#AmericanWriters
Listen! Dear dream of utter aliveness— Touching my body of utter death— Tell me, O quickly! dream of aliv… The flaming source of your bright…
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?
I got to leave this town. It’s a lonesome place. Got to leave this town cause It’s a lonesome place. A po’, po’ boy can’t
Harlem Sent him home in a long box— Too dead To know why:
Only dumb guys fight. If I wasn’t dumb I wouldn’t be fightin’. I could make six dollars a day On the docks
Because my mouth Is wide with laughter And my throat Is deep with song, You do not think
What happens to a dream deferred? Does it dry up like a raisin in the sun? Or fester like a sore— And then run?
When I was home de Sunshine seemed like gold. When I was home de Sunshine seemed like gold. Since I come up North de
I know I am The Negro Problem Being wined and dined, Answering the usual questions That come to white mind
'Me an’ ma baby’s Got two mo’ ways, Two mo’ ways to do de Charleston!… Da, da, Da, da, da!
How still, How strangely still The water is today, It is not good For water
Have you dug the spill Of Sugar Hill? Cast your gims On this sepia thrill: Brown sugar lassie,
I am God— Without one friend, Alone in my purity World without end. Below me young lovers
Night funeral In Harlem: Where did they get Them two fine cars? Insurance man, he did not pay—
It’s such a Bore Being always Poor.