Maya Angelou Poems

"Phenomenal Woman"


Pretty woman wonder where my secret lies.
I'm not cute or built to fit a fashion model's size
But when I start to tell them,
They think I'm telling lies.
I say,
It's in the reach of my arms
The span of my hips
The stride of my step,
The curl of my lips.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

I walk into a room
Just as cool as you please,
And to a man,
The fellows stand or
Fall down on their knees.
They swarm around me,
A hive of honey bees.
I say,
It's the fire in my eyes,
And the flash of my teeth,
The swing in my waist,
And the joy in my feet.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

Men themselves have wondered
What they see in me.
They try so much
But they can't touch
My inner mystery.
When I try to show them,
They say they still can't see.
I say,
It's the arch of my back
The sun in my smile,
The ride of my breasts,
The grace of my style.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

Now you understand
Just why my head's not bowed.
I don't shout or jump about
Or have to talk real loud.
When you see me passing,
I ought to make you proud
I say,
It's the click of my heals,
The bend of my hair,
The need for my care.
'Cause I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.


"Caged Bird"
A free bird leaps
on the back of the wind
and floats downstream
till the current ends
and dips his wing
in the orange sun rays
and dares to claim the sky.

But a bird that stalks
down his narrow cage
can seldom see through
his bars of rage
his wings are clipped and
his feet are tied
so he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings
with a fearful trill
of things unknown
but longed for still
and his tune is heard
on the distant hills
for the caged bird
sings of freedom.

The free bird thinks of another breeze
and the trade winds soft through singing trees
and the fat worms waiting on a dawn-bright lawn
and he names the sky his own.

But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams
his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream
his wings are clipped and his feet are tied
so he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings
with a fearful trill
of things unknown
but longed for still
and his tune is heard
on the distant hill
for the caged bird
sings of freedom.

"Son to Mother"
I start no
wars, raining poison
on cathedrals,
melting Stars of David
into golden faucets
to be lit by lamps
shaded by human skin.

I set no
store on the strange lands,
send no
missionaries beyond my
borders,
to plunder secrets
and barter souls.

They
say you took my manhood,
Momma.
Come sit on my lap
and tell me,
what do you want me to say
to them, just
before I annihilate
their ignorance?


"Africa"

Thus she had lain
sugercane sweet
deserts her hair
golden her feet
mountains her breasts
two Niles her tears.
Thus she has lain
Black through the years.

Over the white seas
rime white and cold
brigands ungentled
icicle bold
took her young daughters
sold her strong sons
churched her with Jesus
bled her with guns.
Thus she has lain.

Now she is rising
remember her pain
remember the losses
her screams loud and vain
remember her riches
her history slain
now she is striding
although she has lain.
"A Brave and Startling Truth"

We, this people on a small and lonely planet Traveling through causal space Past aloof stars, across the way of indifferent suns To a destination where all signs tell us It is possible and imperative that we discover A brave and startling truth And when we come to it To the day of peacemaking When we release our fingers From fists of hostility And allow the pure air to cool our palms When we come to it When the curtain falls on the minstrel show of hate And faces sooted with scorn are scrubbed clean When battlefields and coliseum No longer rake our unique and particular sons and daughters Up with the bruised and bloody grass To lie in identical plots in foreign lands When the rapacious storming of churches The screaming racket in the temples have ceased When the pennants are waving gaily When the banners of the world tremble Stoutly in the good, clean breeze When we come to it When we let the rifles fall from our shoulders And children dress their dolls in flags of truce When land mines of death have been removed And the aged may walk into evenings of peace When religious ritual is not perfumed By the incense of burning flesh And childhood dreams are not kicked awake By nightmares of abuse When we come to it Then we will confess that not the Pyramids With their stones set in mysterious perfection Not the Garden of Babylon Hanging as eternal beauty In our collective memory Not the Grand Canyon Kindled in delicious color By Western sunsets Not the Danube flowing in its blue soul into Europe Not the sacred peak of Mount Fuji Stretching to the rising sun Neither Father Amazon nor Mother Mississippi who, without favor, Nurture all creatures in the depths and on the shores These are not the only wonders of the world When we come to it We, this people, on this miniscule and kithless globe Who reach daily for the bomb, the blade, the dagger Yet who petition in the dark for tokens of peace We, this people on this mote of matter In whose mouths abide cantankerous words Which challenge our existence Yet out of those same mouths Can come songs of such exquisite sweetness That the heart falters in its labor And the body is quieted into awe We, this people, on this small and drifting planet Whose hands can strike with such abandon That in a twinkling, life is sapped from the living Yet those same hands can touch with such healing, irresistible tenderness That the haughty neck is happy to bow And the proud back is glad to bend Out of such chaos, of such contradiction We learn that we are neither devils or divines When we come to it We, this people, on this wayward, floating body Created on this earth, of this earth Have the power to fashion for this earth A climate where every man and every woman Can live freely without sanctimonious piety And without crippling fear When we come to it We must confess that we are the possible We are the miraculous, the true wonders of this world That is when, and only when We come to it.
On The Pulse of Morning by Maya Angelou
A Rock, A River, A Tree Hosts to species long since departed, Marked the mastodon. The dinosaur, who left dry tokens Of their sojourn here On our planet floor, Any broad alarm of their hastening doom Is lost in the gloom of dust and ages.
But today, the Rock cries out to us, clearly, forcefully, Come, you may stand upon my Back and face your distant destiny, But seek no haven in my shadow I will give you no hiding place down here.
You, created only a little lower than The angels, have crouched too long in The bruising darkness, Have lain too long Face down in ignorance Your mouths spilling words
Armed for slaughter. The Rock cries out to us today, you stand on me, But do not hide your face.
Across the wall of the world, A River sings a beautiful song, It says, come rest here by my side.
Each of you a bordered country, Delicate and strangely made proud, Yet thrusting perpetually under siege Your armed struggles for profit Have left collars of waste upon My shore, currents of debris upon my breast. Yet, today I call you to my riverside, If you will study war no more. Come, Clad in peace and I will sing the songs The Creator gave to me when I and the Tree and the Rock were one. Before cynicism was a bloody sear across your Brow and when you yet knew you still Knew nothing. The River sings and sings on.
There is a true yearning to respond to The singing River and the wise Rock. So say the Asian, the Hispanic, the Jew The African, the Native American, the Sioux, The Catholic, the Muslim, the French, the Greek The Irish, the Rabbi, the Priest, the Sheik, The Gay, the Straight, the Preacher, The privileged, the homeless, the Teacher. They all hear The speaking of the Tree.
They hear the first and last of every Tree Speak to humankind today. Come to me, here beside the River. Plant yourself beside me, here beside the River.
Each of you, descendant of some passed On traveler, has been paid for. You, who gave me my first name, you Pawnee, Apache, Seneca, you Cherokee Nation, who rested with me, then Forced on bloody feet, left me to the employment of Other seekers--desperate for gain, Starving for gold. You, the Turk, the Arab, the Swede, the German, the Eskimo, the Scot, You the Ashanti, the Yoruba, the Kru, bought Sold, stolen, arriving on a nightmare Praying for a dream. Here, root yourselves beside me. I am that Tree planted by the River, Which will not be moved I, the Rock, I the River, I the Tree I am yours--your Passages have been paid Lift up your faces, you have a piercing need For this bright morning dawning for you. History, despite its wrenching pain, Cannot be unlived, but if faced With courage, need not be lived again.
Lift up your eyes upon This day breaking for you. Give birth again To the dream.
Women, children, men, Take it into the palms of your hands. Mold it into the shape of your most Private need. Sculpt it into The image of your most public self. Lift up your hearts Each new hour holds new chances For new beginnings. Do not be wedded forever To fear, yoked eternally To brutishness.
The horizon leans forward, Offering you space to place new steps of change. Here, on the pulse of this fine day You may have the courage To look up and out and upon me, the Rock, the River, the Tree, your country. No less to Midas than the mendicant. No less to you now than the mastodon then.
Here on the pulse of this new day You may have the grace to look up and out And into your sister's eyes, and into Your brother's face, your country And say simply Very simply With hope Good morning.


"These yet to be the United States"


Tremors of your network
cause kings to disappear.
Your open mouth in anger
makes nations bow in fear.
Your bombs can change the seasons,
obliterate the spring.
What more do you long for?
Why are you suffering?
You control the human lives
in Rome and Timbuktu.
Lonely nomads wandering
owe Telstar to you.
Seas shift at your bidding
your mushrooms fill the sky
Why are you unhappy?
Why do your children cry?
They kneel alone in terror
with dread in every glance.
Their rights are threatened daily
by a grim inheritance.
You dwell in whitened castles
with deep and poisoned moats
and cannot hear the curses
which fill your children's throats.


"Alone"


Well I was lying, thinking, last night,
How to find my soul a home
Where water is not thirsty,
and bread loaf is not stone
Well, I came up with one thing,
and I don't believe that I'm wrong:

Alone, all alone,
Nobody can make it out here alone
Nobody can make it out here alone

Well, there are some millionaires
With money they can't use,
Their wives run around like banshees,
And their children, they're singing the blues
They've got expensive doctors
To cure they're hearts of stone,
But nobody, no nobody, can make it alone

Alone, all alone,
Nobody can make it out here alone
Nobody can make it out here alone

Now if you listen closely, I'll tell you what I know,
Storm clouds are gathering,the wind is gonna blow.
The race of man is suffering, and I can hear the moan,
But nobody, no nobody, can make it alone.

Alone, all alone,
Nobody can make it out here alone
Nobody can make it out here alone


"Still I Rise"


You may write me down in historyWith your bitter, twisted lies,You may trod me in the very dirtBut still, like dust, I'll rise.
Does my sassiness upset you?Why are you beset with gloom?'Cause I walk like I've got oil wellsPumping in my living room.
Just like moons and like suns,With the certainty of tides,Just like hopes springing high,Still I'll rise.
Did you want to see me broken?Bowed head and lowered eyes?Shoulders falling down like teardrops.Weakened by my soulful cries.
Does my haughtiness offend you?Don't you take it awful hard'Cause I laugh like I've got gold minesDiggin' in my own back yard.
You may shoot me with your words,You may cut me with your eyes,You may kill me with your hatefulness,But still, like air, I'll rise.
Does my sexiness upset you?Does it come as a surpriseThat I dance like I've got diamondsAt the meeting of my thighs?
Out of the huts of history's shameI riseUp from a past that's rooted in painI riseI'm a black ocean, leaping and wide,Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.Leaving behind nights of terror and fearI riseInto a daybreak that's wondrously clearI riseBringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,I am the dream and the hope of the slave.I riseI riseI rise.

"Men"


When I was young, I used to Watch behind the curtains As men walked up and down the street. Wino men, old men. Young men sharp as mustard. See them. Men are always Going somewhere. They knew I was there. Fifteen Years old and starving for them. Under my window, they would pauses, Their shoulders high like the Breasts of a young girl, Jacket tails slapping over Those behinds, Men.
One day they hold you in the Palms of their hands, gentle, as if you Were the last raw egg in the world. Then They tighten up. Just a little. The First squeeze is nice. A quick hug. Soft into your defenselessness. A little More. The hurt begins. Wrench out a Smile that slides around the fear. When the Air disappears, Your mind pops, exploding fiercely, briefly, Like the head of a kitchen match. Shattered. It is your juice That runs down their legs. Staining their shoes. When the earth rights itself again, And taste tries to return to the tongue, Your body has slammed shut. Forever. No keys exist.
Then the window draws full upon Your mind. There, just beyond The sway of curtains, men walk. Knowing something. Going someplace. But this time, I will simply Stand and watch.
Maybe.

"Remembrance"


Your hands easyweight, teasing the beeshived in my hair, your smile at theslope of my cheek. On the occasion, you pressabove me, glowing, spoutingreadiness, mystery rapesmy reason
When you have withdrawnyour self and the magic, whenonly the smell of yourlove lingers betweenmy breasts, then, onlythen, can I greedily consumeyour presence.

"A Conceit"


Give me your hand
Make room for meto lead and followyoubeyond this rage of poetry.
Let others havethe privacy oftouching wordsand love of lossof love.
For meGive me your hand.

"Touched by An Angel"


We, unaccustomed to courage exiles from delight live coiled in shells of loneliness until love leaves its high holy temple and comes into our sight to liberate us into life.
Love arrives and in its train come ecstasies old memories of pleasure ancient histories of pain. Yet if we are bold, love strikes away the chains of fear from our souls.
We are weaned from our timidity In the flush of love's light we dare be brave And suddenly we see that love costs all we are and will ever be. Yet it is only love which sets us free.

"Passing Time"


Your skin like dawnMine like musk
One paints the beginningof a certain end.
The other, the end of a sure beginning.

"When You Come"


When you come to me, unbidden,Beckoning meTo long-ago rooms,Where memories lie.
Offering me, as to a child, an attic,Gatherings of days too few.Baubles of stolen kisses.Trinkets of borrowed loves.Trunks of secret words,
I CRY.

"Million Man March Poem"


The night has been long,The wound has been deep,The pit has been dark,And the walls have been steep.
Under a dead blue sky on a distant beach,I was dragged by my braids just beyond your reach.Your hands were tied, your mouth was bound,You couldn't even call out my name.You were helpless and so was I,But unfortunately throughout historyYou've worn a badge of shame.
I say, the night has been long,The wound has been deep,The pit has been darkAnd the walls have been steep.
But today, voices of old spirit soundSpeak to us in words profound,Across the years, across the centuries,Across the oceans, and across the seas.They say, draw near to one another,Save your race.You have been paid for in a distant place,The old ones remind us that slavery's chainsHave paid for our freedom again and again.
The night has been long,The pit has been deep,The night has been dark,And the walls have been steep.
The hells we have lived through and live through still,Have sharpened our senses and toughened our will.The night has been long.This morning I look through your anguishRight down to your soul.I know that with each other we can make ourselves whole.I look through the posture and past your disguise,And see your love for family in your big brown eyes.
I say, clap hands and let's come together in this meeting ground,I say, clap hands and let's deal with each other with love,I say, clap hands and let us get from the low road of indifference,Clap hands, let us come together and reveal our hearts,Let us come together and revise our spirits,Let us come together and cleanse our souls,Clap hands, let's leave the preeningAnd stop impostering our own history.Clap hands, call the spirits back from the ledge,Clap hands, let us invite joy into our conversation,Courtesy into our bedrooms,Gentleness into our kitchen,Care into our nursery.
The ancestors remind us, despite the history of painWe are a going-on people who will rise again.
And still we rise.

"Refusal"


Beloved, In what other lives or landsHave I known your lipsYour HandsYour Laughter braveIrreverent.Those sweet excesses thatI do adore.What surety is thereThat we will meet again,On other worlds someFuture time undated.I defy my body's haste.Without the promiseOf one more sweet encounterI will not deign to die

"The Lesson"


I keep on dying again.Veins collapse, opening like the Small fists of sleepingChildren.Memory of old tombs,Rotting flesh and worms doNot convince me againstThe challenge. The yearsAnd cold defeat live deep inLines along my face.They dull my eyes, yetI keep on dying,Because I love to live.


THE BLACK FAMILY PLEDGE

BECAUSE we have forgotten our ancestors,our children no longer give us honor.
BECAUSE we have lost the path our ancestors clearedkneeling in perilous undergrowth,our children cannot find their way.
BECAUSE we have banished the God of our ancestors,our children cannot pray.
BECAUSE the old wails of our ancestors have faded beyond our hearing,our children cannot hear us crying.
BECAUSE we have abandoned our wisdom of mothering and fathering,our befuddled children give birth to childrenthey neither want nor understand.
BECAUSE we have forgotten how to love, the adversary is within ourgates, an holds us up to the mirror of the world shouting,"Regard the loveless"
Therefore we pledge to bind ourselves to one another, to embrace ourlowliest, to keep company with our loneliest, to educate our illiterate,to feed our starving, to clothe our ragged, to do all good things,knowing that we are more than keepers of our brothers and sisters.
We ARE our brothers and sisters.
IN HONOR of those who toiled and implored God with golden tongues,and in gratitude to the same God who brought us out of hopeless desolation, wemake this pledge.