#AmericanWriters
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 —
You sicken me with lies, With truthful lies. And with your pious faces. And your wide, out—stretched, mock—welcome, Christian hands.
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.
Tell all my mourners To mourn in red — Cause there ain’t no sense In my bein’ dead.
I play it cool I dig all jive. That's the reason I stay alive. My motto
You and your whole race. Look down upon the town in which y… And be ashamed. Look down upon white folks And upon yourselves
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,
By what sends the white kids I ain’t sent: I know I can’t be President.
The rent man knocked. He said, Howdy—do? I said, What Can I do for you? He said, You know
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
When the shoe strings break On both your shoes And you’re in a hurry— That’s the blues. When you go to buy a candy bar
Night funeral In Harlem: Where did they get Them two fine cars? Insurance man, he did not pay—
We passed their graves: The dead men there, Winners or losers, Did not care. In the dark
I know I am The Negro Problem Being wined and dined, Answering the usual questions That come to white mind