#AmericanWriters #BlackWriters
Have you dug the spill Of Sugar Hill? Cast your gims On this sepia thrill: Brown sugar lassie,
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 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
I know I am The Negro Problem Being wined and dined, Answering the usual questions That come to white mind
Clean the spittoons, boy. Detroit, Chicago, Atlantic City, Palm Beach.
been scared and battered. My hopes the wind done scattered. Snow has friz me, Sun has baked me, Looks like between 'em they done
I would liken you To a night without stars Were it not for your eyes. I would liken you To a sleep without dreams
Love Is a ripe plum Growing on a purple tree. Taste it once And the spell of its enchantment
When a man starts out with nothing… When a man starts out with his han… Empty, but clean, When a man starts to build a world… He starts first with himself
I, too, sing America. I am the darker brother. They send me to eat in the kitchen When company comes, But I laugh,
Let the rain kiss you. Let the rain beat upon your head w… Let the rain sing you a lullaby. The rain makes still pools on the… The rain makes running pools in th…
Down in the bass That steady beat Walking walking walking Like marching feet. Down in the bass
I look at the world From awakening eyes in a black fac… And this is what I see: This fenced—off narrow space Assigned to me.
What happens to a dream deferred? Does it dry up like a raisin in the sun? Or fester like a sore— And then run?
Listen! Dear dream of utter aliveness— Touching my body of utter death— Tell me, O quickly! dream of aliv… The flaming source of your bright…
