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 ...

By what sends the white kids I ain’t sent: I know I can’t be President.

The calm, Cool face of the river Asked me for a kiss.

What happens to a dream deferred? Does it dry up like a raisin in the sun? Or fester like a sore— And then run?

I catch the pattern Of your silence Before you speak I do not need To hear a word.

When the old junk man Death Comes to gather up our bodies And toss them into the sack of obl… I wonder if he will find The corpse of a white multi—millio…

I went to the Gypsy’s. Gypsy settin’ all alone. I said, Tell me, Gypsy, When will my gal be home? Gypsy said, Silver,

You and your whole race. Look down upon the town in which y… And be ashamed. Look down upon white folks And upon yourselves

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!

Oh, silver tree! Oh, shining rivers of the soul! In a Harlem cabaret Six long—headed jazzers play. A dancing girl whose eyes are bold