#AmericanWriters
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
Down in the bass That steady beat Walking walking walking Like marching feet. Down in the bass
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…
We passed their graves: The dead men there, Winners or losers, Did not care. In the dark
You say I O.K.ed LONG DISTANCE? O.K.ed it when? My goodness, Central That was then!
You sicken me with lies, With truthful lies. And with your pious faces. And your wide, out—stretched, mock—welcome, Christian hands.
I woke up this mornin’ ’Bout half-past three. All the womens in town Was gathered round me. Sweet gals was a-moanin’,
Here I sit With my shoes mismated. Lawdy—mercy! I’s frustrated!
Goin’ down the road, Lawd, Goin’ down the road. Down the road, Lawd, Way, way down the road. Got to find somebody
In an envelope marked: PERSONAL God addressed me a letter. In an envelope marked: PERSONAL
Love Is a ripe plum Growing on a purple tree. Taste it once And the spell of its enchantment
He glides so swiftly Back into the grass— Gives me the courtesy of road To let me pass, That I am half ashamed
Well, son, I’ll tell you: Life for me ain’t been no crystal… It’s had tacks in it, And splinters, And boards torn up,
What happens to a dream deferred? Does it dry up like a raisin in the sun? Or fester like a sore— And then run?
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,