#AmericanWriters
Remember The days of bondage— And remembering— Do not stand still. Go to the highest hill
Tell all my mourners To mourn in red — Cause there ain’t no sense In my bein’ dead.
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.
In an envelope marked: PERSONAL God addressed me a letter. In an envelope marked: PERSONAL
I am God— Without one friend, Alone in my purity World without end. Below me young lovers
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 would liken you To a night without stars Were it not for your eyes. I would liken you To a sleep without dreams
Clean the spittoons, boy. Detroit, Chicago, Atlantic City, Palm Beach.
Have you dug the spill Of Sugar Hill? Cast your gims On this sepia thrill: Brown sugar lassie,
Listen! Dear dream of utter aliveness— Touching my body of utter death— Tell me, O quickly! dream of aliv… The flaming source of your bright…
It would be nice In any case, To someday meet you Face to face Walking down
In places like Selma, Alabama, Kids say, In places like Chicago and New York...
Night funeral In Harlem: Where did they get Them two fine cars? Insurance man, he did not pay—
Harlem Sent him home in a long box— Too dead To know why:
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,