#AmericanWriters
Fine living . . . a la carte? Come to the Waldorf—Astoria! LISTEN HUNGRY ONES! Look! See what Vanity Fair says… new Waldorf—Astoria:
The rent man knocked. He said, Howdy—do? I said, What Can I do for you? He said, You know
Tell all my mourners To mourn in red — Cause there ain’t no sense In my bein’ dead.
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
It’s such a Bore Being always Poor.
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 ...
I take my dreams and make of them… and a round fountain with a beauti… And a song with a broken heart and… Do you understand my dreams? Sometimes you say you do,
He glides so swiftly Back into the grass— Gives me the courtesy of road To let me pass, That I am half ashamed
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
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.
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…
Because my mouth Is wide with laughter And my throat Is deep with song, You do not think
Now dreams Are not available To the dreamers, Nor songs To the singers.
In an envelope marked: PERSONAL God addressed me a letter. In an envelope marked: PERSONAL
God in His infinite wisdom Did not make me very wise— So when my actions are stupid They hardly take God by surprise