#AmericanWriters
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.
The calm, Cool face of the river Asked me for a kiss.
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
My old mule, He’s gota grin on his face. He’s been a mule so long He’s forgotten about his race. I’m like that old mule —
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…
I am your son, white man! Georgia dusk And the turpentine woods. One of the pillars of the temple f… You are my son!
Children, I come back today To tell you a story of the long da… That I had to climb, that I had t… In order that the race might live… Look at my face —dark as the night…
Being walkers with the dawn and mo… Walkers with the sun and morning, We are not afraid of night, Nor days of gloom, Nor darkness—
I got to leave this town. It’s a lonesome place. Got to leave this town cause It’s a lonesome place. A po’, po’ boy can’t
Gather quickly Out of darkness All the songs you know And throw them at the sun Before they melt
I worked for a woman, She wasn’t mean— But she had a twelve—room House to clean. Had to get breakfast,
Down in the bass That steady beat Walking walking walking Like marching feet. Down in the bass
I live on a park bench. You, Park Avenue. Hell of a distance Between us two. I beg a dime for dinner—
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.
Democracy will not come Today, this year Nor ever Through compromise and fear. I have as much right