#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
been scared and battered. My hopes the wind done scattered. Snow has friz me, Sun has baked me, Looks like between 'em they done
God in His infinite wisdom Did not make me very wise— So when my actions are stupid They hardly take God by surprise
Goin’ down the road, Lawd, Goin’ down the road. Down the road, Lawd, Way, way down the road. Got to find somebody
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…
I sat there singing her Songs in the dark. She said; 'I do not understand The words’.
I am God— Without one friend, Alone in my purity World without end. Below me young lovers
The calm, Cool face of the river Asked me for a kiss.
I live on a park bench. You, Park Avenue. Hell of a distance Between us two. I beg a dime for dinner—
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
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 say I O.K.ed LONG DISTANCE? O.K.ed it when? My goodness, Central That was then!
Now dreams Are not available To the dreamers, Nor songs To the singers.
I, too, sing America. I am the darker brother. They send me to eat in the kitchen When company comes, But I laugh,