#AmericanWriters
Let America be America again. Let it be the dream it used to be. Let it be the pioneer on the plain Seeking a home where he himself is… (America never was America to me.…
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 you turn the corner And you run into yourself Then you know that you have turned All the corners that are left
Well, son, I’ll tell you: Life for me ain’t been no crystal… It’s had tacks in it, And splinters, And boards torn up,
It would be nice In any case, To someday meet you Face to face Walking down
My name is Johnson— Madam Alberta K. The Madam stands for business. I’m smart that way. I had a
I know I am The Negro Problem Being wined and dined, Answering the usual questions That come to white mind
Fine living . . . a la carte? Come to the Waldorf—Astoria! LISTEN HUNGRY ONES! Look! See what Vanity Fair says… new Waldorf—Astoria:
From Christ to Ghandi Appears this truth— St. Francis of Assisi Proves it, too: Goodness becomes grandeur
Only dumb guys fight. If I wasn’t dumb I wouldn’t be fightin’. I could make six dollars a day On the docks
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.
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?
Landlord, landlord, My roof has sprung a leak. Don’t you 'member I told you abou… Way last week? Landlord, landlord,
I look at the world From awakening eyes in a black fac… And this is what I see: This fenced—off narrow space Assigned to me.
I, too, sing America. I am the darker brother. They send me to eat in the kitchen When company comes, But I laugh,
