#AmericanWriters
Fine living . . . a la carte? Come to the Waldorf—Astoria! LISTEN HUNGRY ONES! Look! See what Vanity Fair says… new Waldorf—Astoria:
Have you dug the spill Of Sugar Hill? Cast your gims On this sepia thrill: Brown sugar lassie,
Night funeral In Harlem: Where did they get Them two fine cars? Insurance man, he did not pay—
Here I sit With my shoes mismated. Lawdy—mercy! I’s frustrated!
Because my mouth Is wide with laughter And my throat Is deep with song, You do not think
Democracy will not come Today, this year Nor ever Through compromise and fear. I have as much right
Love Is a ripe plum Growing on a purple tree. Taste it once And the spell of its enchantment
When I was home de Sunshine seemed like gold. When I was home de Sunshine seemed like gold. Since I come up North de
In places like Selma, Alabama, Kids say, In places like Chicago and New York...
Harlem Sent him home in a long box— Too dead To know why:
I worked for a woman, She wasn’t mean— But she had a twelve—room House to clean. Had to get breakfast,
Let the rain kiss you. Let the rain beat upon your head w… Let the rain sing you a lullaby. The rain makes still pools on the… The rain makes running pools in th…
Now dreams Are not available To the dreamers, Nor songs To the singers.
That Justice is a blind goddess Is a thing to which we black are w… Her bandage hides two festering so… That once perhaps were eyes.
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