Poetry, James Weldon Johnson [best romance books of all time .TXT] 📗

Mister B’ar.
De question fu’ discussion was, “Who is de bigges’ man?”
Dey ’pinted ole Jedge Owl to decide;
He polished up his spectacles an’ put ’em on his nose,
An’ to the question slowly he replied:

“Brer Wolf am mighty cunnin’,
Brer Fox am mighty sly,
Brer Terrapin an’ ’Possum⁠—kinder small;
Brer Lion’s mighty vicious,
Brer B’ar he’s sorter ’spicious,
Brer Rabbit, you’s de cutes’ of ’em all.”

Dis caused a great confusion ’mongst de animals,
Ev’y critter claimed dat he had won de prize;
Dey ’sputed an’ dey arg’ed, dey growled an’ dey roared,
Den putty soon de dus’ begin to rise.

Brer Rabbit he jes’ stood aside an’ urged ’em on to fight.
Brer Lion he mos’ tore Brer B’ar in two;
W’en dey was all so tiahd dat dey couldn’t catch der bref
Brer Rabbit he jes’ grabbed de prize an’ flew.

Brer Wolf am mighty cunnin’,
Brer Fox am mighty sly,
Brer Terrapin an’ Possum⁠—kinder small;
Brer Lion’s mighty vicious,
Brer B’ar he’s sorter ’spicious,
Brer Rabbit, you’s de cutes’ of ’em all.

An Explanation

Look heah! ’Splain to me de reason
Why you said to Squire Lee,
Der wuz twelve ole chicken thieves
In dis heah town, includin’ me.
Ef he tole you dat, my brudder,
He said sump’n dat warn’t true;
W’at I said wuz dis, dat der wuz
Twelve, widout includin’ you.

Oh!⁠ ⁠… !⁠—

De Little Pickaninny’s Gone to Sleep

Cuddle down, ma honey, in yo’ bed,
Go to sleep an’ res’ yo’ little head,
Been a-kind o’ ailin’ all de day?
Didn’t have no sperit fu’ to play?
Never min’; to-morrer, w’en you wek,
Daddy’s gwine to ride you on his bek,
’Roun’ an’ roun’ de cabin flo’ so fas’⁠—
Der! He’s closed his little eyes at las’.

De little pickaninny’s gone to sleep,
Cuddled in his trundle bed so tiny,
De little pickaninny’s gone to sleep,
Closed his little eyes so bright an’ shiny.
Hush! an’ w’en you walk across de flo’
Step across it very sof’ an’ slow.
De shadders all aroun’ begin to creep,
De little pickaninny’s gone to sleep.

Mandy, w’at’s de matter wid dat chile?
Keeps a-sighin’ ev’y little w’ile;
Seems to me I heayhd him sorter groan,
Lord! his little han’s am col’ as stone!
W’at’s dat far-off light dat’s in his eyes?
Dat’s a light dey’s borrow’d f’om de skies;
Fol’ his little han’s across his breas’,
Let de little pickaninny res’.

The Rivals

Look heah! Is I evah tole you ’bout de curious way I won
Anna Liza? Say, I nevah? Well heah’s how de thing wuz done.

Lize, you know, wuz mighty purty⁠—dat’s been forty yeahs ago⁠—
’N ’cos to look at her dis minit, you might’n spose dat it wuz so.

She wuz jes de greates’ ’traction in de county, ’n bless de lam’!
Eveh darkey wuz a-co’tin, but it lay ’twix me an’ Sam.

You know Sam. We both wuz wukin’ on de ole John Tompkin’s place.
’N evehbody wuz a-watchin’ t’see who’s gwine to win de race.

Hee! hee! hee! Now you mus’ raley ’scuse me fu’ dis snickering,
But I jes can’t he’p f’om laffin’ eveh time I tells dis thing.

Ez I wuz a-sayin’, me an’ Sam wuked daily side by side,
He a-studyin’, me a-studyin’, how to win Lize fu’ a bride.

Well, de race was kinder equal, Lize wuz sorter on de fence;
Sam he had de mostes dollars, an’ I had de mostes sense.

Things dey run along ’bout eben tel der come Big Meetin’ day;
Sam den thought, to win Miss Liza, he had foun’ de shoest way.

An’ you talk about big meetin’s! None been like it ’fore nor sence;
Der wuz sich a crowd o’ people dat we had to put up tents.

Der wuz preachers f’om de Eas’, an’ ’der wuz preachers f’om de Wes’;
Folks had kilt mos’ eveh chicken, an’ wuz fattenin’ up de res’.

Gals had all got new w’ite dresses, an’ bought ribbens fu’ der hair,
Fixin’ fu’ de openin’ Sunday, prayin’ dat de day’d be fair.

Dat de Reveren’ Jasper Jones of Mount Moriah, it wuz ’low’d,
Wuz to preach de openin’ sermon; so you know der wuz a crowd.

Fu’ dat man wuz sho a preacher; had a voice jes like a bull;
So der ain’t no use in sayin’ dat de meetin’ house wuz full.

Folks wuz der f’om Big Pine Hollow, some come ’way f’om Muddy Creek,
Some come jes to stay fu’ Sunday, but de crowd stay’d thoo de week.

Some come ridin’ in top-buggies wid de w’eels all painted red,
Pulled by mules dat run like rabbits, each one tryin’ to git ahead.

Othah po’rer folks come drivin’ mules dat leaned up ’ginst de shaf’,
Hitched to broke-down, creaky wagons dat looked like dey’d drap in half.

But de bigges’ crowd come walkin’, wid der new shoes on der backs;
’Scuse wuz dat dey couldn’t weah em ’cause de heels wuz full o’ tacks.

Fact is, it’s a job for Job, a-trudgin’ in de sun an’ heat,
Down a long an’ dusty clay road wid yo’ shoes packed full o’ feet.

’Cose dey stopt an’ put dem shoes on w’en dey got mos’ to de do’;
Den dey had to grin an’ bear it; dat tuk good religion sho.

But I mos’ forgot ma story⁠—well at las’ dat Sunday came
And it seemed dat evehbody, blin’ an’ deef, an’ halt an’ lame,

Wuz out in de grove a-waitin’ fu’ de meetin’ to begin;
Ef dat crowd had got converted ’twould a been de end o’ sin.

Lize wuz der in all her glory, purty ez a big sunflowah,
I kin ’member how she looked jes same ez ’twuz dis ve’y houah.

But to make ma story shorter, w’ile we wuz a-waitin’ der,
Down de road we spied a cloud o’ dus’ dat filled up all de air.

An’ ez we kep’ on a-lookin’, out f’om ’mongst dat ve’y cloud,
Sam, on Marse John’s big mule, Caesar, rode right slam up in de crowd.

You jes oughtah seed dat darkey, ’clar I like tah loss ma bref;
Fu’ to use a common ’spression, he wuz ’bout nigh dressed to def.

He had slipped to town dat Sat’day, didn’t let nobody know,
An’ had car’yd all his cash an’ lef it in de dry goods sto’.

He had on a bran’ new suit o’ sto’-bought clo’es, a high plug hat;
He looked ’zactly like a gen’man, tain’t no use d’nyin’ dat.

W’en he got down off dat mule an’ bowed to Liza I