Preacher, don't send me
when I die
to some big ghetto
in the sky
where rats eat cats
of the leopard type
and Sunday brunch
is grits and tripe.
I've known those rats
I've seen them kill
and grits I've had
would make a hill,
or maybe a mountain,
so what I need
from you on Sunday
is a different creed.
Preacher, please don't
promise me
streets of gold
and milk for free.
I stopped all milk
at four years old
and once I'm dead
I won't need gold.
I'd call a place
pure paradise
where families are loyal
and strangers are nice,
where the music is jazz
and the season is fall.
Promise me that
or nothing at all.
poet Maya Angelou #1 on top 500 poets Poet's PagePoemsQuotesCommentsStatsE-BooksBiographyVideosShare on FacebookShare on Twitter Poems by Maya Angelou: 28 / 53 « prev. poem next poem » Preacher, Don't Send Me - Poem by Maya Angelou Preacher, don't send me when I die to some big ghetto in the sky where rats eat cats of the leopard type and Sunday brunch is grits and tripe. I've known those rats I've seen them kill and grits I've had would make a hill, or maybe a mountain, so what I need from you on Sunday is a different creed. Preacher, please don't promise me streets of gold and milk for free. I stopped all milk at four years old and once I'm dead I won't need gold. I'd call a place pure paradise where families are loyal and strangers are nice, where the music is jazz and the season is fall. wow, nice poem.
A nice factual portrayal of what being religious should be
I'd call a place pure paradise where families are loyal and strangers are nice, where the music is jazz and the season is fall. wow, nice poem.
'I'd call a place pure paradise where families are loyal and strangers are nice' - so simple a want, but truly difficult to find nowadays!
I'd call a place pure paradise where families are loyal and strangers are nice, where the music is jazz and the season is fall... no need to send the corpse of wise poet to the dark doom where every creature will attack it and make it their livelihood; so reserve it to respect and remember it with honor timely....humanitarian soul needs to stay in royal palace after earthly death! ! Promise me that or nothing at all.
I'd call a place pure paradise where families are loyal and strangers are nice, where the music is jazz....... .A place is paradise only if there is love, music, dance and peace........10
Another delightful work by the great Maya Angelou. America lost a treasure when she passed away a few years ago. But, her words continue on and on....
Superb! It is so good to read specially when Fall is about to start. What paradise could compete with Fall on Earth.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Preacher, please don't promise me streets of gold and milk for free. I stopped all milk at four years old and once I'm dead I won't need gold. What a poem based on naked truth of life and society.