#AmericanWriters
I went to the Gypsy’s. Gypsy settin’ all alone. I said, Tell me, Gypsy, When will my gal be home? Gypsy said, Silver,
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.
It’s such a Bore Being always Poor.
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?
Now dreams Are not available To the dreamers, Nor songs To the singers.
I sat there singing her Songs in the dark. She said; 'I do not understand The words’.
When you turn the corner And you run into yourself Then you know that you have turned All the corners that are left
Democracy will not come Today, this year Nor ever Through compromise and fear. I have as much right
Let’s go see Old Abe Sitting in the marble and the moon… Sitting lonely in the marble and t… Quiet for ten thousand centuries,… Quiet for a million, million years…
I, too, sing America. I am the darker brother. They send me to eat in the kitchen When company comes, But I laugh,
Clean the spittoons, boy. Detroit, Chicago, Atlantic City, Palm Beach.
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
That Justice is a blind goddess Is a thing to which we black are w… Her bandage hides two festering so… That once perhaps were eyes.
From Christ to Ghandi Appears this truth— St. Francis of Assisi Proves it, too: Goodness becomes grandeur
I know I am The Negro Problem Being wined and dined, Answering the usual questions That come to white mind