#AmericanWriters
Landlord, landlord, My roof has sprung a leak. Don’t you 'member I told you abou… Way last week? Landlord, landlord,
Night funeral In Harlem: Where did they get Them two fine cars? Insurance man, he did not pay—
I would liken you To a night without stars Were it not for your eyes. I would liken you To a sleep without dreams
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
You and your whole race. Look down upon the town in which y… And be ashamed. Look down upon white folks And upon yourselves
I live on a park bench. You, Park Avenue. Hell of a distance Between us two. I beg a dime for dinner—
I am your son, white man! Georgia dusk And the turpentine woods. One of the pillars of the temple f… You are my son!
Hold fast to dreams For if dreams die Life is a broken-winged bird That cannot fly. Hold fast to dreams
Oh, silver tree! Oh, shining rivers of the soul! In a Harlem cabaret Six long—headed jazzers play. A dancing girl whose eyes are bold
The census man, The day he came round, Wanted my name To put it down. I said, Johnson,
It’s such a Bore Being always Poor.
Harlem Sent him home in a long box— Too dead To know why:
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.
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