#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 —
Here I sit With my shoes mismated. Lawdy—mercy! I’s frustrated!
Good morning, daddy! Ain’t you heard The boogie—woogie rumble Of a dream deferred? Listen closely:
I catch the pattern Of your silence Before you speak I do not need To hear a word.
I woke up this mornin’ ’Bout half-past three. All the womens in town Was gathered round me. Sweet gals was a-moanin’,
Have you dug the spill Of Sugar Hill? Cast your gims On this sepia thrill: Brown sugar lassie,
I live on a park bench. You, Park Avenue. Hell of a distance Between us two. I beg a dime for dinner—
In an envelope marked: PERSONAL God addressed me a letter. In an envelope marked: PERSONAL
been scared and battered. My hopes the wind done scattered. Snow has friz me, Sun has baked me, Looks like between 'em they done
My name is Johnson— Madam Alberta K. The Madam stands for business. I’m smart that way. I had a
How still, How strangely still The water is today, It is not good For water
I know I am The Negro Problem Being wined and dined, Answering the usual questions That come to white mind
Gather quickly Out of darkness All the songs you know And throw them at the sun Before they melt
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…
We passed their graves: The dead men there, Winners or losers, Did not care. In the dark