley Randall

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Poetry of the Civil Rights Movement “The Sixteenth Street Baptist Church Bombing” Eighteen days after the March on Washington, on the early Sunday morning of September 15, 1963, Ku Klux Klan member, Robert Edward Chambliss stood a few blocks away from the Sixteenth Street Baptist Church in Birmingham, Alabama.  On this morning, five girls were changing into their choir robes in the church basement.  At 10:19 a.m., a bomb exploded, killing four of the girls and injuring twenty people.  The four girls who died were eleven-year old Denise McNair, and fourteen year olds Addie Mae Collins, Carole Robertson, and Cynthia Wesley. The Sixteenth Street Baptist Church had served as an important part of the African-American community and was used as a meeting place in the Civil Rights Movement.  The church was used for mass rallies, and Martin Luther King, Jr. was among the many leaders who spoke at these events.  It had also been the headquarters for several desegregation protests.  So when the church was bombed, it was a sign of the hostility that segregationist had against the civil rights struggle.   While the bomb came as a surprise, bomb threats had been made in the past.  In those instances, the church had been able to take special precautions.  But this time, no threat had been made.  The bomb, which was equivalent to 10 sticks of dynamite, blew a hole in the east side of the church.  It shattered windows, walls, doors, and the air was filled with a thick cloud of dust and soot.  As community members, dug through the debris in search of survivors, they discovered the bodies of the four victims. Grief was not only felt in the African American community, but white strangers expressed their sympathy to the families of the four girls.  At the funeral of three of the girls, Martin Luther King gave the eulogy, which was witnessed by 8,000 mourners, both white and black.  The FBI led the initial investigation into the bombing.  According to a 1965 FBI memorandum to director J. Edgar Hoover, it was determined that Robert E. Chambliss, Bobby Frank Cherry, Herman Frank Cash, and Thomas E. Blanton, Jr. had planted the bomb.  Based on the investigation, the Birmingham FBI office

recommended the suspects be prosecuted.  However, Hoover blocked prosecution by rejecting the recommendation that the federal prosecutor be sent the testimony that identified the suspects.  By 1968, charges had not been filed and the FBI closed the case.   In 1971, Alabama Attorney General, Bill Baxley, reopened the case.   On November 18, 1977, Robert Chambliss was convicted of murder and sentenced to life in prison.  The case was again reopened in 1988 and in July 1997 after the FBI received a tip.  Herman Frank Cash was still one of the prime suspects, but before a case could be established against him, he died in 1994.   May 17, 2000, Thomas Blanton, Jr. and  Bobby Frank Cherry were charged with the murder of the four girls.  Blanton was tried, convicted, and sentenced to life in prison on May 1, 2001.  For the jurors who convicted him, the 1964 taped conversations that the FBI secretly recorded, weighed heavily in their decision.  The tapes had remained secret until 1997 when the case was reopened.  In one recorded conversation that took place between Blanton and his wife, Blanton told her that he was at the Klan meeting where both the bombing was planned and the bomb was made.  In another recorded conversation, Blanton spoke about the bombing to an FBI informant while driving in a car.  For the jurors, the taped conversations provided enough evidence to convict Blanton of murder.   Bobby Frank Cherry's trial was postponed after the judge ruled that he was mentally incompetent to assist his attorney.  After Cherry was found competent to stand trail, on May 22, 2002 he was found guilty of four counts of murder.  He was sentenced to life in prison.   For the family and friends of the four murdered girls, the conviction of Blanton and Cherry is a long awaited victory. 

McElrath, Jessica. “Sixteenth Street Church Bombing.” afroamhistory.about.com/library/weekly/ aa051401a.htm.

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Poetry of the Civil Rights Movement “Mother to Son” -Langston Hughes





“Southern Cop” -Sterling A. Brown



Well, son, I’ll tell you: Life for me ain’t been no crystal stair. It’s had tacks in it, And boards torn up, And places with no carpet on the floor-Bare. But all the time I’se been a-climbin’ on, And reachin’ landin’s, And turnin’ corners, And sometimes goin’ in the dark Where there ain’t been no light. So boy, don’t you turn back. Don’t you set down on the steps ‘Cause you finds it’s kinder hard. Don’t you fall now-For I’se still goin’, honey, I’se still climbin’, And life for me ain’t been no crystal stair.

Let us forgive Ty Kendricks. The place was Darktown. He was young. His nerves were jittery. The day was hot. The Negro ran out of the alley. And so Ty shot. Let us understand Ty Kendricks. The Negro must have been dangerous, Because he ran; And here was a rookie with a chance To prove himself a man. Let us condone Ty Kendricks. If we cannot decorate. When he found what the Negro was running for, It was too late; And all we can say for the Negro is It was unfortunate. Let us pity Ty Kendricks. He has been through enough, Standing there, his big gun smoking, Rabbit-scared, alone, Having to hear the wenches wail And the dying Negro moan.

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Poetry of the Civil Rights Movement “Emmett Till” -James A. Emanuel

I hear a whistling Through the water. Little Emmett Won't be still. He keeps floating Round the darkness, Edging through The silent chill. Tell me, please, That bedtime story Of the fairy River Boy Who swims forever, Deep in treasures, Necklaced in A coral toy.

“A Dream Deferred” -Langston Hughes What happens to a dream deferred? Does it dry up like a raisin in the sun? Or fester like a sore-And then run? Does it stink like rotten meat? Or crust and sugar over-like a syrupy sweet? Maybe it just sags like a heavy load. Or does it explode?

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Poetry of the Civil Rights Movement “My Country ’Tis of Thee” -W. E. B. Du Bois

“We Wear the Mask” -Paul Laurence Dunbar

Of course you have faced the dilemma: it is announced, they all smirk and rise. If they are ultra, they remove their hats and look ecstatic; then they look at you. What shall you do? Noblesse oblige; you cannot be boorish, or ungracious; and too, after all it is your country and you do love its ideals if not all of its realities. Now, then, I have thought of a way out: Arise, gracefully remove your hat, and tilt your head. Then sing as follows, powerfully and with deep unction. They’ll hardly note the little changes and their feelings and your conscience will thus be saved:

We wear the mask that grins and lies, It hides our cheeks and shades our eyes,-This debt we pay to human guile; With torn and bleeding hearts we smile, And mouth with myriad subtleties.

My country tis of thee, Late land of slavery, Of thee I sing. Land where my father’s pride Slept where my mother died, From every mountain side Let freedom ring!

Why should the world be overwise, In counting all our tears and sighs? Nay, let them only see us, while We wear the mask. We smile, but, O great Christ, our cries To thee from tortured souls arise. We sing, but oh the clay is vile Beneath our feet, and long the mile; But let the world dream otherwise, We wear the mask!

My native country thee Land of the slave set free, Thy fame I love. I love thy rocks and rills And o’er thy hate which chills, My heart with purpose thrills, To rise above. Let laments swell the breeze And wring from all the trees Sweet freedom’s song. Let laggard tongues awake, Let all who hear partake, Let Southern silence quake, The sound prolong. Our fathers’ God to thee Author of Liberty, To thee we sing Soon may our land be bright, With Freedom’s happy light Protect us by Thy might, Great God our King.

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Poetry of the Civil Rights Movement “Sit-Ins” by Margaret Walker You were our first brave ones to defy their dissonance of hate With your silence With your willingness to suffer Without violence Those first bright young to fling names across pages Of new southern history With courage and faith, convictions, and intelligence The first to blaze a flaming path for justice And awakened consciences Of these stony ones. Come, Lord jesus, Bold Young Galilean1 Sit Beside this Counter, Lord with Me!

----------------------1. Galilean: a term used as a synonym for Jesus because Galilee was the center of Jesus’ ministry

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