Maya Angelou

(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)

Comments about Maya Angelou

  • Jaime Goldblatt (12/21/2014 11:15:00 PM)

    To A Poemhunter, Who Would Praise Certain Bad Poets, Imitators Of The Art

    You say, as you have often given tongue
    In praise of what another's said or sung,
    'Twere politic to do the like by these;
    But was there 'er a dog that praised a flea
    As awful as Angelou?
    Quattro of five cento?
    Phenomenally Ridiculous
    Quattro of five cento?
    Not by work or base-born product,
    Only by dint of birth.
    Shame and scorn on you.
    Huntsman Rody blow your horn,
    This hound can hunt no more.

    111 person liked.
    110 person did not like.
  • Pat O'kennedy (11/28/2014 3:16:00 PM)

    Has the talent and skill of good poets. These poems are a joy to read.

  • Ali Baba Ali Baba (11/20/2014 10:25:00 AM)

    Nice poem

  • Melikhaya Zagagana Melikhaya Zagagana (10/27/2014 9:23:00 AM)

    We have lost a True mother, she is such an example and a great poetess.

  • Gigi Levin Gigi Levin (10/21/2014 10:28:00 AM)

    Hey, which nitwit decided that Robert Frost, although a good poet, was ANY match for Maya Angelou! ? If anybody's with me, let's all help Maya reclaim her rightful spot on the top of the top 500 poets list.

  • Dr. Ravipal Bharshankar Dr. Ravipal Bharshankar (9/14/2014 12:18:00 PM)

    It's a very simply said poem.

  • Beautyruined Byinternet (8/16/2014 10:12:00 PM)

    this automatic android audio reading thing... is miserable. it's the stupidest thing i've ever seen. it's like serving a rare top sirloin steak in a mcdonalds burger wrapper. it's like listening to gershwin in a chuck e cheese ballpit with 10,000 screaming toddlers.

    this is ridiculous.

    this form of idiocy and complete oblivious bad taste hurts poetry.

    this website which at first seemed like a usable relevant resource... now i only wish to see it banned. on a medium such as the internet where the updatable content is 99.9% trash, this website is firmly in those ranks.

    not a gem.

    just more ruinous waste.

    imagine if a person such as myself opens multiple tabs to chance read multiple poems. consider the resulting cacophony as twenty poems are automatically begun to be read by android voices. this is insane. why is it automatic? I understand some people are miserable souls with no taste... but why would you force that on everyone else by making it automatic? if a person wants trash, fine... let them click their way into the void. but trash shouldn't be forced upon us.

    and why the generated android voice. poetry is a passion. a person with passion would have read the poems themselves. not used this disgusting fake 1989 computer voicing.

    have some common sense.

    be sensible.

    disable the automatic feed.

    or better yet... get rid of this altogether.

  • Surhyun Kim (7/15/2014 9:47:00 PM)

    Phenomenal Woman

    Pretty Woman 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 arms
    The span of my hips
    The stride of my step
    The curl of my lips
    I'm a woman
    Phenomenally 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
    The swing in my waist
    And the flash of my teeth
    The swing in my waits
    And the joy in my feet
    I'm a woman
    Phenomenally 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 in the each of my back
    The sun of my smile
    The ride of my breasts
    The grace of my style
    I'm a woman
    Phenomenally woman
    That's me

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

  • Surhyun Kim (7/15/2014 9:47:00 PM)

    On The Pulse Of Morning'

    A Rock, A River, A Tree
    Hosts to species long since departed,

    Marked the mastodon,

    The dinosaur, who left dried 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,


    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

    Facedown in ignorance,

    Your mouths spilling words

    Armed for slaughter.

    The Rock cries out to us today,

    You may stand upon 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 sang 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 hear. 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 the River.

    Each of you, descendant of some passed-

    On traveller, 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,

    The Italian, the Hungarian, the Pole,

    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 unloved, 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 a new beginning.

    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, you 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.

  • Ali Baba Ali Baba (6/13/2014 7:37:00 AM)

    Şaka Yaptım:))

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

They Went Home

They went home and told their wives,
that never once in all their lives,
had they known a girl like me,
But... They went home.

They said my house was licking clean,
no word I spoke was ever mean,
I had an air of mystery,
But... They went home.

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