Question [1]
When the old junk man Death
Comes to gather up our bodies
And toss them into the sack of oblivion,
I wonder if he will find
The corpse of a white multi-millionaire
Worth more pennies of eternity,
Than the black torso of
A Negro cotton-picker.
poem by Langston Hughes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
I'm a millionaire, I'm a multi-millionaire. I'm filthy rich. You know why I'm a multi-millionaire? 'Cause multi-millions like what I do.
quote by Michael Moore
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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If I could find a white man who had the Negro sound and the Negro feel, I could make a billion dollars.
quote by Sam Phillips
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Dad's a Millionaire
I wish you joy, my little ragged throng--
Your Dad's a millionaire!
The fortune's come, we've waited for so long,
And I'm a millionaire!
Come Will, come Bub--go buy some better shoes;
Come Liz, come Lu--go tell your Ma the news--
Though once poor, we're now as rich as Jews,
For I'm a millionaire.
Hurrah! hurrah! now give us a rousing song--
Good bye! good bye! to poverty, want and care;
The fortune's come, we've waited for so long,
And Dad's a millionaire!
Good news! I'll go a shopping--so I will,
For Dad's a millionaire!
And I must have a thousand dollar bill,
As Dad'a a millionaire!
Put on your duds, and you'll go with me Lu!
Come Bub, go call a carriage from the square;
We'll ride in style along the avenue,
For Dad's a millionaire.
Hip, hip, hooray! run up the striped flay--
My Dad's a millionaire!
This bless-ed day, I'll buy a trotting nag,
For Dad's a millionaire!
I vow, I'll smoke three-cent gigars no more!
Here, take them Bub, and pitch them out the door;
I'll have the best--the dearest in the store,
Now Dad's a millionaire.
So, wife, you think this house will never do
Now I'm a millionaire?
Well, I must build a mansion then for you,
As I'm a millionaire!
Though as for me, I think I should invest--
My whole pile in some mammoth farm out West,
Yet I can build, if you should think it best,
Since I'm a millionaire.
I'll tell you what! we'll give a party then,
As Dad's a millionaire!
And we'll invite none but the "upper ten,"
Since Dad's a millionaire!
I should be sure to find another beau,
For dukes and lords, and nobles would be there--
I've turn'd him off--the tailor's clerk, you know,
Now Dad's a millionaire.
poem by Henry Clay Work
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Black men, White men
should i be led to believe
that the white men's heart
is soft as cotton? and when
touched, is torched, bursts into flame
to settle comfortably in black,
a trail of humble lesson for the soul
should i be led to believe
that a black man's heart is
full of courage? charging like a bull
through America black or white
settling for nothing in between?
should i be led to believe that
black and white work the
theory of ying and yang
ever balancing to rev up the world?
rice would even grow in bush
black hair turns eventually into
a crown of white wisdom
and blackboards light up
knowledge in white chalk
white shines at its best in black
and where else but a piece of white
where black could make its clearest stamp
of its stand - left or right, right or wrong
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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100,000 Pennies
I broke into the bank on Sunday,
You should see the money I got.
I couldn't drag it home 'til Monday,
'Cause it sure weighed an awful lot.
Then I sat down to count it,
And much to my surprise,
A whole lotta little brown, little round coins,
Rolled out before my eyes
Chorus:
I've got a hundred thousand dollars worth of pennies,
Not a solitary dollar or a dime,
And I don't believe there's many,
Rich men with a problem like mine.
And I don't think this is any
Kind of ending to a perfect crime.
I've got a hundred thousand dollars worth of pennies,
And I'm spendin' it a penny at a time!
Now a steak sure would taste delicious,
And I've forgot how a beer would feel,
But the man just might get suspicious,
If I gave him eight hundred pennies for a meal.
So I guess I'll just weigh myself again,
And buy me another stick of gum,
I've got a hundred thousand dollars worth of pennies, Lord!
And I'm livin' like a penniless bum!
Chorus:
I've got a hundred thousand dollars worth of pennies,
Not a solitary dollar or a dime,
And I don't believe there's many,
Rich men with a problem like mine.
poem by Sheldon Allan Silverstein
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Four in the Morning
Cried the navy-blue ghost
Of Mr. Belaker
The allegro Negro cocktail-shaker,
"Why did the cock crow,
Why am I lost,
Down the endless road to Infinity toss'd?
The tropical leaves are whispering white
As water; I race the wind in my flight.
The white lace houses are carried away
By the tide; far out they float and sway.
White is the nursemaid on the parade.
Is she real, as she flirts with me unafraid?
I raced through the leaves as white as water...
Ghostly, flowed over the nursemaid, caught her,
Left her...edging the far-off sand
Is the foam of the sirens' Metropole and Grand;
And along the parade I am blown and lost,
Down the endless road to Infinity toss'd.
The guinea-fowl-plumaged houses sleep...
On one, I saw the lone grass weep,
Where only the whimpering greyhound wind
Chased me, raced me, for what it could find."
And there in the black and furry boughs
How slowly, coldly, old Time grows,
Where the pigeons smelling of gingerbread,
And the spectacled owls so deeply read,
And the sweet ring-doves of curded milk
Watch the Infanta's gown of silk
In the ghost-room tall where the governante
Gesticulates lente and walks andante.
'Madam, Princesses must be obedient;
For a medicine now becomes expedient--
Of five ingredients--a diapente,
Said the governante, fading lente...
In at the window then looked he,
The navy-blue ghost of Mr. Belaker,
The allegro Negro cocktail-shaker--
And his flattened face like the moon saw she--
Rhinoceros-black (a flowing sea!).
poem by Dame Edith Louisa Sitwell
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Come Away, Death
(harle/shakespeare)
Come away, come away, death
And in sad cyprus let me be laid
Fie away, fie away, breath
I am slain by a fair cruel maid
My shroud of white stuck all with you
O prepare it
My part of death no one so true
Did share it
Come away, come away, death
Not a flower, not a flower, sweet
On my black coffin let there be strewn
Not a friend, not a friend, greet
My poor corpse where my bones shall be thrown
A thousand thousand sighs to say
Lay me over
Sad true lover never find my grave
To weep there
Come away, come away, death
song performed by by Elvis Costello
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Black and White and Red
Black and White
And Red I see
Demons they do
Torture me
Black and White
And Red all day
The voices are real
Or so they say
Black and White
And Red abound
I'm lost I call
I'm never found
Black and White
And Red flow out
I scream but you
Don't hear me shout
Black and White
And Red so bright
Exit blood and
Enter light
Black and White
And Red of death
Now I breathe
My final breath
poem by Anonymous Ghurl
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Jim Crow Cars
If within the cruel Southland you have chanced to take a ride,
You the Jim Crow cars have noticed, how they crush a Negro's pride,
How he pays a first class passage and a second class receives,
Gets the worst accommodations ev'ry friend of truth believes.
'Tis the rule that all conductors, in the service of the train,
Practice gross discriminations on the Negro—such is plain—
If a drunkard is a white man, at his mercy Negroes are,
Legalized humiliation is the Negro Jim Crow car.
'Tis a license given white men, they may go just where they please,
In the white man's car or Negro's will they move with perfect ease,
If complaint is made by Negroes the conductor will go out
Till the whites are through carousing, then he shows himself about.
They will often raise a riot, butcher up the Negroes there,
Unmolested will they quarrel, use their pistols,rant and swear,
They will smoke among the ladies though offensive the cigar;
'Tis the place to drink their whiskey, in the Negro Jim Crow car.
If a Negro shows resistance to his treatment by a tough,
At some station he's arrested for the same, though not enough,
He is thrashed or lynched or tortured as will please the demon's rage,
Mobbed, of course, by 'unknown parties,' thus is closed the darkened page.
If a lunatic is carried, white or black, it is the same,
Or a criminal is taken to the prison-house in shame,
In the Negro car he's ushered with the sheriff at his side,
Out of deference for white men in their car he scorns to ride.
We despise a Negro's manhood, says the Southland, and expect,
All supremacy for white men—black men's rights we'll not protect,
This the Negro bears with patience for the nation bows to might,
Wrong has borne aloft its colors disregarding what is right.
This is called a Christian nation, but we fail to understand,
How the teachings of the Bible can with such a system band;
Purest love that knows no evil can alone the story tell,
How to banish such abuses, how to treat a neighbor well.
poem by Lizelia Augusta Jenkins Moorer
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Heaven
The Lord God shall overwhelm, our hearts in that eternal realm,
With bodies that will last forever, while sin surrounds us never,
Now freed from all earthly strife, when we enter into eternal life,
Surrounded in an eternal peace, in a realm that shall not cease.
We will find nothing on earth, to compare with Heaven’s worth,
A pure realm of Eternal Bliss, filled with God’s Righteousness,
With all believers home in Heaven, far from our days of seven,
Now, a timeless realm with Christ, as we enter into Eternal Life.
All who The Lord calls His Own, shall gather around His Throne,
Where God will guide me and you, in Eternity, with much to do,
While we serve The King of kings, in His realm of eternal things,
And our service to Christ my friend, shall never come to an end.
With a new body, that shall last, forever, not bodies of the past,
Receiving eternal bodies, glorified, to live forever at God’s side,
Right by the side of Christ Jesus, for all eternity will be all of us,
All who came to Christ, in faith, all saved by God, by His Grace.
Grace, that allows us to enter in, a Holy Heaven, despite our sin,
Sin, which was cleansed at Calvary, to provide us Life Eternally,
For by His Blood we’re purified, so up in Heaven, we can reside,
With our God and Creator, thanks to Christ, our Lord and Savior.
The Negro Schools
Please be silent now, my country, while I fill the speaker's place;
While I point out some abuses that we constantly embrace,
Listen with your best attention to the words that I shall say,
How the Negro schools are managed, in this Commonwealth today.
All the officers are white men and together they conspire,
To undo the schools for Negroes, of such deeds they never tire;
Oft we find among the trustees men who cannot read a word,
But when speaking of the Negro, they are certain to be heard.
Education for the Negro they discourage, and they say,
'It will bring dissatisfaction to such people ev'ry day,
Make them crave for something higher, such as white men should enjoy,
Which will spoil the other Negroes that we have in our employ.'
Shorter terms are recommended many times as low as two
Are the months to Negroes given, in a year—now this is true,
Longer terms the whites are given in the same communities—
They conform to such a standard of the right with perfect ease.
Poorer pay to Negro teachers, driving good ones from the field,
Schools are let to lowest bidders to the same they're forced to yield,
Higher pay and better teachers for the white schools is the cry.
While encouragement is given Negro schools to starve and die.
Rural libraries established for the whites on ev'ry side,
But when application's made for Negro schools it is denied,
Thus they deal with education for the mass of Negro youth,
Posing still as great exponents and conservers of the truth.
From the sword of fierce Goliath we may all a lesson learn,
How while planning death to others on your head it may return,
In regard to schools for Negroes, cease their welfare to neglect,
For the same will come upon you in a way you least expect.
poem by Lizelia Augusta Jenkins Moorer
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The very first time I was on a car in Atlanta, I saw the conductor - all conductors are white - ask a Negro woman to get up and take a seat farther back in order to make a place for a white man. I have also seen white men requested to leave the Negro section of the car.
quote by Ray Stannard Baker
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hey Mr. Millionaire (live)
Went down across that borderline
Down in the planet Mexico.
Bought some tequila big sack o whack.
I let go the Peso; I couldnt get back.
Hey, Mr. Millionaire! Hey, Mr. Millionaire!
Can you loan this poor-boy a dime?
Walking and crossing the border line
Way on the planet London.
Bought a Rolls Royce and a Jaguar;
It DOES in fact matter how rich you are.
Hey, Mr. Millionaire! Hey, Mr. Million!
Can you loan this poor-boy a dime?
I moved on across that borderline
Deep on the planet Louisiana.
Threw some dice it was oh, so nice,
But it left me eatin red beans & rice.
Hey, Mr. Millionaire! Hey, Mr. Million!
Could you loan this poor-boy a dime?
Hey, Mr. Millionaire! Hey, Mr. Million!
Loan this poor-boy a dime.
Loan this poor-boy a dime.
Turn yourself into a BANKER!
He-e-ey! [He-e-ey!]
He-e-ey! [He-e-ey!]
Hey! [Hey!]
Hey! [Hey!]
Hey! [Hey!] Hey! [Hey!]
Hey! [Hey!]
Hey! [Hey!]
Hey! [Hey!] Hey! [Hey!] Hey! [Hey!] Hey! [Hey!]
song performed by by ZZ Top
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Former Dunce Of The Classroom
The dunce of the Classroom in Primary School
Just due to lack of interest yet nobody's fool
One of the wealthiest people in his Hometown today
Wonders never cease as some are known to say
Big Brothers disciples he sure does impress
All of his business ventures have proved a success,
The smartest boy of the Classroom is not doing well
Of his life without success stories to tell
The former dunce of the Classrooom is a multi millionaire
His business thriving in a Worldwide economic depression such success stories are rare
He did come up the hard way to eventually succeed
A book on his rise to prominence would make a marvellous read
The dunce of his Classroom in the eighties and a multi millionaire today
A good one he cannot be kept down he came up the hard way.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Plebeian Plutocrat
I own a gorgeous Cadillac,
A chauffeur garbed in blue;
And as I sit behind his back
His beefy neck I view.
Yet let me whisper, though you may
Think me a queer old cuss,
From Claude I often sneak away
To board a bus.
A democrat, I love the crowd,
The bustle and the din;
The market wives who gab aloud
As they go out and in.
I chuckle as I pay my dime,
With mien meticulous:
You can't believe how happy I'm;
Aboard a bus.
The driver of my Cadillac
Has such a haughty sneer;
I'm sure he would give me the sack
If he beheld me here.
His horror all my friends would share
Could they but see me thus:
A gleeful multi-millionaire
Aboard a bus.
poem by Robert William Service
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A Man Of Oblivion
Oblivion is my refuge and
It`s worth a life`s deductions.
From the day my life sprang up
From the mercy of the Creator
My oblivion has been my pal beloved.
Oblivion is my strength and
It`s nothing less than a grace.
Transferring my pains and woes
Into its inner chambers my entity triumphs
And my ego surges forward.
My oblivion has two phases-
One is of my life haunted by myself,
The other is of my life ravaged by time.
As the lilies fade out the former does and
As the islands in the Pacific submerge does the latter.
What is an oblivion of your kind?
Do you ever make such deductions?
As a new stream of new pathos rushes
To run along the abode of your oblivion,
Do you know the bliss you scale down?
poem by M.d Dinesh Nair
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People think I should be a multi-millionaire if I had gotten the right contract. I'm not getting anything for all that commercial stuff they do. But I would have had to pay for that.
quote by Jonathan Frid
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In Black And White
Black and white were the realizations,
Offering me importance with my age;
The collars were realer than the collars
Of ordinary folk, and much dearer for now.
All these things merely were imagined,
Turning to a reality of the lesser kind.
I see other shades of grey in the sky of the dusk,
The day has dawned on me, truly treacherous
For the mistakes it earns on the reality,
Centrally the speakers on the stage
Are damnable.
I was truly present, evidence of the feet
Was a white and black behavior,
Defending the papers of the sinners,
Liking the lads that defended,
And loathing those lads in the security.
I am facing the concentrated beings
Of the minds that object,
Often feeling a white head
And a black picker of fruits
That need to be eaten straightaway.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Parchman Farm
(by mose allison)
Im sitting over here on parchman farm.
Im sitting over here on parchman farm.
Im sitting over here on parchman farm,
Aint never done no man no harm.
Well, Im putting that cotton in a never-full sack.
Well, Im putting that cotton in a never-full sack.
Well, Im putting that cotton in a never-full sack,
A twelve-gauge shotgun at my back.
Im sitting over here on parchman farm.
Im sitting over here on parchman farm.
Im sitting over here on parchman farm,
Aint never done no man no harm.
song performed by by Eric Clapton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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When I retire I'm gonna bet on Wolves drawing every game. I'll be a multi-millionaire!