#Americans #Blacks
Now dreams Are not available To the dreamers, Nor songs To the singers.
I work all day, Said Simple John, Myself a house to buy. I work all day, Said Simple John,
Tell all my mourners To mourn in red — Cause there ain’t no sense In my bein’ dead.
Love Is a ripe plum Growing on a purple tree. Taste it once And the spell of its enchantment
Here I sit With my shoes mismated. Lawdy—mercy! I’s frustrated!
How quiet It is in this sick room Where on the bed A silent woman lies between two lo… Life and Death,
When I get to be a composer I’m gonna write me some music abou… Daybreak in Alabama And I’m gonna put the purtiest so… Rising out of the ground like a sw…
My old man’s a white old man And my old mother’s black. If ever I cursed my white old man I take my curses back. If ever I cursed my black old mot…
When you turn the corner And you run into yourself Then you know that you have turned All the corners that are left
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…
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
The night is beautiful, So the faces of my people. The stars are beautiful, So the eyes of my people. Beautiful, also, is the sun.
The ivory gods, And the ebony gods, And the gods of diamond and jade, Sit silently on their temple shelv… While the people
I sat there singing her Songs in the dark. She said; 'I do not understand The words’.
And that is what poetry may do, wrap up your dreams, protect and preserve and hold them until maybe they come true. Columbus dreamed of finding a new world, he found it. Edison dreamed ...
