#AmericanWriters #BlackWriters
Listen! Dear dream of utter aliveness— Touching my body of utter death— Tell me, O quickly! dream of aliv… The flaming source of your bright…
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?
How still, How strangely still The water is today, It is not good For water
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…
When you turn the corner And you run into yourself Then you know that you have turned All the corners that are left
Only dumb guys fight. If I wasn’t dumb I wouldn’t be fightin’. I could make six dollars a day On the docks
And that is what poetry may do, wrap up your dreams, protect and preserve and hold them until maybe they come true. Columbus dreamed of finding a new world, he found it. Edison dreamed ...
I know I am The Negro Problem Being wined and dined, Answering the usual questions That come to white mind
I live on a park bench. You, Park Avenue. Hell of a distance Between us two. I beg a dime for dinner—
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,
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—
Fine living . . . a la carte? Come to the Waldorf—Astoria! LISTEN HUNGRY ONES! Look! See what Vanity Fair says… new Waldorf—Astoria:
God in His infinite wisdom Did not make me very wise— So when my actions are stupid They hardly take God by surprise
I look at the world From awakening eyes in a black fac… And this is what I see: This fenced—off narrow space Assigned to me.
You say I O.K.ed LONG DISTANCE? O.K.ed it when? My goodness, Central That was then!
