#AmericanWriters
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.
Here I sit With my shoes mismated. Lawdy—mercy! I’s frustrated!
Now dreams Are not available To the dreamers, Nor songs To the singers.
And that is what poetry may do, wrap up your dreams, protect and preserve and hold them until maybe they come true. Columbus dreamed of finding a new world, he found it. Edison dreamed ...
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?
He glides so swiftly Back into the grass— Gives me the courtesy of road To let me pass, That I am half ashamed
I dream a world where man No other man will scorn, Where love will bless the earth And peace its paths adorn I dream a world where all
I, too, sing America. I am the darker brother. They send me to eat in the kitchen When company comes, But I laugh,
Harlem Sent him home in a long box— Too dead To know why:
I went down to the river, I set down on the bank. I tried to think but couldn’t, So I jumped in and sank. I came up once and hollered!
Gather quickly Out of darkness All the songs you know And throw them at the sun Before they melt
I know I am The Negro Problem Being wined and dined, Answering the usual questions That come to white mind
In an envelope marked: PERSONAL God addressed me a letter. In an envelope marked: PERSONAL
Goin’ down the road, Lawd, Goin’ down the road. Down the road, Lawd, Way, way down the road. Got to find somebody