#AmericanWriters #BlackWriters
I went to the Gypsy’s. Gypsy settin’ all alone. I said, Tell me, Gypsy, When will my gal be home? Gypsy said, Silver,
I, too, sing America. I am the darker brother. They send me to eat in the kitchen When company comes, But I laugh,
Here I sit With my shoes mismated. Lawdy—mercy! I’s frustrated!
God in His infinite wisdom Did not make me very wise— So when my actions are stupid They hardly take God by surprise
He glides so swiftly Back into the grass— Gives me the courtesy of road To let me pass, That I am half ashamed
You sicken me with lies, With truthful lies. And with your pious faces. And your wide, out—stretched, mock—welcome, Christian hands.
What happens to a dream deferred? Does it dry up like a raisin in the sun? Or fester like a sore— And then run?
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
From Christ to Ghandi Appears this truth— St. Francis of Assisi Proves it, too: Goodness becomes grandeur
The gold moth did not love him So, gorgeous, she flew away. But the gray moth circled the flam… Until the break of day. And then, with wings like a dead d…
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.
In places like Selma, Alabama, Kids say, In places like Chicago and New York...
I work all day, Said Simple John, Myself a house to buy. I work all day, Said Simple John,
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…
You and your whole race. Look down upon the town in which y… And be ashamed. Look down upon white folks And upon yourselves
