#AmericanWriters
To fling my arms wide In some place of the sun, To whirl and to dance Till the white day is done. Then rest at cool evening
By what sends the white kids I ain’t sent: I know I can’t be President.
I live on a park bench. You, Park Avenue. Hell of a distance Between us two. I beg a dime for dinner—
Now dreams Are not available To the dreamers, Nor songs To the singers.
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
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
Clean the spittoons, boy. Detroit, Chicago, Atlantic City, Palm Beach.
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—
I’ve known rivers: I’ve known rivers ancient as the w… My soul has grown deep like the ri… I bathed in the Euphrates when da… I built my hut near the Congo and…
You sicken me with lies, With truthful lies. And with your pious faces. And your wide, out—stretched, mock—welcome, Christian hands.
Good morning, daddy! Ain’t you heard The boogie—woogie rumble Of a dream deferred? Listen closely:
I play it cool I dig all jive. That's the reason I stay alive. My motto
Children, I come back today To tell you a story of the long da… That I had to climb, that I had t… In order that the race might live… Look at my face —dark as the night…
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.
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!