#AmericanWriters
Now dreams Are not available To the dreamers, Nor songs To the singers.
Where is the Jim Crow section On this merry—go—round, Mister, cause I want to ride? Down South where I come from White and colored
God in His infinite wisdom Did not make me very wise— So when my actions are stupid They hardly take God by surprise
I’ve known rivers: I’ve known rivers ancient as the w… My soul has grown deep like the ri… I bathed in the Euphrates when da… I built my hut near the Congo and…
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—
Fine living . . . a la carte? Come to the Waldorf—Astoria! LISTEN HUNGRY ONES! Look! See what Vanity Fair says… new Waldorf—Astoria:
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—
I catch the pattern Of your silence Before you speak I do not need To hear a word.
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
In an envelope marked: PERSONAL God addressed me a letter. In an envelope marked: PERSONAL
I live on a park bench. You, Park Avenue. Hell of a distance Between us two. I beg a dime for dinner—
Only dumb guys fight. If I wasn’t dumb I wouldn’t be fightin’. I could make six dollars a day On the docks
I work all day, Said Simple John, Myself a house to buy. I work all day, Said Simple John,
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…
You and your whole race. Look down upon the town in which y… And be ashamed. Look down upon white folks And upon yourselves