#AmericanWriters
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?
been scared and battered. My hopes the wind done scattered. Snow has friz me, Sun has baked me, Looks like between 'em they done
I got to leave this town. It’s a lonesome place. Got to leave this town cause It’s a lonesome place. A po’, po’ boy can’t
I know I am The Negro Problem Being wined and dined, Answering the usual questions That come to white mind
Because my mouth Is wide with laughter And my throat Is deep with song, You do not think
The night is beautiful, So the faces of my people. The stars are beautiful, So the eyes of my people. Beautiful, also, is the sun.
Oh, silver tree! Oh, shining rivers of the soul! In a Harlem cabaret Six long—headed jazzers play. A dancing girl whose eyes are bold
I went down to the river, I set down on the bank. I tried to think but couldn’t, So I jumped in and sank. I came up once and hollered!
Here I sit With my shoes mismated. Lawdy—mercy! I’s frustrated!
2 and 2 are 4. 4 and 4 are 8. But what would happen If the last 4 was late? And how would it be
Harlem Sent him home in a long box— Too dead To know why:
Landlord, landlord, My roof has sprung a leak. Don’t you 'member I told you abou… Way last week? Landlord, landlord,
It would be nice In any case, To someday meet you Face to face Walking down
I live on a park bench. You, Park Avenue. Hell of a distance Between us two. I beg a dime for dinner—
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 ...