#AmericanWriters #BlackWriters
I would liken you To a night without stars Were it not for your eyes. I would liken you To a sleep without dreams
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,
Democracy will not come Today, this year Nor ever Through compromise and fear. I have as much right
She, In the dark, Found light Brighter than many ever see. She,
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
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
When Susanna Jones wears red her face is like an ancient cameo Turned brown by the ages. Come with a blast of trumphets, J… When Susanna Jones wears red
In places like Selma, Alabama, Kids say, In places like Chicago and New York...
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?
Down in the bass That steady beat Walking walking walking Like marching feet. Down in the bass
When you turn the corner And you run into yourself Then you know that you have turned All the corners that are left
Good morning, daddy! Ain’t you heard The boogie—woogie rumble Of a dream deferred? Listen closely:
Love Is a ripe plum Growing on a purple tree. Taste it once And the spell of its enchantment
Big Boy came Carrying a mermaid On his shoulders And the mermaid Had her tail
I live on a park bench. You, Park Avenue. Hell of a distance Between us two. I beg a dime for dinner—
