#AmericanWriters
I live on a park bench. You, Park Avenue. Hell of a distance Between us two. I beg a dime for dinner—
I play it cool I dig all jive. That's the reason I stay alive. My motto
I was so sick last night I Didn’t hardly know my mind. So sick last night I Didn’t know my mind. I drunk some bad licker that
The census man, The day he came round, Wanted my name To put it down. I said, Johnson,
In the Quarter of the Negroes Where the doors are doors of paper Dust of dingy atoms Blows a scratchy sound. Amorphous jack—o’—Lanterns caper
I am God— Without one friend, Alone in my purity World without end. Below me young lovers
My name is Johnson— Madam Alberta K. The Madam stands for business. I’m smart that way. I had a
We passed their graves: The dead men there, Winners or losers, Did not care. In the dark
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.
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…
And that is what poetry may do, wrap up your dreams, protect and preserve and hold them until maybe they come true. Columbus dreamed of finding a new world, he found it. Edison dreamed ...
Now dreams Are not available To the dreamers, Nor songs To the singers.
You and your whole race. Look down upon the town in which y… And be ashamed. Look down upon white folks And upon yourselves
Fine living . . . a la carte? Come to the Waldorf—Astoria! LISTEN HUNGRY ONES! Look! See what Vanity Fair says… new Waldorf—Astoria:
Remember The days of bondage— And remembering— Do not stand still. Go to the highest hill