#AmericanWriters #BlackWriters
Only dumb guys fight. If I wasn’t dumb I wouldn’t be fightin’. I could make six dollars a day On the docks
I’ve known rivers: I’ve known rivers ancient as the w… flow of human blood in human veins My soul has grown deep like the ri… I bathed in the Euphrates when da…
The gold moth did not love him So, gorgeous, she flew away. But the gray moth circled the flam… Until the break of day. And then, with wings like a dead d…
Gather quickly Out of darkness All the songs you know And throw them at the sun Before they melt
Tell all my mourners To mourn in red — Cause there ain’t no sense In my bein’ dead.
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?
Love Is a ripe plum Growing on a purple tree. Taste it once And the spell of its enchantment
You sicken me with lies, With truthful lies. And with your pious faces. And your wide, out—stretched, mock—welcome, Christian hands.
When the shoe strings break On both your shoes And you’re in a hurry— That’s the blues. When you go to buy a candy bar
The census man, The day he came round, Wanted my name To put it down. I said, Johnson,
You say I O.K.ed LONG DISTANCE? O.K.ed it when? My goodness, Central That was then!
Have you dug the spill Of Sugar Hill? Cast your gims On this sepia thrill: Brown sugar lassie,
I would liken you To a night without stars Were it not for your eyes. I would liken you To a sleep without dreams
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—
That Justice is a blind goddess Is a thing to which we black are w… Her bandage hides two festering so… That once perhaps were eyes.
