#AmericanWriters
What happens to a dream deferred? Does it dry up like a raisin in the sun? Or fester like a sore— And then run?
been scared and battered. My hopes the wind done scattered. Snow has friz me, Sun has baked me, Looks like between 'em they done
When the old junk man Death Comes to gather up our bodies And toss them into the sack of obl… I wonder if he will find The corpse of a white multi—millio…
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
She, In the dark, Found light Brighter than many ever see. She,
The calm, Cool face of the river Asked me for a kiss.
Go home and write a page tonight. And let that page come out of you— Then, it will be true. I wonder if it’s that simple?
When I was home de Sunshine seemed like gold. When I was home de Sunshine seemed like gold. Since I come up North de
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
Droning a drowsy syncopated tune, Rocking back and forth to a mellow… I heard a Negro play. Down on Lenox Avenue the other ni… By the pale dull pallor of an old…
I play it cool I dig all jive. That's the reason I stay alive. My motto
I worked for a woman, She wasn’t mean— But she had a twelve—room House to clean. Had to get breakfast,
It would be nice In any case, To someday meet you Face to face Walking down
By what sends the white kids I ain’t sent: I know I can’t be President.
Fine living . . . a la carte? Come to the Waldorf—Astoria! LISTEN HUNGRY ONES! Look! See what Vanity Fair says… new Waldorf—Astoria: