Maya Angelou

(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)

Maya Angelou Poems

1. Harlem Hopscotch 3/9/2016
2. The Week of Diana 3/9/2016
3. Glory Falls 3/9/2016
4. Song for the Old Ones 3/9/2016
5. The Black Family Pledge 3/9/2016
6. Son to Mother 3/9/2016
7. In All Ways A Woman 3/9/2016
8. The Rock Cries Out to Us Today 2/8/2016
9. Preacher, Don't Send Me 3/9/2016
10. Pickin Em Up and Layin Em Down 3/9/2016
11. The Traveller 3/9/2016
12. Our Grandmothers 7/14/2015
13. Ain't That Bad? 3/9/2016
14. These Yet To Be United States 1/17/2015
15. Recovery 3/9/2016
16. When I Think About Myself 9/15/2015
17. The Health-Food Diner 12/16/2014
18. On Aging 5/14/2015
19. I know why the caged bird sings 3/9/2016
20. Savior 3/9/2016
21. Televised 3/9/2016
22. Old Folks Laugh 2/10/2015
23. When Great Trees Fall 2/15/2016
24. Life Doesn't Frighten Me 8/6/2015
25. California Prodigal 1/23/2012
26. The Mothering Blackness 1/23/2012
27. Human Family 12/4/2014
28. We Had Him 1/13/2014
29. Kin 1/23/2012
30. A Plagued Journey 1/23/2012
31. Equality 1/3/2015
32. Awaking In New York 1/23/2012
33. A Brave And Startling Truth 1/23/2012
34. Weekend Glory 1/3/2003
35. Momma Welfare Roll 1/3/2003
36. When You Come 1/3/2003
37. On The Pulse Of Morning 1/3/2003
38. Remembrance 1/3/2003
39. The Detached 6/18/2005
40. Insomniac 1/3/2003
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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