#AmericanWriters
How still, How strangely still The water is today, It is not good For water
I work all day, Said Simple John, Myself a house to buy. I work all day, Said Simple John,
Gather quickly Out of darkness All the songs you know And throw them at the sun Before they melt
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?
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…
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 —
I catch the pattern Of your silence Before you speak I do not need To hear a word.
Now dreams Are not available To the dreamers, Nor songs To the singers.
I would liken you To a night without stars Were it not for your eyes. I would liken you To a sleep without dreams
Because my mouth Is wide with laughter And my throat Is deep with song, You do not think
When the shoe strings break On both your shoes And you’re in a hurry— That’s the blues. When you go to buy a candy bar
I went to the Gypsy’s. Gypsy settin’ all alone. I said, Tell me, Gypsy, When will my gal be home? Gypsy said, Silver,
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
It would be nice In any case, To someday meet you Face to face Walking down
When you turn the corner And you run into yourself Then you know that you have turned All the corners that are left