“Still I Rise” by Maya Angelou

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.

“The Peace of Wild Things”

When despair for the world grows in me

and I wake in the night at the least sound

in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,

I go lie down where the wood drake

rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.

I come into the peace of wild things

who do not tax their lives with forethought

of grief. I come into the presence of still water.

And I feel above me the day – blind stars

waiting with their light. For a time

I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.

                                                   ~ Wendell Berry

 

Wood Duck Wallpaper Wood duck

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Poems: These two poems are from the lovely and talented Helen Falandes.

Do the Next Two Things

After the last friends depart

empty glasses and cups

are collected and washed,

the floor swept and that first night alone

the best I can do

is the next two things.

Feed the cat.

Make tea.

Shower.

Dress.

Braid my hair.

Discard the obvious junk mail.

This is how to get through

when the light and dark

are completely different

slants and hues,

when every moment’s routine

holds the unexpected news

of your absence.

Feed the cat.

Empty the dish rack.

Fold the blanket.

Clear the answering machine.

Pick up the empty can

tossed out by the mailbox.

Bless the dust which

can be wiped away,

dirty laundry that can be washed clean,

the path that can be shoveled clear of snow.

Bless the hungry cat.

~ Helen Falandes – 2/07

 

Start Again Now

Start again now

As often as needed

Choking on the dust of falling walls

Gather stones and bricks

Start again now

Glue the broken edges

Match up at least

The larger pieces

Start again now

Dislodge what blocks

The narrow airway

Hear ragged breath

As new music

Start again now

Gather the wooly tangles

Take two sticks

Re-knit any pattern

That forms itself to cloth

                                        ~ Helen Falandes