#AmericanWriters
I sat there singing her Songs in the dark. She said; 'I do not understand The words’.
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
The ivory gods, And the ebony gods, And the gods of diamond and jade, Sit silently on their temple shelv… While the people
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,
I am your son, white man! Georgia dusk And the turpentine woods. One of the pillars of the temple f… You are my son!
I would liken you To a night without stars Were it not for your eyes. I would liken you To a sleep without dreams
I live on a park bench. You, Park Avenue. Hell of a distance Between us two. I beg a dime for dinner—
Love Is a ripe plum Growing on a purple tree. Taste it once And the spell of its enchantment
2 and 2 are 4. 4 and 4 are 8. But what would happen If the last 4 was late? And how would it be
In an envelope marked: PERSONAL God addressed me a letter. In an envelope marked: PERSONAL
Go home and write a page tonight. And let that page come out of you— Then, it will be true. I wonder if it’s that simple?
I know I am The Negro Problem Being wined and dined, Answering the usual questions That come to white mind
Now dreams Are not available To the dreamers, Nor songs To the singers.
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.
The gold moth did not love him So, gorgeous, she flew away. But the gray moth circled the flam… Until the break of day. And then, with wings like a dead d…