#AmericanWriters
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 —
You sicken me with lies, With truthful lies. And with your pious faces. And your wide, out—stretched, mock—welcome, Christian hands.
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…
I am God— Without one friend, Alone in my purity World without end. Below me young lovers
That Justice is a blind goddess Is a thing to which we black are w… Her bandage hides two festering so… That once perhaps were eyes.
Remember The days of bondage— And remembering— Do not stand still. Go to the highest hill
Children, I come back today To tell you a story of the long da… That I had to climb, that I had t… In order that the race might live… Look at my face —dark as the night…
What happens to a dream deferred? Does it dry up like a raisin in the sun? Or fester like a sore— And then run?
I sat there singing her Songs in the dark. She said; 'I do not understand The words’.
Oh, silver tree! Oh, shining rivers of the soul! In a Harlem cabaret Six long—headed jazzers play. A dancing girl whose eyes are bold
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, too, sing America. I am the darker brother. They send me to eat in the kitchen When company comes, But I laugh,
Gather quickly Out of darkness All the songs you know And throw them at the sun Before they melt
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
I went to the Gypsy’s. Gypsy settin’ all alone. I said, Tell me, Gypsy, When will my gal be home? Gypsy said, Silver,