Maya Angelou
Dr. Maya Angelou is an acclaimed poet, historian, author, actress, playwright, civil rights activist, director, and producer.
She has written ten best-selling books, which have earned her Pulitzer Prize and National Book Award nominations. Beginning her career in drama and dance, she worked for civil rights in the United States during the 1960s and spent five years in Egypt and Ghana, where she taught and edited for English-language publications. In addition to her many television credits as producer, writer, and director, she received an Emmy nomination for acting in the miniseries Roots. Angelou teaches at Wake Forest University in North Carolina.
WIKIPEDIA
She has written ten best-selling books, which have earned her Pulitzer Prize and National Book Award nominations. Beginning her career in drama and dance, she worked for civil rights in the United States during the 1960s and spent five years in Egypt and Ghana, where she taught and edited for English-language publications. In addition to her many television credits as producer, writer, and director, she received an Emmy nomination for acting in the miniseries Roots. Angelou teaches at Wake Forest University in North Carolina.
WIKIPEDIA
More poems More Poetry
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
The free bird leaps on the back of the wind and floats downstream till the current ends and dips his wings 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 fearful trill of the things unknown but longed for still and is tune is heard on the distant hillfor the caged bird sings of freedom The free bird thinks of another breeze an the trade winds soft through the sighing 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. Woman Work I've got the children to tend The clothes to mend The floor to mop The food to shop Then the chicken to fry The baby to dry I got company to feed The garden to weed I've got shirts to press The tots to dress The can to be cut I gotta clean up this hut Then see about the sick And the cotton to pick. Shine on me, sunshine Rain on me, rain Fall softly, dewdrops And cool my brow again. Storm, blow me from here With your fiercest wind Let me float across the sky 'Til I can rest again. Fall gently, snowflakes Cover me with white Cold icy kisses and Let me rest tonight. Sun, rain, curving sky Mountain, oceans, leaf and stone Star shine, moon glow You're all that I can call my own "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. |
Momma Welfare Roll
Her arms semaphore fat triangles, Pudgy hands bunched on layered hips Where bones idle under years of fatback And lima beans. Her jowls shiver in accusation Of crimes clichéd by Repetition. Her children, strangers To childhood's toys, play Best the games of darkened doorways, Rooftop tag, and know the slick feel of Other people's property. Too fat to whore, Too mad to work, Searches her dreams for the Lucky sign and walks bare-handed Into a den of bereaucrats for Her portion. 'They don't give me welfare. I take it.' Refusal Beloved, In what other lives or lands Have I known your lips Your Hands Your Laughter brave Irreverent. Those sweet excesses that I do adore. What surety is there That we will meet again, On other worlds some Future time undated. I defy my body's haste. Without the promise Of one more sweet encounter I will not deign to die. Still I Rise You may write me down in history With your bitter, twisted lies, You may trod me in the very dirt But 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 wells Pumping 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 mines Diggin' 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 surprise That I dance like I've got diamonds At the meeting of my thighs? Out of the huts of history's shame I rise Up from a past that's rooted in pain I rise I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide, Welling and swelling I bear in the tide. Leaving behind nights of terror and fear I rise Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear I rise Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave, I am the dream and the hope of the slave. I rise I rise I rise. |