#AmericanWriters
Harlem Sent him home in a long box— Too dead To know why:
The census man, The day he came round, Wanted my name To put it down. I said, Johnson,
We passed their graves: The dead men there, Winners or losers, Did not care. In the dark
I know I am The Negro Problem Being wined and dined, Answering the usual questions That come to white mind
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…
By what sends the white kids I ain’t sent: I know I can’t be President.
My name is Johnson— Madam Alberta K. The Madam stands for business. I’m smart that way. I had a
When Susanna Jones wears red her face is like an ancient cameo Turned brown by the ages. Come with a blast of trumphets, J… When Susanna Jones wears red
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?
In places like Selma, Alabama, Kids say, In places like Chicago and New York...
Goin’ down the road, Lawd, Goin’ down the road. Down the road, Lawd, Way, way down the road. Got to find somebody
Gather quickly Out of darkness All the songs you know And throw them at the sun Before they melt
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…
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 —
been scared and battered. My hopes the wind done scattered. Snow has friz me, Sun has baked me, Looks like between 'em they done