#AmericanWriters #BlackWriters
Clean the spittoons, boy. Detroit, Chicago, Atlantic City, Palm Beach.
I would liken you To a night without stars Were it not for your eyes. I would liken you To a sleep without dreams
The calm, Cool face of the river Asked me for a kiss.
Remember The days of bondage— And remembering— Do not stand still. Go to the highest hill
It would be nice In any case, To someday meet you Face to face Walking down
My old man’s a white old man And my old mother’s black. If ever I cursed my white old man I take my curses back. If ever I cursed my black old mot…
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…
He glides so swiftly Back into the grass— Gives me the courtesy of road To let me pass, That I am half ashamed
Hold fast to dreams For if dreams die Life is a broken-winged bird That cannot fly. Hold fast to dreams
I sat there singing her Songs in the dark. She said; 'I do not understand The words’.
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
Fine living . . . a la carte? Come to the Waldorf—Astoria! LISTEN HUNGRY ONES! Look! See what Vanity Fair says… new Waldorf—Astoria:
When I was home de Sunshine seemed like gold. When I was home de Sunshine seemed like gold. Since I come up North de
I take my dreams and make of them… and a round fountain with a beauti… And a song with a broken heart and… Do you understand my dreams? Sometimes you say you do,
The census man, The day he came round, Wanted my name To put it down. I said, Johnson,
