#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
What happens to a dream deferred? Does it dry up like a raisin in the sun? Or fester like a sore— And then run?
The census man, The day he came round, Wanted my name To put it down. I said, Johnson,
My old mule, He’s gota grin on his face. He’s been a mule so long He’s forgotten about his race. I’m like that old mule —
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
You sicken me with lies, With truthful lies. And with your pious faces. And your wide, out—stretched, mock—welcome, Christian hands.
Now dreams Are not available To the dreamers, Nor songs To the singers.
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…
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.
Down in the bass That steady beat Walking walking walking Like marching feet. Down in the bass
In an envelope marked: PERSONAL God addressed me a letter. In an envelope marked: PERSONAL
When a man starts out with nothing… When a man starts out with his han… Empty, but clean, When a man starts to build a world… He starts first with himself
How quiet It is in this sick room Where on the bed A silent woman lies between two lo… Life and Death,
Landlord, landlord, My roof has sprung a leak. Don’t you 'member I told you abou… Way last week? Landlord, landlord,
The calm, Cool face of the river Asked me for a kiss.