#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 —
Down in the bass That steady beat Walking walking walking Like marching feet. Down in the bass
Democracy will not come Today, this year Nor ever Through compromise and fear. I have as much right
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
He glides so swiftly Back into the grass— Gives me the courtesy of road To let me pass, That I am half ashamed
Fine living . . . a la carte? Come to the Waldorf—Astoria! LISTEN HUNGRY ONES! Look! See what Vanity Fair says… new Waldorf—Astoria:
How quiet It is in this sick room Where on the bed A silent woman lies between two lo… Life and Death,
From Christ to Ghandi Appears this truth— St. Francis of Assisi Proves it, too: Goodness becomes grandeur
To fling my arms wide In some place of the sun, To whirl and to dance Till the white day is done. Then rest at cool evening
Big Boy came Carrying a mermaid On his shoulders And the mermaid Had her tail
I worked for a woman, She wasn’t mean— But she had a twelve—room House to clean. Had to get breakfast,
You sicken me with lies, With truthful lies. And with your pious faces. And your wide, out—stretched, mock—welcome, Christian hands.
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…
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.
Landlord, landlord, My roof has sprung a leak. Don’t you 'member I told you abou… Way last week? Landlord, landlord,
