On The Pulse Of Morning Poem by Maya Angelou

On The Pulse Of Morning

Rating: 3.7


A Rock, A River, A Tree
Hosts to species long since departed,
Mark the mastodon.
The dinosaur, who left dry tokens
Of their sojourn here
On our planet floor,
Any broad alarm of their of their hastening doom
Is lost in the gloom of dust and ages.
But today, the Rock cries out to us, clearly, forcefully,
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
Face down in ignorance.
Your mouths spelling words
Armed for slaughter.
The rock cries out today, you may stand on me,
But do not hide your face.
Across the wall of the world,
A river sings a beautiful song,
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 stone were one.
Before cynicism was a bloody sear across your brow
And when you yet knew you still knew nothing.
The river sings 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 and Native American, the Sioux,
The Catholic, the Muslim, the French, the Greek,
The Irish, the Rabbi, the Priest, the Sheikh,
The Gay, the Straight, the Preacher,
The privileged, the homeless, the teacher.
They hear. They all hear
The speaking of the tree.
Today, the first and last of every tree
Speaks to humankind. Come to me, here beside the river.
Plant yourself beside me, here 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 and 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 Swede, the German, the Scot...
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 the 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 unlived, and if faced with courage,
Need not be lived again.
Lift up your eyes upon
The 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 new beginnings.
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 upon me,
The rock, the river, the tree, your 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,
Into your brother's face, your country
And say simply
Very simply
With hope
Good morning.

COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Susan Williams 30 December 2015

There are so many verses in this piece that speak to the heart of mankind and they speak in many voices but one thing they have in common is that they speak in earnest and out of the honesty of a strong soul

48 5 Reply
Steve Mcdonald 20 April 2007

A Rock, A Paper, A Pair of Sissors Mark Barney The dinosaur (why did we stop capitalising?) Here are the dry tokens of semi digested Laundry lists of special Interest groups The fewmets of fatuousness. It sure takes Ms Johnson a longish time to say GOOD MORNING.

14 16 Reply
Debra Cowley 21 June 2009

As I read I cried for you have touch the very soul of heaven a tree where we all purch and gather to feed. For when I wake I do see an international color of all spelender from what has not become Gods head to what he did find employable. Good morning my frist thing I try to strive to say to my creator every morning. Thank you.

24 4 Reply
Miroslava Odalovic 09 July 2010

Now, this is the one I really like. Ecumenism at its utmost. I hope the words can make people love one another.

16 10 Reply
Maria Gonzalez 20 July 2015

Beautifully done Maya. As usual...

20 6 Reply
Lisa McNeill 08 January 2021

This is what I needed today.

0 0 Reply
Reggie Harris 21 April 2020

The most extraordinary offering that a presidential inaugural has ever heard. I read it with joy, frequently.

2 0 Reply
Alokananda Sengupta 23 March 2019

My favourite poem. I often quote stanzas from it

4 2 Reply
Onimisi Yusuf 21 May 2018

Add a comment. Nice lines that reflect a struggle for balance among races.

8 1 Reply
lotus is pretty 09 April 2018

i hate your poem on the pulse of morinig. i love you

7 18 Reply
READ THIS POEM IN OTHER LANGUAGES
Close
Error Success