#AmericanWriters
You sicken me with lies, With truthful lies. And with your pious faces. And your wide, out—stretched, mock—welcome, Christian hands.
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…
been scared and battered. My hopes the wind done scattered. Snow has friz me, Sun has baked me, Looks like between 'em they done
I play it cool I dig all jive. That's the reason I stay alive. My motto
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.
Night funeral In Harlem: Where did they get Them two fine cars? Insurance man, he did not pay—
I am God— Without one friend, Alone in my purity World without end. Below me young lovers
Droning a drowsy syncopated tune, Rocking back and forth to a mellow… I heard a Negro play. Down on Lenox Avenue the other ni… By the pale dull pallor of an old…
How still, How strangely still The water is today, It is not good For water
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
Clean the spittoons, boy. Detroit, Chicago, Atlantic City, Palm Beach.
When I get to be a composer I’m gonna write me some music abou… Daybreak in Alabama And I’m gonna put the purtiest so… Rising out of the ground like a sw…
I will take you heart. I will take your soul out of your… As though I were God. I will not be satisfied With the touch of your hand
I went to the Gypsy’s. Gypsy settin’ all alone. I said, Tell me, Gypsy, When will my gal be home? Gypsy said, Silver,
By what sends the white kids I ain’t sent: I know I can’t be President.