#AmericanWriters
Let America be America again. Let it be the dream it used to be. Let it be the pioneer on the plain Seeking a home where he himself is… (America never was America to me.…
I live on a park bench. You, Park Avenue. Hell of a distance Between us two. I beg a dime for dinner—
We passed their graves: The dead men there, Winners or losers, Did not care. In the dark
Because my mouth Is wide with laughter And my throat Is deep with song, You do not think
I could take the Harlem night and wrap around you, Take the neon lights and make a cr… Take the Lenox Avenue busses, Taxis, subways,
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
Only dumb guys fight. If I wasn’t dumb I wouldn’t be fightin’. I could make six dollars a day On the docks
I woke up this mornin’ ’Bout half-past three. All the womens in town Was gathered round me. Sweet gals was a-moanin’,
You sicken me with lies, With truthful lies. And with your pious faces. And your wide, out—stretched, mock—welcome, Christian hands.
Remember The days of bondage— And remembering— Do not stand still. Go to the highest hill
I worked for a woman, She wasn’t mean— But she had a twelve—room House to clean. Had to get breakfast,
I work all day, Said Simple John, Myself a house to buy. I work all day, Said Simple John,
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…
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
I dream a world where man No other man will scorn, Where love will bless the earth And peace its paths adorn I dream a world where all