#AmericanWriters
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—
I play it cool I dig all jive. That's the reason I stay alive. My motto
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,
And that is what poetry may do, wrap up your dreams, protect and preserve and hold them until maybe they come true. Columbus dreamed of finding a new world, he found it. Edison dreamed ...
I am your son, white man! Georgia dusk And the turpentine woods. One of the pillars of the temple f… You are my son!
When the old junk man Death Comes to gather up our bodies And toss them into the sack of obl… I wonder if he will find The corpse of a white multi—millio…
Democracy will not come Today, this year Nor ever Through compromise and fear. I have as much right
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
Harlem Sent him home in a long box— Too dead To know why:
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…
Hold fast to dreams For if dreams die Life is a broken-winged bird That cannot fly. Hold fast to dreams
Have you dug the spill Of Sugar Hill? Cast your gims On this sepia thrill: Brown sugar lassie,
Only dumb guys fight. If I wasn’t dumb I wouldn’t be fightin’. I could make six dollars a day On the docks
It’s such a Bore Being always
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
