#AmericanWriters
Fine living . . . a la carte? Come to the Waldorf—Astoria! LISTEN HUNGRY ONES! Look! See what Vanity Fair says… new Waldorf—Astoria:
God in His infinite wisdom Did not make me very wise— So when my actions are stupid They hardly take God by surprise
Down in the bass That steady beat Walking walking walking Like marching feet. Down in the bass
I worked for a woman, She wasn’t mean— But she had a twelve—room House to clean. Had to get breakfast,
I live on a park bench. You, Park Avenue. Hell of a distance Between us two. I beg a dime for dinner—
He glides so swiftly Back into the grass— Gives me the courtesy of road To let me pass, That I am half ashamed
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
It would be nice In any case, To someday meet you Face to face Walking down
I play it cool I dig all jive. That's the reason I stay alive. My motto
I’m all alone in this world, she s… Ain’t got nobody to share my bed, Ain’t got nobody to hold my hand— The truth of the matter’s I ain’t got no man.
In an envelope marked: PERSONAL God addressed me a letter. In an envelope marked: PERSONAL
Because my mouth Is wide with laughter And my throat Is deep with song, You do not think
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
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 ...
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,