#AmericanWriters
You sicken me with lies, With truthful lies. And with your pious faces. And your wide, out—stretched, mock—welcome, Christian hands.
I catch the pattern Of your silence Before you speak I do not need To hear a word.
It’s such a Bore Being always Poor.
Because my mouth Is wide with laughter And my throat Is deep with song, You do not think
I, too, sing America. I am the darker brother. They send me to eat in the kitchen When company comes, But I laugh,
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…
'Me an’ ma baby’s Got two mo’ ways, Two mo’ ways to do de Charleston!… Da, da, Da, da, da!
I’ve known rivers: I’ve known rivers ancient as the w… My soul has grown deep like the ri… I bathed in the Euphrates when da… I built my hut near the Congo and…
I live on a park bench. You, Park Avenue. Hell of a distance Between us two. I beg a dime for dinner—
Here I sit With my shoes mismated. Lawdy—mercy! I’s frustrated!
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 ...
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…
been scared and battered. My hopes the wind done scattered. Snow has friz me, Sun has baked me, Looks like between 'em they done
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—
How quiet It is in this sick room Where on the bed A silent woman lies between two lo… Life and Death,