#AmericanWriters
Because my mouth Is wide with laughter And my throat Is deep with song, You do not think
Remember The days of bondage— And remembering— Do not stand still. Go to the highest hill
How still, How strangely still The water is today, It is not good For water
Here I sit With my shoes mismated. Lawdy—mercy! I’s frustrated!
From Christ to Ghandi Appears this truth— St. Francis of Assisi Proves it, too: Goodness becomes grandeur
How quiet It is in this sick room Where on the bed A silent woman lies between two lo… Life and Death,
You sicken me with lies, With truthful lies. And with your pious faces. And your wide, out—stretched, mock—welcome, Christian hands.
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…
I would liken you To a night without stars Were it not for your eyes. I would liken you To a sleep without dreams
To fling my arms wide In some place of the sun, To whirl and to dance Till the white day is done. Then rest at cool evening
The calm, Cool face of the river Asked me for a kiss.
Oh, silver tree! Oh, shining rivers of the soul! In a Harlem cabaret Six long—headed jazzers play. A dancing girl whose eyes are bold
I live on a park bench. You, Park Avenue. Hell of a distance Between us two. I beg a dime for dinner—
I know I am The Negro Problem Being wined and dined, Answering the usual questions That come to white mind