#AmericanWriters
You sicken me with lies, With truthful lies. And with your pious faces. And your wide, out—stretched, mock—welcome, Christian hands.
It would be nice In any case, To someday meet you Face to face Walking down
I went to the Gypsy’s. Gypsy settin’ all alone. I said, Tell me, Gypsy, When will my gal be home? Gypsy said, Silver,
I am your son, white man! Georgia dusk And the turpentine woods. One of the pillars of the temple f… You are my son!
I sat there singing her Songs in the dark. She said; 'I do not understand The words’.
I live on a park bench. You, Park Avenue. Hell of a distance Between us two. I beg a dime for dinner—
Down in the bass That steady beat Walking walking walking Like marching feet. Down in the bass
When I get to be a composer I’m gonna write me some music abou… Daybreak in Alabama And I’m gonna put the purtiest so… Rising out of the ground like a sw…
Good morning, daddy! Ain’t you heard The boogie—woogie rumble Of a dream deferred? Listen closely:
From Christ to Ghandi Appears this truth— St. Francis of Assisi Proves it, too: Goodness becomes grandeur
To fling my arms wide In some place of the sun, To whirl and to dance Till the white day is done. Then rest at cool evening
My old mule, He’s gota grin on his face. He’s been a mule so long He’s forgotten about his race. I’m like that old mule —
It was a long time ago. I have almost forgotten my dream. But it was there then, In front of me, Bright like a sun—
Let’s go see Old Abe Sitting in the marble and the moon… Sitting lonely in the marble and t… Quiet for ten thousand centuries,… Quiet for a million, million years…
I know I am The Negro Problem Being wined and dined, Answering the usual questions That come to white mind
