#AmericanWriters #BlackWriters
From Christ to Ghandi Appears this truth— St. Francis of Assisi Proves it, too: Goodness becomes grandeur
Gather quickly Out of darkness All the songs you know And throw them at the sun Before they melt
When I was home de Sunshine seemed like gold. When I was home de Sunshine seemed like gold. Since I come up North de
God in His infinite wisdom Did not make me very wise— So when my actions are stupid They hardly take God by surprise
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…
I’ve known rivers: I’ve known rivers ancient as the w… My soul has grown deep like the ri… I bathed in the Euphrates when da… I built my hut near the Congo and…
been scared and battered. My hopes the wind done scattered. Snow has friz me, Sun has baked me, Looks like between 'em they done
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.
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?
I woke up this mornin’ ’Bout half-past three. All the womens in town Was gathered round me. Sweet gals was a-moanin’,
I live on a park bench. You, Park Avenue. Hell of a distance Between us two. I beg a dime for dinner—
I play it cool I dig all jive. That's the reason I stay alive. My motto
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…
Because my mouth Is wide with laughter And my throat Is deep with song, You do not think
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,
