#AmericanWriters 1931 October Originally Poetry appeared in issue magazine of the
I catch the pattern Of your silence Before you speak I do not need To hear a word.
Remember The days of bondage— And remembering— Do not stand still. Go to the highest hill
I live on a park bench. You, Park Avenue. Hell of a distance Between us two. I beg a dime for dinner—
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…
How still, How strangely still The water is today, It is not good For water
You sicken me with lies, With truthful lies. And with your pious faces. And your wide, out—stretched, mock—welcome, Christian hands.
I could take the Harlem night and wrap around you, Take the neon lights and make a cr… Take the Lenox Avenue busses, Taxis, subways,
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—
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 —
Well, son, I’ll tell you: Life for me ain’t been no crystal… It’s had tacks in it, And splinters, And boards torn up,
When you turn the corner And you run into yourself Then you know that you have turned All the corners that are left
The ivory gods, And the ebony gods, And the gods of diamond and jade, Sit silently on their temple shelv… While the people
I am your son, white man! Georgia dusk And the turpentine woods. One of the pillars of the temple f… You are my son!
Goin’ down the road, Lawd, Goin’ down the road. Down the road, Lawd, Way, way down the road. Got to find somebody
Landlord, landlord, My roof has sprung a leak. Don’t you 'member I told you abou… Way last week? Landlord, landlord,