#AmericanWriters
The census man, The day he came round, Wanted my name To put it down. I said, Johnson,
It would be nice In any case, To someday meet you Face to face Walking down
I would liken you To a night without stars Were it not for your eyes. I would liken you To a sleep without dreams
What happens to a dream deferred? Does it dry up like a raisin in the sun? Or fester like a sore— And then run?
You say I O.K.ed LONG DISTANCE? O.K.ed it when? My goodness, Central That was then!
It was a long time ago. I have almost forgotten my dream. But it was there then, In front of me, Bright like a sun—
Droning a drowsy syncopated tune, Rocking back and forth to a mellow… I heard a Negro play. Down on Lenox Avenue the other ni… By the pale dull pallor of an old…
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.…
Have you dug the spill Of Sugar Hill? Cast your gims On this sepia thrill: Brown sugar lassie,
Being walkers with the dawn and mo… Walkers with the sun and morning, We are not afraid of night, Nor days of gloom, Nor darkness—
Here I sit With my shoes mismated. Lawdy—mercy! I’s frustrated!
I will take you heart. I will take your soul out of your… As though I were God. I will not be satisfied With the touch of your hand
Clean the spittoons, boy. Detroit, Chicago, Atlantic City, Palm Beach.
In an envelope marked: PERSONAL God addressed me a letter. In an envelope marked: PERSONAL
When the old junk man Death Comes to gather up our bodies And toss them into the sack of obl… I wonder if he will find The corpse of a white multi—millio…