#AmericanWriters #BlackWriters
How still, How strangely still The water is today, It is not good For water
I live on a park bench. You, Park Avenue. Hell of a distance Between us two. I beg a dime for dinner—
Democracy will not come Today, this year Nor ever Through compromise and fear. I have as much right
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…
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,
You and your whole race. Look down upon the town in which y… And be ashamed. Look down upon white folks And upon yourselves
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…
The census man, The day he came round, Wanted my name To put it down. I said, Johnson,
By what sends the white kids I ain’t sent: I know I can’t be President.
Only dumb guys fight. If I wasn’t dumb I wouldn’t be fightin’. I could make six dollars a day On the docks
You say I O.K.ed LONG DISTANCE? O.K.ed it when? My goodness, Central That was then!
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,
Now dreams Are not available To the dreamers, Nor songs To the singers.
It would be nice In any case, To someday meet you Face to face Walking down
The calm, Cool face of the river Asked me for a kiss.
