#AmericanWriters #FairyTalesAndLegends #MenAndWomen #MythologyAndFolklore #Relationships
From Christ to Ghandi Appears this truth— St. Francis of Assisi Proves it, too: Goodness becomes grandeur
Clean the spittoons, boy. Detroit, Chicago, Atlantic City, Palm Beach.
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 —
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.
She, In the dark, Found light Brighter than many ever see. She,
Down in the bass That steady beat Walking walking walking Like marching feet. Down in the bass
Have you dug the spill Of Sugar Hill? Cast your gims On this sepia thrill: Brown sugar lassie,
I would liken you To a night without stars Were it not for your eyes. I would liken you To a sleep without dreams
The calm, Cool face of the river Asked me for a kiss.
I am your son, white man! Georgia dusk And the turpentine woods. One of the pillars of the temple f… You are my son!
I know I am The Negro Problem Being wined and dined, Answering the usual questions That come to white mind
Now dreams Are not available To the dreamers, Nor songs To the singers.
I am God— Without one friend, Alone in my purity World without end. Below me young lovers
Because my mouth Is wide with laughter And my throat Is deep with song, You do not think
Hold fast to dreams For if dreams die Life is a broken-winged bird That cannot fly. Hold fast to dreams