Road's in front o' me, Nothin' to do but walk.

When poems stop talking about the moon and begin to mention poverty, trade unions, color, color lines and colonies, somebody tells the police.

Blues had the pulse beat of the people who keep on going.

Oh, God of Dust and Rainbows, Help us to see That without the dust the rainbow Would not be.

Good morning, daddy! Ain't you heard The boogie-woogie rumble Of a dream deferred? • • • • You think It's a happy beat?

I stuck my head out the window this morning and spring kissed me bang in the face.

I swear to the Lord, I still can't see, why Democracy means, everybody but me.