#AmericanWriters
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
I worked for a woman, She wasn’t mean— But she had a twelve—room House to clean. Had to get breakfast,
I could take the Harlem night and wrap around you, Take the neon lights and make a cr… Take the Lenox Avenue busses, Taxis, subways,
From Christ to Ghandi Appears this truth— St. Francis of Assisi Proves it, too: Goodness becomes grandeur
She, In the dark, Found light Brighter than many ever see. She,
When the old junk man Death Comes to gather up our bodies And toss them into the sack of obl… I wonder if he will find The corpse of a white multi—millio…
I would liken you To a night without stars Were it not for your eyes. I would liken you To a sleep without dreams
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 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…
Remember The days of bondage— And remembering— Do not stand still. Go to the highest hill
Have you dug the spill Of Sugar Hill? Cast your gims On this sepia thrill: Brown sugar lassie,
Fine living . . . a la carte? Come to the Waldorf—Astoria! LISTEN HUNGRY ONES! Look! See what Vanity Fair says… new Waldorf—Astoria:
He glides so swiftly Back into the grass— Gives me the courtesy of road To let me pass, That I am half ashamed
I am your son, white man! Georgia dusk And the turpentine woods. One of the pillars of the temple f… You are my son!