#AmericanWriters
I work all day, Said Simple John, Myself a house to buy. I work all day, Said Simple John,
Let America be America again. Let it be the dream it used to be. Let it be the pioneer on the plain Seeking a home where he himself is… (America never was America to me.…
From Christ to Ghandi Appears this truth— St. Francis of Assisi Proves it, too: Goodness becomes grandeur
When a man starts out with nothing… When a man starts out with his han… Empty, but clean, When a man starts to build a world… He starts first with himself
The census man, The day he came round, Wanted my name To put it down. I said, Johnson,
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,
Love Is a ripe plum Growing on a purple tree. Taste it once And the spell of its enchantment
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
Have you dug the spill Of Sugar Hill? Cast your gims On this sepia thrill: Brown sugar lassie,
Now dreams Are not available To the dreamers, Nor songs To the singers.
The ivory gods, And the ebony gods, And the gods of diamond and jade, Sit silently on their temple shelv… While the people
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…
I’m all alone in this world, she s… Ain’t got nobody to share my bed, Ain’t got nobody to hold my hand— The truth of the matter’s I ain’t got no man.
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 woke up this mornin’ ’Bout half-past three. All the womens in town Was gathered round me. Sweet gals was a-moanin’,