And Still I Rise
Still I Rise by Maya Angelou (1925)
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 back yard.
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.
I love this poem.
I do too! 🙂
They did too……..and more, hehe.
Ummm……….wait for it………
Come to think of it, I shouldn’t have done this. Please remove this shit!
Huh..what were you thinking. i removed as requested Roald, you can access my dashboard and post at will.
Although it was a joke, I thought it was a tasteless one within this context.
MBA, I am glad you figured that out all by yourself.
With Lucitta’s input and my IQ, there simply wasn’t any other way 🙂
I love this poem. Rising is indeed possible even in the midst of a million or more naysayers.
I love it also along with I’ve learned.
Great poem Angela!!
Therefore, – again, and more than ever before: resist in truth what is wrong, and persist in truth what is good whilst protecting live as worthy as possible. We may have fallen with our feet trodden beneath the dust, but we shall rise up again. Reminding ourselves that our lives depend on the labour of others and that we have to give in the same measure as we received, taking things day by day and step by step, – knowing that endurance is more powerful than ferocity. Knowing as well that then there is a place and time for the fullness of real gratitude, and that amidst the corners of history’s shame we shall overcome one day, – as the wall’s of hatred and prejudice have been broken then and mercy will prevail.
That was beautiful Paul…through it all …we will rise again.
Ms. Angelou’s courage and wisdom have forever changed my soul. These lines give me chills…although I am sure my personal pain pales in comparison, I can relate as a woman and a child abuse survivor. Thank you for a jolt of lovely, today!
“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.”
Thank you for sharing your story…
Remembering a Woman with a capital “W”. She lived her life, against all odds, the way she saw fit. She has no equal. I salute her.
Caged Bird
BY MAYA ANGELOU
A free bird leaps
on the back of the wind
and floats downstream
till the current ends
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
and his tune is heard
on the distant hill
for the caged bird
sings of freedom.