Maya Angelou

(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)

Comments about Maya Angelou

  • Calvin Phil (8/28/2016 12:49:00 PM)

    she is really a good poet and she has done good work. i'm a poet here and this is my blog http: //fresharticleswriting.blogspot.com/2016/08/love-poetry.html

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  • Bartholomew Dele (8/23/2016 8:26:00 AM)

    a beautiful and wonderful piece. Keep it up.

  • Arti Patel (7/6/2016 9:43:00 AM)

    Best poem that i ever read for a woman

  • Sophie Woo (6/3/2016 11:27:00 PM)

    A truly phenomenal woman.

  • justus omuruli (5/24/2016 11:07:00 AM)

    I appreciate acknowledge your poetry work. Your a star in this field. Keep on. Love your art.

  • Terna Michael (4/23/2016 4:10:00 PM)

    So good

  • Addy Telzrow (3/30/2016 12:31:00 PM)

    Is she dead? It's really great that she's #1 on the 500 poets list.

  • Dr Tapan Kumar Pradhan (3/24/2016 7:43:00 PM)

    What an Angel you are, O Maya. Your poems constantly reminds me of my extraordinary relationship with Smt Hemangi S., my dearest wife of many lifetimes. Every woman is unique in herself. My wife is absolutely phenomenal - just like you, O Maya. I love you Hemangi, on this day, as I have loved never before.

  • Chris Smith Dark Poet Soul Chris Smith Dark Poet Soul (2/27/2016 9:19:00 AM)

    Classic

  • Hazem Rataba (2/15/2016 2:27:00 PM)

    I hate this women always thinks she is so hot

Best Poem of Maya Angelou

Still I Rise

You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may tread 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? ...

Read the full of Still I Rise

The Lesson

I keep on dying again.
Veins collapse, opening like the
Small fists of sleeping
Children.
Memory of old tombs,
Rotting flesh and worms do
Not convince me against
The challenge. The years
And cold defeat live deep in
Lines along my face.
They dull my eyes, yet
I keep on dying,
Because I love to live.

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