#AmericanWriters
Remember The days of bondage— And remembering— Do not stand still. Go to the highest hill
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
The calm, Cool face of the river Asked me for a kiss.
I woke up this mornin’ ’Bout half-past three. All the womens in town Was gathered round me. Sweet gals was a-moanin’,
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 Susanna Jones wears red her face is like an ancient cameo Turned brown by the ages. Come with a blast of trumphets, J… When Susanna Jones wears red
Listen! Dear dream of utter aliveness— Touching my body of utter death— Tell me, O quickly! dream of aliv… The flaming source of your bright…
Harlem Sent him home in a long box— Too dead To know why:
Let America be America again. Let it be the dream it used to be. Let it be the pioneer on the plain Seeking a home where he himself is… (America never was America to me.…
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 ...
How quiet It is in this sick room Where on the bed A silent woman lies between two lo… Life and Death,
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 —
Being walkers with the dawn and mo… Walkers with the sun and morning, We are not afraid of night, Nor days of gloom, Nor darkness—
Love Is a ripe plum Growing on a purple tree. Taste it once And the spell of its enchantment
It was a long time ago. I have almost forgotten my dream. But it was there then, In front of me, Bright like a sun—