#AmericanWriters
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—
It’s such a Bore Being always Poor.
The gold moth did not love him So, gorgeous, she flew away. But the gray moth circled the flam… Until the break of day. And then, with wings like a dead d…
You say I O.K.ed LONG DISTANCE? O.K.ed it when? My goodness, Central That was then!
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
He glides so swiftly Back into the grass— Gives me the courtesy of road To let me pass, That I am half ashamed
I work all day, Said Simple John, Myself a house to buy. I work all day, Said Simple John,
By what sends the white kids I ain’t sent: I know I can’t be President.
God in His infinite wisdom Did not make me very wise— So when my actions are stupid They hardly take God by surprise
She, In the dark, Found light Brighter than many ever see. She,
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
I got to leave this town. It’s a lonesome place. Got to leave this town cause It’s a lonesome place. A po’, po’ boy can’t
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 ...
The calm, Cool face of the river Asked me for a kiss.