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The card trick, by John George Brown
Langston Hughes

Langston Hughes

Democracy
Democracy will not come
Today, this year
Nor ever
Through compromise and fear.
 
I have as much right
As the other fellow has
To stand
On my two feet
And own the land.
 
I tire so of hearing people say,
Let things take their course.
Tomorrow is another day.
I do not need my freedom when I’m dead.
I cannot live on tomorrow’s bread.
 
Freedom
Is a strong seed
Planted
In a great need.
 
I live here, too.
I want freedom
Just as you.

#AmericanWriters #BlackWriters

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Bad Morning

Here I sit With my shoes mismated. Lawdy—mercy! I’s frustrated!
Mulatto

I am your son, white man! Georgia dusk And the turpentine woods. One of the pillars of the temple f… You are my son!
Still Here

been scared and battered. My hopes the wind done scattered. Snow has friz me, Sun has baked me, Looks like between 'em they done
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The Dream Keeper

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 ...
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Madam and the Rent Man

The rent man knocked. He said, Howdy—do? I said, What Can I do for you? He said, You know
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Merry-Go-Round

Where is the Jim Crow section On this merry—go—round, Mister, cause I want to ride? Down South where I come from White and colored
Walkers with the Dawn

Being walkers with the dawn and mo… Walkers with the sun and morning, We are not afraid of night, Nor days of gloom, Nor darkness—
Sylvester’s Dying Bed

I woke up this mornin’ ’Bout half-past three. All the womens in town Was gathered round me. Sweet gals was a-moanin’,
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Theme for English B

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?
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The Weary Blues

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…
The Negro Mother

Children, I come back today To tell you a story of the long da… That I had to climb, that I had t… In order that the race might live… Look at my face —dark as the night…
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Fine living . . . a la carte? Come to the Waldorf—Astoria! LISTEN HUNGRY ONES! Look! See what Vanity Fair says… new Waldorf—Astoria:
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Oppression

Now dreams Are not available To the dreamers, Nor songs To the singers.
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Songs

I sat there singing her Songs in the dark. She said; 'I do not understand The words’.
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Me and the Mule

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 —
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