#AmericanWriters
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 —
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…
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—
It’s such a Bore Being always Poor.
Big Boy came Carrying a mermaid On his shoulders And the mermaid Had her tail
My old man’s a white old man And my old mother’s black. If ever I cursed my white old man I take my curses back. If ever I cursed my black old mot…
I catch the pattern Of your silence Before you speak I do not need To hear a word.
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
What happens to a dream deferred? Does it dry up like a raisin in the sun? Or fester like a sore— And then run?
From Christ to Ghandi Appears this truth— St. Francis of Assisi Proves it, too: Goodness becomes grandeur
You sicken me with lies, With truthful lies. And with your pious faces. And your wide, out—stretched, mock—welcome, Christian hands.
You say I O.K.ed LONG DISTANCE? O.K.ed it when? My goodness, Central That was then!
Harlem Sent him home in a long box— Too dead To know why:
I know I am The Negro Problem Being wined and dined, Answering the usual questions That come to white mind
been scared and battered. My hopes the wind done scattered. Snow has friz me, Sun has baked me, Looks like between 'em they done