#AmericanWriters #BlackWriters
How quiet It is in this sick room Where on the bed A silent woman lies between two lo… Life and Death,
Being walkers with the dawn and mo… Walkers with the sun and morning, We are not afraid of night, Nor days of gloom, Nor darkness—
Love Is a ripe plum Growing on a purple tree. Taste it once And the spell of its enchantment
Now dreams Are not available To the dreamers, Nor songs To the singers.
I take my dreams and make of them… and a round fountain with a beauti… And a song with a broken heart and… Do you understand my dreams? Sometimes you say you do,
Harlem Sent him home in a long box— Too dead To know why:
It would be nice In any case, To someday meet you Face to face Walking down
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…
My name is Johnson— Madam Alberta K. The Madam stands for business. I’m smart that way. I had a
You and your whole race. Look down upon the town in which y… And be ashamed. Look down upon white folks And upon yourselves
I could take the Harlem night and wrap around you, Take the neon lights and make a cr… Take the Lenox Avenue busses, Taxis, subways,
I was so sick last night I Didn’t hardly know my mind. So sick last night I Didn’t know my mind. I drunk some bad licker that
I, too, sing America. I am the darker brother. They send me to eat in the kitchen When company comes, But I laugh,
Here I sit With my shoes mismated. Lawdy—mercy! I’s frustrated!
I catch the pattern Of your silence Before you speak I do not need To hear a word.