#AmericanWriters
Night funeral In Harlem: Where did they get Them two fine cars? Insurance man, he did not pay—
The rent man knocked. He said, Howdy—do? I said, What Can I do for you? He said, You know
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 —
I am God— Without one friend, Alone in my purity World without end. Below me young lovers
I know I am The Negro Problem Being wined and dined, Answering the usual questions That come to white mind
Harlem Sent him home in a long box— Too dead To know why:
Hold fast to dreams For if dreams die Life is a broken-winged bird That cannot fly. Hold fast to dreams
Down in the bass That steady beat Walking walking walking Like marching feet. Down in the bass
When Susanna Jones wears red her face is like an ancient cameo Turned brown by the ages. Come with a blast of trumphets, J… When Susanna Jones wears red
It’s such a Bore Being always Poor.
I am your son, white man! Georgia dusk And the turpentine woods. One of the pillars of the temple f… You are my son!
How still, How strangely still The water is today, It is not good For water
I worked for a woman, She wasn’t mean— But she had a twelve—room House to clean. Had to get breakfast,
I would liken you To a night without stars Were it not for your eyes. I would liken you To a sleep without dreams
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