#AmericanWriters
The census man, The day he came round, Wanted my name To put it down. I said, Johnson,
Down in the bass That steady beat Walking walking walking Like marching feet. Down in the bass
My old man’s a white old man And my old mother’s black. If ever I cursed my white old man I take my curses back. If ever I cursed my black old mot…
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,
Clean the spittoons, boy. Detroit, Chicago, Atlantic City, Palm Beach.
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?
Being walkers with the dawn and mo… Walkers with the sun and morning, We are not afraid of night, Nor days of gloom, Nor darkness—
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
Tell all my mourners To mourn in red — Cause there ain’t no sense In my bein’ dead.
Now dreams Are not available To the dreamers, Nor songs To the singers.
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…
I look at the world From awakening eyes in a black fac… And this is what I see: This fenced—off narrow space Assigned to me.
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
Fine living . . . a la carte? Come to the Waldorf—Astoria! LISTEN HUNGRY ONES! Look! See what Vanity Fair says… new Waldorf—Astoria:
Only dumb guys fight. If I wasn’t dumb I wouldn’t be fightin’. I could make six dollars a day On the docks