#AmericanWriters #BlackWriters
When the old junk man Death Comes to gather up our bodies And toss them into the sack of obl… I wonder if he will find The corpse of a white multi—millio…
Tell all my mourners To mourn in red — Cause there ain’t no sense In my bein’ dead.
Love Is a ripe plum Growing on a purple tree. Taste it once And the spell of its enchantment
2 and 2 are 4. 4 and 4 are 8. But what would happen If the last 4 was late? And how would it be
I, too, sing America. I am the darker brother. They send me to eat in the kitchen When company comes, But I laugh,
I play it cool I dig all jive. That's the reason I stay alive. My motto
I will take you heart. I will take your soul out of your… As though I were God. I will not be satisfied With the touch of your hand
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 live on a park bench. You, Park Avenue. Hell of a distance Between us two. I beg a dime for dinner—
When I get to be a composer I’m gonna write me some music abou… Daybreak in Alabama And I’m gonna put the purtiest so… Rising out of the ground like a sw…
I would liken you To a night without stars Were it not for your eyes. I would liken you To a sleep without dreams
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.
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
The calm, Cool face of the river Asked me for a kiss.
I am God— Without one friend, Alone in my purity World without end. Below me young lovers