#AmericanWriters
You sicken me with lies, With truthful lies. And with your pious faces. And your wide, out—stretched, mock—welcome, Christian hands.
Droning a drowsy syncopated tune, Rocking back and forth to a mellow… I heard a Negro play. Down on Lenox Avenue the other ni… By the pale dull pallor of an old…
Now dreams Are not available To the dreamers, Nor songs To the singers.
In an envelope marked: PERSONAL God addressed me a letter. In an envelope marked: PERSONAL
I look at the world From awakening eyes in a black fac… And this is what I see: This fenced—off narrow space Assigned to me.
The rent man knocked. He said, Howdy—do? I said, What Can I do for you? He said, You know
I live on a park bench. You, Park Avenue. Hell of a distance Between us two. I beg a dime for dinner—
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
Here I sit With my shoes mismated. Lawdy—mercy! I’s frustrated!
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 would liken you To a night without stars Were it not for your eyes. I would liken you To a sleep without dreams
The ivory gods, And the ebony gods, And the gods of diamond and jade, Sit silently on their temple shelv… While the people
I dream a world where man No other man will scorn, Where love will bless the earth And peace its paths adorn I dream a world where all
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 am your son, white man! Georgia dusk And the turpentine woods. One of the pillars of the temple f… You are my son!