#AmericanWriters
God in His infinite wisdom Did not make me very wise— So when my actions are stupid They hardly take God by surprise
'Me an’ ma baby’s Got two mo’ ways, Two mo’ ways to do de Charleston!… Da, da, Da, da, da!
To fling my arms wide In some place of the sun, To whirl and to dance Till the white day is done. Then rest at cool evening
Now dreams Are not available To the dreamers, Nor songs To the singers.
Tell all my mourners To mourn in red — Cause there ain’t no sense In my bein’ dead.
I catch the pattern Of your silence Before you speak I do not need To hear a word.
I will take you heart. I will take your soul out of your… As though I were God. I will not be satisfied With the touch of your hand
How still, How strangely still The water is today, It is not good For water
Clean the spittoons, boy. Detroit, Chicago, Atlantic City, Palm Beach.
What happens to a dream deferred? Does it dry up like a raisin in the sun? Or fester like a sore— And then run?
In places like Selma, Alabama, Kids say, In places like Chicago and New York...
He glides so swiftly Back into the grass— Gives me the courtesy of road To let me pass, That I am half ashamed
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 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
Gather quickly Out of darkness All the songs you know And throw them at the sun Before they melt