Category Maya Angelou

The print is too small, distressing me. Wavering black things on the page. Wriggling polliwogs all about. I know it’s my age. I’ll have to give up reading. The food is too rich, revolting me. I swallow it hot or…

Dawn offers innocence to a half-mad city. The axe-keen intent of all our days for this brief moment lies soft, nuzzling the breast of morning, crooning, still sleep-besotted, of childish pranks with angels.

Fickle comfort steals away What it knows It will not say What it can It will not do It flies from me To humor you. Capricious peace will not bind The severed nerves The jagged mind The shattered dream The…

You let down, from arched Windows, Over hand-cut stones of your Cathedrals, seas of golden hair. While I, pulled by dusty braids, Left furrows in the Sands of African beaches. Princes and commoners Climbed over waves to reach Your vaulted…

Had I known that the heart breaks slowly, dismantling itself into unrecognizable plots of misery, Had I known the heart would leak, slobbering its sap, with a vulgar visibility, into the dressed-up dining rooms of strangers, Had I known that…

Today, you threaten to leave me. I hold curses, in my mouth, which could flood your path, sear bottomless chasms in your road. I keep, behind my lips, invectives capable of tearing the septum from your nostrils and the skin…

Some clichty folks don’t know the facts, posin’ and preenin’ and puttin’ on acts, stretchin’ their backs. They move into condos up over the ranks, pawn their souls to the local banks. Buying big cars they can’t afford, ridin’ around…

There are some nights when sleep plays coy, aloof and disdainful. And all the wiles that I employ to win its service to my side are useless as wounded pride, and much more painful.

If you are Black and for me, press steady, as the weight of night. And I will show cascades of brilliance, astrally. If you are Black and constant, descend importantly, as ritual, and I will arch a crescent moon, naturally.

Hello, young sailor. You are betrayed and do not know the dance of death. Dandy warrior, swaying to Rick James on your stereo, you do not hear the bleat of triumphant war, its roar is not in your ears, filled…