#Americans #Blacks
Hold fast to dreams For if dreams die Life is a broken-winged bird That cannot fly. Hold fast to dreams
I catch the pattern Of your silence Before you speak I do not need To hear a word.
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
Only dumb guys fight. If I wasn’t dumb I wouldn’t be fightin’. I could make six dollars a day On the docks
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 —
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 ...
Remember The days of bondage— And remembering— Do not stand still. Go to the highest hill
By what sends the white kids I ain’t sent: I know I can’t be President.
The census man, The day he came round, Wanted my name To put it down. I said, Johnson,
The calm, Cool face of the river Asked me for a kiss.
He glides so swiftly Back into the grass— Gives me the courtesy of road To let me pass, That I am half ashamed
That Justice is a blind goddess Is a thing to which we black are w… Her bandage hides two festering so… That once perhaps were eyes.
When I get to be a composer I’m gonna write me some music abou… Daybreak in Alabama And I’m gonna put the purtiest so… Rising out of the ground like a sw…
How still, How strangely still The water is today, It is not good For water