#AmericanWriters
What happens to a dream deferred? Does it dry up like a raisin in the sun? Or fester like a sore— And then run?
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…
I would liken you To a night without stars Were it not for your eyes. I would liken you To a sleep without dreams
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 ...
We passed their graves: The dead men there, Winners or losers, Did not care. In the dark
Droning a drowsy syncopated tune, Rocking back and forth to a mellow… I heard a Negro play. Down on Lenox Avenue the other ni… By the pale dull pallor of an old…
The census man, The day he came round, Wanted my name To put it down. I said, Johnson,
I work all day, Said Simple John, Myself a house to buy. I work all day, Said Simple John,
I, too, sing America. I am the darker brother. They send me to eat in the kitchen When company comes, But I laugh,
Have you dug the spill Of Sugar Hill? Cast your gims On this sepia thrill: Brown sugar lassie,
been scared and battered. My hopes the wind done scattered. Snow has friz me, Sun has baked me, Looks like between 'em they done
Where is the Jim Crow section On this merry—go—round, Mister, cause I want to ride? Down South where I come from White and colored
My old mule, He’s gota grin on his face. He’s been a mule so long He’s forgotten about his race. I’m like that old mule —
I know I am The Negro Problem Being wined and dined, Answering the usual questions That come to white mind
Fine living . . . a la carte? Come to the Waldorf—Astoria! LISTEN HUNGRY ONES! Look! See what Vanity Fair says… new Waldorf—Astoria: