Maya Angelou

(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)

Comments about Maya Angelou

  • Jez Brul Jez Brul (6/22/2018 11:51:00 PM)

    You are truly a phenomenal woman, dear Maya Angelou...Your poems are truly amazing and life changing.

    1 person liked.
    0 person did not like.
  • Abishek subedi (6/22/2018 11:06:00 PM)

    Poem on our religious

  • LikhithaMS (6/22/2018 10:51:00 AM)

    I want puradara das poem

  • Haidee Majola (6/22/2018 2:28:00 AM)

    The depth of this poem is astounding
    The meaning is so profound
    Your words strung together like that
    Evoke emotions poignant yet proud in those who find in it resonance
    In every corner of the universe knowing where we've been
    Yet even as we have come this far in time
    Time has left some behind in mentality
    Thank you Ms Angelou for a poem that makes me proud too.

  • Truthbomb McGee (6/17/2018 6:16:00 PM)

    Maya has absolute trash poems, put her poetry in the trash. Talks about heaps of useless stuff, I really don't care.

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  • Naryiah (6/7/2018 11:06:00 AM)

    sh is a phenomonal oman

  • faith thomas (6/3/2018 8:47:00 PM)

    very good job thank u very much

  • faith thomas (6/3/2018 8:46:00 PM)

    veronica really keep up thevgood work

  • faith thomas (6/3/2018 8:44:00 PM)

    thanks so much i really enjoyed it

Best Poem of Maya Angelou

Phenomenal Woman

Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.
I'm not cute or built to suit 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.
Then they swarm around me,
A hive of honey bees.
I say,
It's the fire in my eyes,
And the flash of my ...

Read the full of Phenomenal Woman

The Detached

We die,
Welcoming Bluebeards to our darkening closets,
Stranglers to our outstretched necks,
Stranglers, who neither care nor
care to know that
DEATH IS INTERNAL.

We pray,
Savoring sweet the teethed lies,

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