The Complete Collected Poems of Maya Angelou

by Maya Angelou

  This is my torture

  My long nights, lone

  Kin

  FOR BAILEY

  We were entwined in red rings

  Of blood and loneliness before

  The first snows fell

  Before muddy rivers seeded clouds

  Above a virgin forest, and

  Men ran naked, blue and black

  Skinned into the warm embraces

  Of Sheba, Eve and Lilith.

  I was your sister.

  You left me to force strangers

  Into brother molds, exacting

  Taxations they never

  Owed or could ever pay.

  You fought to die, thinking

  In destruction lies the seed

  Of birth. You may be right.

  I will remember silent walks in

  Southern woods and long talks

  In low voices

  Shielding meaning from the big ears

  Of overcurious adults.

  You may be right.

  Your slow return from

  Regions of terror and bloody

  Screams, races my heart.

  I hear again the laughter

  Of children and see fireflies

  Bursting tiny explosions in

  An Arkansas twilight.

  The Memory

  Cotton rows crisscross the world

  And dead-tired nights of yearning

  Thunderbolts on leather strops

  And all my body burning

  Sugar cane reach up to God

  And every baby crying

  Shame the blanket of my night

  And all my days are dying

  Still I Rise

  You may write me down in history

  With your bitter, twisted lies,

  You may trod 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?

  Don't you take it awful hard

  ‘Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines

  Diggin’ in my own backyard.

  You may shoot me with your words,

  You may cut me with your eyes,

  You may kill me with your hatefulness,

  But still, like air, I'll rise.

  Does my sexiness upset you?

  Does it come as a surprise

  That I dance like I've got diamonds

  At the meeting of my thighs?

  Out of the huts of history's shame

  I rise

  Up from a past that's rooted in pain

  I rise

  I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide,

  Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.

  Leaving behind nights of terror and fear

  I rise

  Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear

  I rise

  Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,

  I am the dream and the hope of the slave.

  I rise

  I rise

  I rise.

  Ain't That Bad?

  Dancin’ the funky chicken

  Eatin’ ribs and tips

  Diggin’ all the latest sounds

  And drinkin’ gin in sips.

  Puttin’ down that do-rag

  Tightenin’ up my ‘fro

  Wrappin’ up in Blackness

  Don't I shine and glow?

  Hearin’ Stevie Wonder

  Cookin’ beans and rice

  Goin’ to the opera

  Checkin’ out Leontyne Price.

  Get down, Jesse Jackson

  Dance on, Alvin Ailey

  Talk, Miss Barbara Jordan

  Groove, Miss Pearlie Bailey.

  Now ain't they bad?

  An’ ain't they Black?

  An’ ain't they Black?

  An’ ain't they bad?

  An’ ain't they bad?

  An’ ain't they Black?

  An’ ain't they fine?

  Black like the hour of the night

  When your love turns and wriggles close to your side

  Black as the earth which has given birth

  To nations, and when all else is gone will abide.

  Bad as the storm that leaps raging from the heavens

  Bringing the welcome rain

  Bad as the sun burning orange hot at midday

  Lifting the waters again.

  Arthur Ashe on the tennis court

  Mohammed Ali in the ring

  André Watts and Andrew Young

  Black men doing their thing.

  Dressing in purples and pinks and greens

  Exotic as rum and Cokes

  Living our lives with flash and style

  Ain't we colorful folks?

  Now ain't we bad?

  An’ ain't we Black?

  An’ ain't we Black?

  An’ ain't we bad?

  An’ ain't we bad?

  An’ ain't we Black?

  An’ ain't we fine?

  Life Doesn't Frighten Me

  Shadows on the wall

  Noises down the hall

  Life doesn't frighten me at all

  Bad dogs barking loud

  Big ghosts in a cloud

  Life doesn't frighten me at all.

  Mean old Mother Goose

  Lions on the loose

  They don't frighten me at all

  Dragons breathing flame

  On my counterpane

  That doesn't frighten me at all.

  I go boo

  Make them shoo

  I make funWay they run

  I won't crySo they fly

  I just smile

  They go wild

  Life doesn't frighten me at all.

  Tough guys in a fight

  All alone at night

  Life doesn't frighten me at all.

  Panthers in the park Strangers in the dark

  No, they don't frighten me at all.

  That new classroom where

  Boys all pull my hair

  (Kissy little girls

  With their hair in curls)

  They don't frighten me at all.

  Don't show me frogs and snakes

  And listen for my scream,

  If I'm afraid at all

  It's only in my dreams.

  I've got a magic charm

  That I keep up my sleeve,

  I can walk the ocean floor

  And never have to breathe.

  Life doesn't frighten me at all

  Not at all

  Not at all.

  Life doesn't frighten me at all.

  Bump d'Bump

  Play me a game like Blind Man's dance

  And bind my eyes with ignorance

  Bump d'bump bump d'bump.

  Tell my life with a liquor sign

  Or a cooking spoon from the five-and-dime

  And a junkie reel in two/four time

  Bump d'bump bump d'bump.

  Call me a name from an ugly south

  Like liver lips and satchel mouth

  Bump d'bump bump d'bump.

  I'll play possum and close my eyes

  To your greater sins and my lesser lies

  That way I share my nation's prize

  Bump d'bump bump d'bump.

  I may be last in the welfare line

  Below the rim where the sun don't shine

  But getting up stays on my mind

  Bump d'bump bump d'bump.

  On Aging

  When you se
e me sitting quietly,

  Like a sack left on the shelf,

  Don't think I need your

  chattering. I'm listening to myself.

  Hold! Stop! Don't pity me!

  Hold! Stop your sympathy!

  Understanding if you got it,

  Otherwise I'll do without it!

  When my bones are stiff and aching,

  And my feet won't climb the stair,

  I will only ask one favor:

  Don't bring me no rocking chair.

  When you see me walking, stumbling,

  Don't study and get it wrong.

  ‘Cause tired don't mean lazy

  And every goodbye ain't gone.

  I'm the same person I was back then,

  A little less hair, a little less chin,

  A lot less lungs and much less wind.

  But ain't I lucky I can still breathe in.

  In Retrospect

  Last year changed its seasons

  subtly, stripped its sultry winds

  for the reds of dying leaves,

  let gelid drips of winter ice melt onto

  a warming earth and urged the dormant

  bulbs to brave the

  pain of spring.

  We, loving, above the whim of

  time, did not notice.

  Alone. I remember now.

  Just Like Job

  My Lord, my Lord,

  Long have I cried out to Thee

  In the heat of the sun,

  The cool of the moon,

  My screams searched the heavens for Thee.

  My God,

  When my blanket was nothing but dew,

  Rags and bones

  Were all I owned,

  I chanted Your name

  Just like Job.

  Father, Father,

  My life give I gladly to Thee

  Deep rivers ahead

  High mountains above

  My soul wants only Your love

  But fears gather round like wolves in the dark.

  Have You forgotten my name?

  O Lord, come to Your child.

  O Lord, forget me not.

  You said to lean on Your arm

  And I'm leaning

  You said to trust in Your love

  And I'm trusting

  You said to call on Your name

  And I'm calling

  I'm stepping out on Your word. You said You'd be my protection,

  My only and glorious saviour,

  My beautiful Rose of Sharon,

  And I'm stepping out on Your word.

  Joy Joy

  Your word.

  Joy Joy

  The wonderful word of the Son of God.

  You said that You would take me to glory

  To sit down at the welcome table

  Rejoice with my mother in heaven

  And I'm stepping out on Your word.

  Into the alleys

  Into the byways

  Into the streets

  And the roads

  And the highways

  Past rumor mongers

  And midnight ramblers

  Past the liars and the cheaters and the gamblers

  On Your word

  On Your word.

  On the wonderful word of the Son of God.

  I'm stepping out on Your word.

  Call Letters: Mrs. V. B.

  Ships?

  Sure I'll sail them.

  Show me the boat,

  If it'll float,

  I'll sail it.

  Men?

  Yes I'll love them.

  If they've got the style,

  To make me smile,

  I'll love them.

  Life?

  ‘Course I'll live it.

  Let me have breath,

  Just to my death,

  And I'll live it.

  Failure?

  I'm not ashamed to tell it,

  I never learned to spell it.

  Not Failure.

  Thank You, Lord

  I see You

  Brown-skinned,

  Neat Afro,

  Full lips,

  A little goatee.

  A Malcolm,

  Martin,

  Du Bois.

  Sunday services become sweeter when You're Black,

  Then I don't have to explain why

  I was out balling the town down,

  Saturday night.

  Thank you, Lord.

  I want to thank You, Lord,

  For life and all that's in it.

  Thank You for the day

  And for the hour and for the minute.

  I know many are gone,

  I'm still living on,

  I want to thank You.

  I went to sleep last night

  And I arose with the dawn,

  I know that there are others

  Who're still sleeping on,

  They've gone away,

  You've let me stay.

  I want to thank You. Some thought because they'd seen sunrise

  They'd see it rise again.

  But death crept into their sleeping beds

  And took them by the hand.

  Because of Your mercy,

  I have another day to live.

  Let me humbly say,

  Thank You for this day

  I want to thank You.

  I was once a sinner man,

  Living unsaved and wild,

  Taking my chances in a dangerous world,

  Putting my soul on trial.

  Because of Your mercy,

  Falling down on me like rain,

  Because of Your mercy,

  When I die I'll live again,

  Let me humbly say,

  Thank You for this day.

  I want to thank You.

  Another book for

  GUY JOHNSON

  and

  COLIN ASHANTI MURPHY JOHNSON

  Thanks to

  ELEANOR TRAYLOR

  for her radiance

  ELIZABETH PHILLIPS

  for her art

  RUTH BECKFORD

  for her constancy

  Awaking in New York

  Curtains forcing their will

  against the wind,

  children sleep,

  exchanging dreams with

  seraphim. The city

  drags itself awake on

  subway straps; and

  I, an alarm, awake as

  a rumor of war,

  lie stretching into dawn,

  unasked and unheeded.

  A Good Woman Feeling Bad

  The blues may be the life you've led

  Or midnight hours in

  An empty bed. But persecuting

  Blues I've known

  Could stalk

  Like tigers, break like bone,

  Pend like rope in

  A gallows tree,

  Make me curse

  My pedigree,

  Bitterness thick on

  A rankling tongue,

  A psalm to love that's

  Left unsung,

  Rivers heading north

  But ending South,

  Funeral music

  In a going-home mouth.

  All riddles are blues,

  And all blues are sad,

  And I'm only mentioning

  Some blues I've had.

  The Health-Food Diner

  No sprouted wheat and soya shoots

  And brussels in a cake,

  Carrot straw and spinach raw

  (Today, I need a steak).

  Not thick brown rice and rice pilau

  Or mushrooms creamed on toast,

  Turnips mashed and parsnips hashed

  (I'm dreaming of a roast).

  Health-food folks around the world

  Are thinned by anxious zeal,

  They look for help in seafood kelp

  (I count on breaded veal).

  No Smoking signs, raw mustard greens,

  Zucc
hini by the ton,

  Uncooked kale and bodies frail

  Are sure to make me run

  to

  Loins of pork and chicken thighs

  And standing rib, so prime,

  Pork chops brown and fresh ground round

  (I crave them all the time). Irish stews and boiled corned beef

  And hot dogs by the scores,

  Or any place that saves a space

  For smoking carnivores.

  A Georgia Song

  We swallow the odors of Southern cities,

  Fatback boiled to submission,

  Tender evening poignancies of

  Magnolia and the great green

  Smell of fresh sweat.

  In Southern fields,

  The sound of distant

  Feet running, or dancing,

  And the liquid notes of

  Sorrow songs,

  Waltzes, screams and

  French quadrilles float over

  The loam of Georgia.

  Sing me to sleep, Savannah.

  Clocks run down in Tara's halls and dusty

  Flags droop their unbearable

  Sadness.

  Remember our days, Susannah.

  Oh, the blood-red clay,

  Wet still with ancient

  Wrongs, and Abenaa

  Singing her Creole airs to

  Macon.

  We long, dazed, for winter evenings And a whitened moon,

  And the snap of controllable fires.

  Cry for our souls, Augusta.

  We need a wind to strike

  Sharply, as the thought of love

  Betrayed can stop the heart.

  An absence of tactile