#AmericanWriters
I would liken you To a night without stars Were it not for your eyes. I would liken you To a sleep without dreams
That Justice is a blind goddess Is a thing to which we black are w… Her bandage hides two festering so… That once perhaps were eyes.
We passed their graves: The dead men there, Winners or losers, Did not care. In the dark
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
Love Is a ripe plum Growing on a purple tree. Taste it once And the spell of its enchantment
Have you dug the spill Of Sugar Hill? Cast your gims On this sepia thrill: Brown sugar lassie,
When you turn the corner And you run into yourself Then you know that you have turned All the corners that are left
Remember The days of bondage— And remembering— Do not stand still. Go to the highest hill
I am your son, white man! Georgia dusk And the turpentine woods. One of the pillars of the temple f… You are my son!
Tell all my mourners To mourn in red — Cause there ain’t no sense In my bein’ dead.
It would be nice In any case, To someday meet you Face to face Walking down
I’ve known rivers: I’ve known rivers ancient as the w… flow of human blood in human veins My soul has grown deep like the ri… I bathed in the Euphrates when da…
I’ve known rivers: I’ve known rivers ancient as the w… My soul has grown deep like the ri… I bathed in the Euphrates when da… I built my hut near the Congo and…
Democracy will not come Today, this year Nor ever Through compromise and fear. I have as much right
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…