#AmericanWriters
It would be nice In any case, To someday meet you Face to face Walking down
Now dreams Are not available To the dreamers, Nor songs To the singers.
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,
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.
Go home and write a page tonight. And let that page come out of you— Then, it will be true. I wonder if it’s that simple?
Here I sit With my shoes mismated. Lawdy—mercy! I’s frustrated!
The census man, The day he came round, Wanted my name To put it down. I said, Johnson,
Clean the spittoons, boy. Detroit, Chicago, Atlantic City, Palm Beach.
Harlem Sent him home in a long box— Too dead To know why:
I’ve known rivers: I’ve known rivers ancient as the w… flow of human blood in human veins My soul has grown deep like the ri… I bathed in the Euphrates when da…
He glides so swiftly Back into the grass— Gives me the courtesy of road To let me pass, That I am half ashamed
Democracy will not come Today, this year Nor ever Through compromise and fear. I have as much right
The calm, Cool face of the river Asked me for a kiss.
By what sends the white kids I ain’t sent: I know I can’t be President.
I am your son, white man! Georgia dusk And the turpentine woods. One of the pillars of the temple f… You are my son!