#AmericanWriters
Harlem Sent him home in a long box— Too dead To know why:
To fling my arms wide In some place of the sun, To whirl and to dance Till the white day is done. Then rest at cool evening
I would liken you To a night without stars Were it not for your eyes. I would liken you To a sleep without dreams
Gather quickly Out of darkness All the songs you know And throw them at the sun Before they melt
Now dreams Are not available To the dreamers, Nor songs To the singers.
Oh, silver tree! Oh, shining rivers of the soul! In a Harlem cabaret Six long—headed jazzers play. A dancing girl whose eyes are bold
I take my dreams and make of them… and a round fountain with a beauti… And a song with a broken heart and… Do you understand my dreams? Sometimes you say you do,
You sicken me with lies, With truthful lies. And with your pious faces. And your wide, out—stretched, mock—welcome, Christian hands.
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
When you turn the corner And you run into yourself Then you know that you have turned All the corners that are left
We passed their graves: The dead men there, Winners or losers, Did not care. In the dark
In places like Selma, Alabama, Kids say, In places like Chicago and New York...
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
Let the rain kiss you. Let the rain beat upon your head w… Let the rain sing you a lullaby. The rain makes still pools on the… The rain makes running pools in th…
I catch the pattern Of your silence Before you speak I do not need To hear a word.