#AmericanWriters
Tell all my mourners To mourn in red — Cause there ain’t no sense In my bein’ dead.
Big Boy came Carrying a mermaid On his shoulders And the mermaid Had her tail
Go home and write a page tonight. And let that page come out of you— Then, it will be true. I wonder if it’s that simple?
I went down to the river, I set down on the bank. I tried to think but couldn’t, So I jumped in and sank. I came up once and hollered!
I know I am The Negro Problem Being wined and dined, Answering the usual questions That come to white mind
In an envelope marked: PERSONAL God addressed me a letter. In an envelope marked: PERSONAL
Clean the spittoons, boy. Detroit, Chicago, Atlantic City, Palm Beach.
Well, son, I’ll tell you: Life for me ain’t been no crystal… It’s had tacks in it, And splinters, And boards torn up,
I, too, sing America. I am the darker brother. They send me to eat in the kitchen When company comes, But I laugh,
I would liken you To a night without stars Were it not for your eyes. I would liken you To a sleep without dreams
I woke up this mornin’ ’Bout half-past three. All the womens in town Was gathered round me. Sweet gals was a-moanin’,
In the Quarter of the Negroes Where the doors are doors of paper Dust of dingy atoms Blows a scratchy sound. Amorphous jack—o’—Lanterns caper
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
Night funeral In Harlem: Where did they get Them two fine cars? Insurance man, he did not pay—
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…
