#AmericanWriters
Tell all my mourners To mourn in red — Cause there ain’t no sense In my bein’ dead.
In the Quarter of the Negroes Where the doors are doors of paper Dust of dingy atoms Blows a scratchy sound. Amorphous jack—o’—Lanterns caper
I work all day, Said Simple John, Myself a house to buy. I work all day, Said Simple John,
Good morning, daddy! Ain’t you heard The boogie—woogie rumble Of a dream deferred? Listen closely:
Big Boy came Carrying a mermaid On his shoulders And the mermaid Had her tail
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—
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
In places like Selma, Alabama, Kids say, In places like Chicago and New York...
Love Is a ripe plum Growing on a purple tree. Taste it once And the spell of its enchantment
It’s such a Bore Being always Poor.
It would be nice In any case, To someday meet you Face to face Walking down
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
God in His infinite wisdom Did not make me very wise— So when my actions are stupid They hardly take God by surprise
He glides so swiftly Back into the grass— Gives me the courtesy of road To let me pass, That I am half ashamed
Because my mouth Is wide with laughter And my throat Is deep with song, You do not think