#AmericanWriters
2 and 2 are 4. 4 and 4 are 8. But what would happen If the last 4 was late? And how would it be
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
Democracy will not come Today, this year Nor ever Through compromise and fear. I have as much right
It would be nice In any case, To someday meet you Face to face Walking down
Big Boy came Carrying a mermaid On his shoulders And the mermaid Had her tail
Now dreams Are not available To the dreamers, Nor songs To the singers.
From Christ to Ghandi Appears this truth— St. Francis of Assisi Proves it, too: Goodness becomes grandeur
I worked for a woman, She wasn’t mean— But she had a twelve—room House to clean. Had to get breakfast,
Good morning, daddy! Ain’t you heard The boogie—woogie rumble Of a dream deferred? Listen closely:
Children, I come back today To tell you a story of the long da… That I had to climb, that I had t… In order that the race might live… Look at my face —dark as the night…
The census man, The day he came round, Wanted my name To put it down. I said, Johnson,
Because my mouth Is wide with laughter And my throat Is deep with song, You do not think
I woke up this mornin’ ’Bout half-past three. All the womens in town Was gathered round me. Sweet gals was a-moanin’,
Have you dug the spill Of Sugar Hill? Cast your gims On this sepia thrill: Brown sugar lassie,
We passed their graves: The dead men there, Winners or losers, Did not care. In the dark