#AmericanWriters
The gold moth did not love him So, gorgeous, she flew away. But the gray moth circled the flam… Until the break of day. And then, with wings like a dead d…
I would liken you To a night without stars Were it not for your eyes. I would liken you To a sleep without dreams
Down in the bass That steady beat Walking walking walking Like marching feet. Down in the bass
We passed their graves: The dead men there, Winners or losers, Did not care. In the dark
I worked for a woman, She wasn’t mean— But she had a twelve—room House to clean. Had to get breakfast,
The census man, The day he came round, Wanted my name To put it down. I said, Johnson,
I’m all alone in this world, she s… Ain’t got nobody to share my bed, Ain’t got nobody to hold my hand— The truth of the matter’s I ain’t got no man.
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
Love Is a ripe plum Growing on a purple tree. Taste it once And the spell of its enchantment
Go home and write a page tonight. And let that page come out of you— Then, it will be true. I wonder if it’s that simple?
I woke up this mornin’ ’Bout half-past three. All the womens in town Was gathered round me. Sweet gals was a-moanin’,
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…
It was a long time ago. I have almost forgotten my dream. But it was there then, In front of me, Bright like a sun—
What happens to a dream deferred? Does it dry up like a raisin in the sun? Or fester like a sore— And then run?
When Susanna Jones wears red her face is like an ancient cameo Turned brown by the ages. Come with a blast of trumphets, J… When Susanna Jones wears red