James Langston: 8 books

Whatever Touches Your Life 1983 By James Richard Langston Listen . . . hear the cricket, In the softness of the night, Stand quietly by a meadow, See the birds taking flight. Hear the whisper of a breeze, Blowing through trees of pine, Let whatever touches your life, Be in tune to touching mine. Touch...

In “You Reap What You Sow,” your sensibilities are challenged to look beyond the norm, and to think outside the box in ways that are spontaneous, high-powered, tenacious and eye-opening. Chapter 1 introduces Mike and Linda Dixon, Mr. and Mrs. “Average” American to readers. Chapter 2 brings the...

Not long ago, America was a revered and respected nation: the world held us up as a symbol of hope and freedom, a place where dreams come true. Yet, we see today how the mighty have fallen! The America that was heralded only a few short years ago as a champion, has become little more than a byword;...

Cherokee Teardrops 1985 By James Richard Langston Cherokee teardrops, Soft, dark and deep, Shed by Cherokee women, Every time they weep. The tears of Cherokee women, Rolled down their cheeks, They cried for their nation, Their braves lay at their feet. Their homes all in ashes, Their children standing...

This anthology of black writers traces the evolution of African-American perspectives throughout American history, from the early years of slavery to the end of the 20th century. The essays, manifestos, interviews, and documents assembled here, contextualized with critical commentaries from Marable...

The whistle of the train sounded, bringing his thoughts back to the present. He turned to see if the sound of the whistle had disturbed any of the other passengers. The only one that seemed to be awake was the woman with PC sown on her luggage. He still didnt know what the initials stood for. "Are...

Bert Rawlings, he called. Rawlings turned in his seat and slowly rose to his feet. He knew he, himself, was fast with a gun and it had come down to who was faster, him or Johnson. When he was fully erect, he kicked the chair from him. With a smirk of a smile on one corner of his mouth, he spoke. Well,...

Hey, saddle tramp, said Vernon. I dont think I like a bum like you coming in here to drink with us men. Matt turned to face Guthry, spread his feet shoulder wide with his gun hand thumb still hooked in his belt, still three fingers from his .44. The men that stood along the bar, drifted to one side,...