#AmericanWriters
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!
Here I sit With my shoes mismated. Lawdy—mercy! I’s frustrated!
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 ...
I woke up this mornin’ ’Bout half-past three. All the womens in town Was gathered round me. Sweet gals was a-moanin’,
Fine living . . . a la carte? Come to the Waldorf—Astoria! LISTEN HUNGRY ONES! Look! See what Vanity Fair says… new Waldorf—Astoria:
Landlord, landlord, My roof has sprung a leak. Don’t you 'member I told you abou… Way last week? Landlord, landlord,
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
You and your whole race. Look down upon the town in which y… And be ashamed. Look down upon white folks And upon yourselves
Let America be America again. Let it be the dream it used to be. Let it be the pioneer on the plain Seeking a home where he himself is… (America never was America to me.…
It would be nice In any case, To someday meet you Face to face Walking down
I am God— Without one friend, Alone in my purity World without end. Below me young lovers
I would liken you To a night without stars Were it not for your eyes. I would liken you To a sleep without dreams
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
Love Is a ripe plum Growing on a purple tree. Taste it once And the spell of its enchantment