#AmericanWriters
Because my mouth Is wide with laughter And my throat Is deep with song, You do not think
been scared and battered. My hopes the wind done scattered. Snow has friz me, Sun has baked me, Looks like between 'em they done
Harlem Sent him home in a long box— Too dead To know why:
By what sends the white kids I ain’t sent: I know I can’t be President.
The gold moth did not love him So, gorgeous, she flew away. But the gray moth circled the flam… Until the break of day. And then, with wings like a dead d…
2 and 2 are 4. 4 and 4 are 8. But what would happen If the last 4 was late? And how would it be
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
Love Is a ripe plum Growing on a purple tree. Taste it once And the spell of its enchantment
I catch the pattern Of your silence Before you speak I do not need To hear a word.
How still, How strangely still The water is today, It is not good For water
I am your son, white man! Georgia dusk And the turpentine woods. One of the pillars of the temple f… You are my son!
I could take the Harlem night and wrap around you, Take the neon lights and make a cr… Take the Lenox Avenue busses, Taxis, subways,
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 ...
I was so sick last night I Didn’t hardly know my mind. So sick last night I Didn’t know my mind. I drunk some bad licker that
It’s such a Bore Being always Poor.