#AmericanWriters
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 am God— Without one friend, Alone in my purity World without end. Below me young lovers
I sat there singing her Songs in the dark. She said; 'I do not understand The words’.
I went to the Gypsy’s. Gypsy settin’ all alone. I said, Tell me, Gypsy, When will my gal be home? Gypsy said, Silver,
Remember The days of bondage— And remembering— Do not stand still. Go to the highest hill
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
Fine living . . . a la carte? Come to the Waldorf—Astoria! LISTEN HUNGRY ONES! Look! See what Vanity Fair says… new Waldorf—Astoria:
When you turn the corner And you run into yourself Then you know that you have turned All the corners that are left
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
Love Is a ripe plum Growing on a purple tree. Taste it once And the spell of its enchantment
Good morning, daddy! Ain’t you heard The boogie—woogie rumble Of a dream deferred? Listen closely:
I would liken you To a night without stars Were it not for your eyes. I would liken you To a sleep without dreams
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?
When I was home de Sunshine seemed like gold. When I was home de Sunshine seemed like gold. Since I come up North de
You sicken me with lies, With truthful lies. And with your pious faces. And your wide, out—stretched, mock—welcome, Christian hands.
