#AmericanWriters
It’s such a Bore Being always Poor.
'Me an’ ma baby’s Got two mo’ ways, Two mo’ ways to do de Charleston!… Da, da, Da, da, da!
Have you dug the spill Of Sugar Hill? Cast your gims On this sepia thrill: Brown sugar lassie,
The gold moth did not love him So, gorgeous, she flew away. But the gray moth circled the flam… Until the break of day. And then, with wings like a dead d…
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
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…
My name is Johnson— Madam Alberta K. The Madam stands for business. I’m smart that way. I had a
How still, How strangely still The water is today, It is not good For water
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
What happens to a dream deferred? Does it dry up like a raisin in the sun? Or fester like a sore— And then run?
By what sends the white kids I ain’t sent: I know I can’t be President.
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 ...
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.
I went to the Gypsy’s. Gypsy settin’ all alone. I said, Tell me, Gypsy, When will my gal be home? Gypsy said, Silver,
Down in the bass That steady beat Walking walking walking Like marching feet. Down in the bass