#AmericanWriters
You and your whole race. Look down upon the town in which y… And be ashamed. Look down upon white folks And upon yourselves
When the shoe strings break On both your shoes And you’re in a hurry— That’s the blues. When you go to buy a candy bar
Where is the Jim Crow section On this merry—go—round, Mister, cause I want to ride? Down South where I come from White and colored
I catch the pattern Of your silence Before you speak I do not need To hear a word.
Democracy will not come Today, this year Nor ever Through compromise and fear. I have as much right
Gather quickly Out of darkness All the songs you know And throw them at the sun Before they melt
I know I am The Negro Problem Being wined and dined, Answering the usual questions That come to white mind
Have you dug the spill Of Sugar Hill? Cast your gims On this sepia thrill: Brown sugar lassie,
In an envelope marked: PERSONAL God addressed me a letter. In an envelope marked: PERSONAL
I live on a park bench. You, Park Avenue. Hell of a distance Between us two. I beg a dime for dinner—
I take my dreams and make of them… and a round fountain with a beauti… And a song with a broken heart and… Do you understand my dreams? Sometimes you say you do,
I am your son, white man! Georgia dusk And the turpentine woods. One of the pillars of the temple f… You are my son!
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
It would be nice In any case, To someday meet you Face to face Walking down
The rent man knocked. He said, Howdy—do? I said, What Can I do for you? He said, You know