#AmericanWriters
The night is beautiful, So the faces of my people. The stars are beautiful, So the eyes of my people. Beautiful, also, is the sun.
He glides so swiftly Back into the grass— Gives me the courtesy of road To let me pass, That I am half ashamed
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
In places like Selma, Alabama, Kids say, In places like Chicago and New York...
I sat there singing her Songs in the dark. She said; 'I do not understand The words’.
Harlem Sent him home in a long box— Too dead To know why:
I work all day, Said Simple John, Myself a house to buy. I work all day, Said Simple John,
I’ve known rivers: I’ve known rivers ancient as the w… My soul has grown deep like the ri… I bathed in the Euphrates when da… I built my hut near the Congo and…
The census man, The day he came round, Wanted my name To put it down. I said, Johnson,
I am God— Without one friend, Alone in my purity World without end. Below me young lovers
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 —
Let’s go see Old Abe Sitting in the marble and the moon… Sitting lonely in the marble and t… Quiet for ten thousand centuries,… Quiet for a million, million years…
Down in the bass That steady beat Walking walking walking Like marching feet. Down in the bass
Fine living . . . a la carte? Come to the Waldorf—Astoria! LISTEN HUNGRY ONES! Look! See what Vanity Fair says… new Waldorf—Astoria:
How still, How strangely still The water is today, It is not good For water