#AmericanWriters
In the Quarter of the Negroes Where the doors are doors of paper Dust of dingy atoms Blows a scratchy sound. Amorphous jack—o’—Lanterns caper
When you turn the corner And you run into yourself Then you know that you have turned All the corners that are left
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 sicken me with lies, With truthful lies. And with your pious faces. And your wide, out—stretched, mock—welcome, Christian hands.
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 woke up this mornin’ ’Bout half-past three. All the womens in town Was gathered round me. Sweet gals was a-moanin’,
Down in the bass That steady beat Walking walking walking Like marching feet. Down in the bass
When I was home de Sunshine seemed like gold. When I was home de Sunshine seemed like gold. Since I come up North de
She, In the dark, Found light Brighter than many ever see. She,
Harlem Sent him home in a long box— Too dead To know why:
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…
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—
Have you dug the spill Of Sugar Hill? Cast your gims On this sepia thrill: Brown sugar lassie,
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 —
In places like Selma, Alabama, Kids say, In places like Chicago and New York...