#AmericanWriters
Harlem Sent him home in a long box— Too dead To know why:
Let America be America again. Let it be the dream it used to be. Let it be the pioneer on the plain Seeking a home where he himself is… (America never was America to me.…
Hold fast to dreams For if dreams die Life is a broken-winged bird That cannot fly. Hold fast to dreams
I am your son, white man! Georgia dusk And the turpentine woods. One of the pillars of the temple f… You are my son!
You sicken me with lies, With truthful lies. And with your pious faces. And your wide, out—stretched, mock—welcome, Christian hands.
I will take you heart. I will take your soul out of your… As though I were God. I will not be satisfied With the touch of your hand
It’s such a Bore Being always Poor.
He glides so swiftly Back into the grass— Gives me the courtesy of road To let me pass, That I am half ashamed
My name is Johnson— Madam Alberta K. The Madam stands for business. I’m smart that way. I had a
By what sends the white kids I ain’t sent: I know I can’t be President.
been scared and battered. My hopes the wind done scattered. Snow has friz me, Sun has baked me, Looks like between 'em they done
From Christ to Ghandi Appears this truth— St. Francis of Assisi Proves it, too: Goodness becomes grandeur
Droning a drowsy syncopated tune, Rocking back and forth to a mellow… I heard a Negro play. Down on Lenox Avenue the other ni… By the pale dull pallor of an old…
I was so sick last night I Didn’t hardly know my mind. So sick last night I Didn’t know my mind. I drunk some bad licker that
In places like Selma, Alabama, Kids say, In places like Chicago and New York...