#AmericanWriters
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,
Down in the bass That steady beat Walking walking walking Like marching feet. Down in the bass
In an envelope marked: PERSONAL God addressed me a letter. In an envelope marked: PERSONAL
In places like Selma, Alabama, Kids say, In places like Chicago and New York...
Where is the Jim Crow section On this merry—go—round, Mister, cause I want to ride? Down South where I come from White and colored
It would be nice In any case, To someday meet you Face to face Walking down
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
Clean the spittoons, boy. Detroit, Chicago, Atlantic City, Palm Beach.
Good morning, daddy! Ain’t you heard The boogie—woogie rumble Of a dream deferred? Listen closely:
I’m all alone in this world, she s… Ain’t got nobody to share my bed, Ain’t got nobody to hold my hand— The truth of the matter’s I ain’t got no man.
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…
Now dreams Are not available To the dreamers, Nor songs To the singers.
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…
Goin’ down the road, Lawd, Goin’ down the road. Down the road, Lawd, Way, way down the road. Got to find somebody
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