#AmericanWriters
The census man, The day he came round, Wanted my name To put it down. I said, Johnson,
By what sends the white kids I ain’t sent: I know I can’t be President.
The calm, Cool face of the river Asked me for a kiss.
Harlem Sent him home in a long box— Too dead To know why:
Let’s go see Old Abe Sitting in the marble and the moon… Sitting lonely in the marble and t… Quiet for ten thousand centuries,… Quiet for a million, million years…
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
What happens to a dream deferred? Does it dry up like a raisin in the sun? Or fester like a sore— And then run?
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,
From Christ to Ghandi Appears this truth— St. Francis of Assisi Proves it, too: Goodness becomes grandeur
Because my mouth Is wide with laughter And my throat Is deep with song, You do not think
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…
been scared and battered. My hopes the wind done scattered. Snow has friz me, Sun has baked me, Looks like between 'em they done
Gather quickly Out of darkness All the songs you know And throw them at the sun Before they melt
I sat there singing her Songs in the dark. She said; 'I do not understand The words’.
I am your son, white man! Georgia dusk And the turpentine woods. One of the pillars of the temple f… You are my son!