#AmericanWriters #BlackWriters
You and your whole race. Look down upon the town in which y… And be ashamed. Look down upon white folks And upon yourselves
Down in the bass That steady beat Walking walking walking Like marching feet. Down in the bass
I woke up this mornin’ ’Bout half-past three. All the womens in town Was gathered round me. Sweet gals was a-moanin’,
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
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,
Clean the spittoons, boy. Detroit, Chicago, Atlantic City, Palm Beach.
Let’s go see Old Abe Sitting in the marble and the moon… Sitting lonely in the marble and t… Quiet for ten thousand centuries,… Quiet for a million, million years…
I catch the pattern Of your silence Before you speak I do not need To hear a word.
Fine living . . . a la carte? Come to the Waldorf—Astoria! LISTEN HUNGRY ONES! Look! See what Vanity Fair says… new Waldorf—Astoria:
He glides so swiftly Back into the grass— Gives me the courtesy of road To let me pass, That I am half ashamed
I know I am The Negro Problem Being wined and dined, Answering the usual questions That come to white mind
I sat there singing her Songs in the dark. She said; 'I do not understand The words’.
It would be nice In any case, To someday meet you Face to face Walking down
Love Is a ripe plum Growing on a purple tree. Taste it once And the spell of its enchantment
My name is Johnson— Madam Alberta K. The Madam stands for business. I’m smart that way. I had a
