#AmericanWriters
Harlem Sent him home in a long box— Too dead To know why:
Only dumb guys fight. If I wasn’t dumb I wouldn’t be fightin’. I could make six dollars a day On the docks
Hold fast to dreams For if dreams die Life is a broken-winged bird That cannot fly. Hold fast to dreams
It’s such a Bore Being always Poor.
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
Fine living . . . a la carte? Come to the Waldorf—Astoria! LISTEN HUNGRY ONES! Look! See what Vanity Fair says… new Waldorf—Astoria:
I, too, sing America. I am the darker brother. They send me to eat in the kitchen When company comes, But I laugh,
By what sends the white kids I ain’t sent: I know I can’t be President.
When the shoe strings break On both your shoes And you’re in a hurry— That’s the blues. When you go to buy a candy bar
Goin’ down the road, Lawd, Goin’ down the road. Down the road, Lawd, Way, way down the road. Got to find somebody
You sicken me with lies, With truthful lies. And with your pious faces. And your wide, out—stretched, mock—welcome, Christian hands.
Night funeral In Harlem: Where did they get Them two fine cars? Insurance man, he did not pay—
I sat there singing her Songs in the dark. She said; 'I do not understand The words’.
The ivory gods, And the ebony gods, And the gods of diamond and jade, Sit silently on their temple shelv… While the people
I went down to the river, I set down on the bank. I tried to think but couldn’t, So I jumped in and sank. I came up once and hollered!