#AmericanWriters
Clean the spittoons, boy. Detroit, Chicago, Atlantic City, Palm Beach.
The night is beautiful, So the faces of my people. The stars are beautiful, So the eyes of my people. Beautiful, also, is the sun.
My old mule, He’s gota grin on his face. He’s been a mule so long He’s forgotten about his race. I’m like that old mule —
God in His infinite wisdom Did not make me very wise— So when my actions are stupid They hardly take God by surprise
I look at the world From awakening eyes in a black fac… And this is what I see: This fenced—off narrow space Assigned to me.
When I was home de Sunshine seemed like gold. When I was home de Sunshine seemed like gold. Since I come up North de
How quiet It is in this sick room Where on the bed A silent woman lies between two lo… Life and Death,
Now dreams Are not available To the dreamers, Nor songs To the singers.
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 went to the Gypsy’s. Gypsy settin’ all alone. I said, Tell me, Gypsy, When will my gal be home? Gypsy said, Silver,
Landlord, landlord, My roof has sprung a leak. Don’t you 'member I told you abou… Way last week? Landlord, landlord,
The rent man knocked. He said, Howdy—do? I said, What Can I do for you? He said, You know
Droning a drowsy syncopated tune, Rocking back and forth to a mellow… I heard a Negro play. Down on Lenox Avenue the other ni… By the pale dull pallor of an old…
Children, I come back today To tell you a story of the long da… That I had to climb, that I had t… In order that the race might live… Look at my face —dark as the night…