#AmericanWriters
Oh, silver tree! Oh, shining rivers of the soul! In a Harlem cabaret Six long—headed jazzers play. A dancing girl whose eyes are bold
I am God— Without one friend, Alone in my purity World without end. Below me young lovers
Democracy will not come Today, this year Nor ever Through compromise and fear. I have as much right
Because my mouth Is wide with laughter And my throat Is deep with song, You do not think
How quiet It is in this sick room Where on the bed A silent woman lies between two lo… Life and Death,
Remember The days of bondage— And remembering— Do not stand still. Go to the highest hill
I live on a park bench. You, Park Avenue. Hell of a distance Between us two. I beg a dime for dinner—
Gather quickly Out of darkness All the songs you know And throw them at the sun Before they melt
The census man, The day he came round, Wanted my name To put it down. I said, Johnson,
Love Is a ripe plum Growing on a purple tree. Taste it once And the spell of its enchantment
We passed their graves: The dead men there, Winners or losers, Did not care. In the dark
Fine living . . . a la carte? Come to the Waldorf—Astoria! LISTEN HUNGRY ONES! Look! See what Vanity Fair says… new Waldorf—Astoria:
It’s such a Bore Being always Poor.
Tell all my mourners To mourn in red — Cause there ain’t no sense In my bein’ dead.
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