Maya Angelou Poems

1. Still I Rise
2. Caged Bird
3. Phenomenal Woman
4. They Went Home
5. To A Man
6. On Working White Liberals
7. The Thirteens (Black) / The Thirteens (White)
8. Alone
9. The Couple
10. The Pusher
11. Elegy
12. Momma Welfare Roll
13. Woman Work
14. One More Round
15. Ain’t That Bad
16. On Aging
17. The Health Food Diner
18. Weekend Glory
19. Family Affairs
20. Shaker, Why Don’t You Sing

All poems from the following anthology:

Angelou, Maya. Poems. New York, Bantam Books, 1986.

**Page numbers at the end of each poem indicate pages in the anthology Poems.
Still I Rise Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
You may write me down in history Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear
With your bitter, twisted lies, I rise
You may trod me in the very dirt Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
But still, like dust, I'll rise. I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
Does my sassiness upset you? I rise
Why are you beset with gloom? I rise.
’Cause I walk like I've got oil wells
Pumping in my living room. (p. 154-155)

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.

1
Caged Bird and his tune is heard
on the distant hill
A free bird leaps for the caged bird
on the back of the wind sings of freedom.
and floats downstream
till the current ends (p. 183-184)
and dips his wing
in the orange sun rays
and dares to claim the sky.

But a bird that stalks

down his narrow cage
can seldom see through
his bars of rage
his wings are clipped and
his feet are tied
so he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings

with a fearful trill
of things unknown
but longed for still
and his tune is heard
on the distant hill
for the caged bird
sings of freedom.

The free bird thinks of another breeze

and the trade winds soft through the sighing
trees
and the fat worms waiting on a dawn bright
lawn
and he names the sky his own.

But a caged bird stands on the grave of

dreams
his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream
his wings are clipped and his feet are tied
so he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings

with a fearful trill
of things unknown
but longed for still

2
Phenomenal Woman The sun of my smile,
The ride of my breasts,
Pretty women wonder where my secret lies. The grace of my style.
I’m not cute or built to suit a fashion model’s I’m a woman
size Phenomenally.
But when I start to tell them, Phenomenal woman,
They think I’m telling lies. That’s me.
I say,
It’s in the reach of my arms, Now you understand
The span of my hips, Just why my head’s not bowed.
The stride of my step, I don’t shout or jump about
The curl of my lips. Or have to talk real loud.
I’m a woman When you see me passing,
Phenomenally. It ought to make you proud.
Phenomenal woman, I say,
That’s me. It’s in the click of my heels,
The bend of my hair,
I walk into a room the palm of my hand,
Just as cool as you please, The need for my care.
And to a man, ’Cause I’m a woman
The fellows stand or Phenomenally.
Fall down on their knees. Phenomenal woman,
Then they swarm around me, That’s me.
A hive of honey bees.
I say, (p. 121-122)
It’s the fire in my eyes,
And the flash of my teeth,
The swing in my waist,
And the joy in my feet.
I’m a woman
Phenomenally.

Phenomenal woman,
That’s me.

Men themselves have wondered

What they see in me.
They try so much
But they can’t touch
My inner mystery.
When I try to show them,
They say they still can’t see.
I say,
It’s in the arch of my back,

3
They Went Home

They went home and told their wives,

that never once in all their lives,
had they known a girl like me,
But... They went home.

They said my house was licking clean,

no word I spoke was ever mean,
I had an air of mystery,
But... They went home.

My praises were on all men's lips,

they liked my smile, my wit, my hips,
they'd spend one night, or two or three.
But…

(p. 4)

4
To A Man

My man is Black Golden Amber Changing.

Warm mouths of Brandy Fine
Cautious sunlight on a patterned rug
Coughing laughter, rocked on a whirl of French tobacco
Graceful turns on woolen stilts Secretive?
A cat’s eye.
Southern, Plump and tender with navy bean sullenness
And did I say Tender?
The gentleness
A big cat stalks through stubborn bush
And did I mention Amber?
The heatless fire consuming itself.
Again. Anew. Into ever neverlessness.
My man is Amber
Changing
Always into itself
New. Now New
Still itself.
Still

(p. 7)

5
On Working White Liberals

I don't ask the Foreign Legion

Or anyone to win my freedom
Or to fight my battle better than I can,

Though there's one thing that I cry for

I believe enough to die for
That is every man's responsibility to man.

I'm afraid they'll have to prove first

That they'll watch the Black man move first
Then follow him with faith to kingdom come.
This rocky road is not paved for us,
So, I'll believe in Liberals' aid for us
When I see a white man load a Black man's gun.

(p. 46)

6
The Thirteens (Black) The Thirteens (White)

Your Momma took to shouting Your Momma kissed the chauffer,

Your Poppa's gone to war, Your Poppa balled the cook,
Your sister's in the streets Your sister did the dirty,
Your brother's in the bar. in the middle of the book,
The thirteens. Right On. The thirteens. Right On.

Your cousin's taking smack Your daughter wears a jock strap,

Your Uncle’s in the joint, Your son he wears a bra
Your buddy's in the gutter Your brother jonesed your cousin
Shooting for his point in the back seat of the car.
The thirteens. Right on. The thirteens. Right On.

And you, you make me sorry Your money thinks you're something
You out here by yourself, But if I'd learn to curse,

I'd call you something dirty, I'd tell you what your name is
But there just ain't nothing left, But there just ain't nothing worse
cept than
The thirteens. Right On. The thirteens. Right On.

(p. 48) (p. 49)

7
Alone (pp. 69-70)

Lying, thinking
Last night
How to find my soul a home
Where water is not thirsty
And bread loaf is not stone
I came up with one thing
And I don't believe I'm wrong
That nobody,
But nobody
Can make it out here alone.

Alone, all alone

Nobody, but nobody
Can make it out here alone.

There are some millionaires

With money they can't use
Their wives run round like banshees
Their children sing the blues
They've got expensive doctors
To cure their hearts of stone.
But nobody
No, nobody
Can make it out here alone.

Alone, all alone

Nobody, but nobody
Can make it out here alone.

Now if you listen closely

I'll tell you what I know
Storm clouds are gathering
The wind is gonna blow
The race of man is suffering
And I can hear the moan,
'Cause nobody,
But nobody
Can make it out here alone.

Alone, all alone

Nobody, but nobody
Can make it out here alone.

8
The Couple

Discard the fear and what

was she? of rag and bones
a mimicry of woman’s
fairy ness
Archaic at its birth

Discharge the hate and when

was he? disheveled moans
a mimesis of man’s
estate
Deceited
For its worth

Dissolve the greed and why

were they? enfeebled thrones
a memory of mortal
kindliness
exiled from this earth.

(p. 86)

9
The Pusher Institute. Whole fist
balled, fingers pressing
He bad palm. Shooting up through
O he bad Honk's blue-eyed sky.
He make a honky
poot. Make it honky's (p. 87-89)
blue eyes squint
anus tight, when
my man look in
the light blue eyes.

He thinks
He don't play
His Afro crown raises
eyes. Raises eyebrows
of wonder and dark
envy when he, combed
out, hits the street.
He sleek
Dashiki
Wax printed on his skin
remembrances of Congo dawns
laced across his chest.
Red Blood Red and Black.

He bought
O He got
Malcolm's paper
back. Checked out the
photo, caught a few godly
lines. Then wondered how
many wives/daughters of
Honky (miscalled The Man)
bird snake
caught, dug them both.
(Him, Fro-ed Dashiki-ed
and the book.)

He stashed
He stanks stashed
Near, too near the MLK
Library. P.S. naught
naught naught. Breathing
slaughter on the Malcolm X

10
Elegy

I lay down in my grave

and watch my children
grow
Proud blooms
above the weeds of death.
Their petals wave
and still nobody
knows the soft black
dirt that is my winding
sheet. The worms, my friends,
yet tunnel holes in
bones and through those
apertures I see the rain.
The sunfelt warmth
now jabs
within my space and
brings me roots of my
children born.
Their seeds must fall
and press beneath
this earth,
and find me where I
wait. My only need to
fertilize their birth.
I lay down in my grave
and watch my children
grow.

(p. 107)

11
Momma Welfare Roll

Her arms semaphore fat triangles,

Pudgy HANDS bunched on layered hips
Where bones idle under years of fatback
And lima beans.

Her jowls shiver in accusation

Of crimes cliched by Repetition.
Her children, strangers
To childhood's TOYS, play
Best the games of darkened doorways,
Rooftop tag, and know the slick feel of
Other people's property.

Too fat to whore,

Too mad to work,
Searches her dreams for the
Lucky sign and walks bare-handed
Into a den of bereaucrats for her portion.

'They don't give me welfare.

I take it.'

(p. 139)

12
Woman Work

I've got the children to tend

The clothes to mend
The floor to mop
The food to shop
Then the chicken to fry
The baby to dry
I got company to feed
The garden to weed
I've got shirts to press
The tots to dress
The can to be cut
I gotta clean up this hut
Then see about the sick
And the cotton to pick.

Shine on me, sunshine

Rain on me, rain
Fall softly, dewdrops
And cool my brow again.

Storm, blow me from here

With your fiercest wind
Let me float across the sky
'Til I can rest again.

Fall gently, snowflakes

Cover me with white
Cold icy kisses and
Let me rest tonight.

Sun, rain, curving sky

Mountain, oceans, leaf and stone
Star shine, moon glow
You're all that I can call my own.

(p. 144-145)

13
One More Round And let’s heave it down.

There ain’t no pay beneath the sun (p. 146-147)

As sweet as rest when a job’s well done
But I was not born
To be a slave.

One more round

And let’s heave it down
One more round
And let’s heave it down.

Papa drove steel and Mama stood guard,

I never heard them holler ‘cause the work
was hard.
They were born to work up to their graves
But they were not born
To be worked-out slaves.

One more round

And let’s heave it down
One more round
And let’s heave it down.

Brothers and sisters know the daily grind,

It was not labor made them lose their minds.
They were born to work up to their graves
But they were not born
To be worked-out slaves.

One more round

And let’s heave it down
One more round
And let’s heave it down.

And now I’ll tell you my Golden Rule,

I was born to work but I ain’t no mule.
I was born to work up to my grave
But I was not born
To be a slave.

One more round

And let’s heave it down
One more round

14
Ain’t That Bad Mohammed Ali in the ring
Andre Watts and Andrew Young
Dancin' the funky chicken Black men doing their thing.
Eatin' ribs and tips
Diggin' all the latest sounds Dressing in purples and pinks and greens
And drinkin' gin in sips. Exotic as rum and Cokes
Living our lives with flash and style
Puttin' down that do-rag Ain't we colorful folks?
Tighten' up my 'fro
Wrappin' up in Blackness Now ain't we bad?
Don't I shine and glow? An' ain't we Black?
An' ain't we Black?
Hearin' Stevie Wonder An' ain't we bad?
Cookin' beans and rice An' ain't we bad?
Goin' to the opera An' ain't we Black?
Checkin' out Leontyne Price. An' ain't we fine?

Get down, Jesse Jackson (p. 156-157)

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

15
On Aging

When you see 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.

(p. 161)

16
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 pilaw

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,

Zucchini 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.

(p. 173-174)

17
Weekend Glory with sassy glance.

Some dichty folks They accuse me of livin'

don't know the facts, from day to day,
posin' and preenin' but who are they kiddin'?
and puttin' on acts, So are they.
stretchin' their backs.
My life ain't heaven
They move into condos but it sure ain't hell.
up over the ranks, I'm not on top
pawn their souls but I call it swell
to the local banks. if I'm able to work
Buying big cars and get paid right
they can't afford, and have the luck to be Black
ridin' around town on a Saturday night.
actin' bored.
(pp. 196-197)
If they want to learn how to live life right
they ought to study me on Saturday night.

My job at the plant

ain't the biggest bet,
but I pay my bills
and stay out of debt.
I get my hair done
for my own self's sake,
so I don't have to pick
and I don't have to rake.

Take the church money out

and head cross town
to my friend girl's house
where we plan our round.
We meet our men and go to a joint
where the music is blue
and to the point.

Folks write about me.

They just can't see
how I work all week
at the factory.
Then get spruced up
and laugh and dance
And turn away from worry

18
Family Affairs

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 boudoirs,
As the sun, capriciously,
Struck silver fire from waiting
Chains, where I was bound.

My screams never reached

The rare tower where you
Lay, birthing masters for
My sons, and for my
Daughters, a swarm of
Unclean badgers, to consume
Their history.

Tired now of pedestal existence

For fear of flying
And vertigo, you descend
And step lightly over
My centuries of horror
And take my hand,

Smiling, call me
Sister.

Sister, accept
That I must wait a
While. Allow and age
Of dust to fill
Ruts left on my
Beach in Africa.

(p. 202)

19
Shaker, Why Don’t You Sing?

Evicted from sleep’s mute palace

I wait in the silence
for the bridal croon;
Rhythm against my thighs,
your breast moaning
a canticle in my hair.
But the solemn moments,
unuttering, pass in
unaccompanied procession.
You, whose chanteys hummed
my life alive, have withdrawn
your music and lean inaudibly
on the quiet slope of memory.

O Shaker, why don’t you sing?

In the night noisome with

street cries and the triumph
of amorous insects, I focus beyond
those cacophonies for
the anthem of your hands and swelling chest,
for the perfect harmonies which are
your lips. Yet darkness brings
no syncopated promise. I rest somewhere
between the unsung notes of night.

Shaker, why don’t you sing?

(p. 208)

20