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
by
.
Maya Angelou
| Posted in Rise poems | No Comments
What does the future hold for us?
Smog filled skies and poison cars,
And broken land with useless dust
And nature’s beauty behind bars.
Can I ever show my children,
(If they ever come my way)
The beauty of a sunset
At the ending of the day?
Can I walk into a forest,
And surround myself with trees,
Yet know that it will remain,
For me to visit as I please.
I know that I can today
Do all the things I’ve said,
But when today is yesterday,
Will all these things be dead?
This problem is enormous
As we gradually take heed,
So we must fix it quickly,
Using words and thoughts and deeds."
by
Pachamama
| Posted in Future poems | No Comments
Lost amongst the memories, even now I can’t escape this place.
You set me free, but I can’t find my home.
Like I’m loose in the middle of a forest, from which there’s no road of path or signs to tell me where I am.
Sometimes shadows catch my eye – I think it’s you, here to help me find my way.
It’s nothing but a waking dream (a nightmare when I realise I’m still without you) .
I’m still here in the forest. Trapped. Blind. I don’t know where to go.
Maybe I just want to watch the shadows – imagining they’re you.
by
Evan Harker
| Posted in Lost poems | No Comments
Like a thief she steals kisses
From his heart she takes love
Entraps them in golden cages
Feeds them her lifes blood
In her arms he weakens swiftly
Thinks its he who holds the key
She smiles secretly at the joke
She holds within her hands
Ensconced within his death throws
He wakens to his predicament
With one caress he turns the tables
Now she must mourn him endlessly
Love is not a battle ground to be held
Victory lies in the sweet surrender
by
Fiona Davidson
| Posted in battle poems | No Comments
Through the darkness, through the mist
I cannot find the one I trust,
With pain in my heart, thoughts flooding my head,
I know deep down in my heart I must.
I see the belief that others hold,
The truth that they perceive,
The fear in their eyes of things untold,
The need in them to believe.
The belief that love will overcome,
Is the dream of a fool unknown,
I may seem cold and heartless, but,
My heart has been turned to stone.
I’ve been hurt before, been strung along,
Of course it was not by you,
But the fear of my heart being broken again,
Leaves me not knowing what to do.
I did not give my heart away,
It was taken by a thief,
I’m trying so very hard right now,
To suspend my disbelief.
The hurt that she inflicted on me,
Was too much for my heart to bear,
I’ve toughened up, become immune,
Tried to show that I don’t care.
I’m not happy doing this,
But it’s my only way to survive,
To be strong and to believe in myself,
Is going to help me stay alive.
The poor fools who believe all that,
That love will conquer all,
I feel sorry for all those people,
‘Cause they are heading for a fall.
I would like to be proved wrong you know,
And be shown it can be done,
That by believing in love wholeheartedly,
My fears can be overcome.
by
Pauline McVicar
| Posted in Believe poems | No Comments
God gave me eyes so I could see,
God gave me legs so I could walk,
God gave me hands so I could feel,
God gave me ears so I could hear,
God gave me a nose so I could smell,
God gave me a heart so I could love,
God gave me a brain so I could think,
I’m still trying to figure out why God gave me you.
by
Rebecca Schroeder
| Posted in God poems | No Comments
I have become someone who worries about nothing
I try my damnedest to cover the overhead and bills
the daily annoyances that pelt me
like stones tossed by children from the streamside
my little compadre assures me I’ve tried
that my success or failure should not disturb my being
I just don’t get bothered anymore
I can’t pinpoint exactly when it was
that my compadre arrived
he most certainly wasn’t there
when my nightmares woke me frightened
and choking on air thinned by spirits
or when the funerals left me distraught
in complete shock over the loss
and fear of non-existence
my compadre has a knack for finding new direction
when the one I’ve chosen has failed
the future means nothing anymore
I simply deal with it when it becomes now
I am absorbed in today’s me
and the contentment transcends
everything I’ve ever known
everything I thought I had
I call him little because he feels little
not the dominating type, this compadre of mine
never really tried to get a good look at him
no need to
I know when he’s here more than I know anything else
I’ve been assaulted with accusations of lacking a sense for urgency
but my compadre and I step back
we observe, and then continue with our best
by
Lee Crowell
| Posted in celebrity poems | No Comments
I have become someone who worries about nothing
I try my damnedest to cover the overhead and bills
the daily annoyances that pelt me
like stones tossed by children from the streamside
my little compadre assures me I’ve tried
that my success or failure should not disturb my being
I just don’t get bothered anymore
I can’t pinpoint exactly when it was
that my compadre arrived
he most certainly wasn’t there
when my nightmares woke me frightened
and choking on air thinned by spirits
or when the funerals left me distraught
in complete shock over the loss
and fear of non-existence
my compadre has a knack for finding new direction
when the one I’ve chosen has failed
the future means nothing anymore
I simply deal with it when it becomes now
I am absorbed in today’s me
and the contentment transcends
everything I’ve ever known
everything I thought I had
I call him little because he feels little
not the dominating type, this compadre of mine
never really tried to get a good look at him
no need to
I know when he’s here more than I know anything else
I’ve been assaulted with accusations of lacking a sense for urgency
but my compadre and I step back
we observe, and then continue with our best
by
Lee Crowell
| Posted in celebrity poems | No Comments
Droning a drowsy syncopated tune,
Rocking back and forth to a mellow croon,
I heard a Negro play.
Down on Lenox Avenue the other night
By the pale dull pallor of an old gas light
He did a lazy sway . . .
He did a lazy sway . . .
To the tune o’ those Weary Blues.
With his ebony hands on each ivory key
He made that poor piano moan with melody.
O Blues!
Swaying to and fro on his rickety stool
He played that sad raggy tune like a musical fool.
Sweet Blues!
Coming from a black man’s soul.
O Blues!
In a deep song voice with a melancholy tone
I heard that Negro sing, that old piano moan–
"Ain’t got nobody in all this world,
Ain’t got nobody but ma self.
I’s gwine to quit ma frownin’
And put ma troubles on the shelf."
Thump, thump, thump, went his foot on the floor.
He played a few chords then he sang some more–
"I got the Weary Blues
And I can’t be satisfied.
Got the Weary Blues
And can’t be satisfied–
I ain’t happy no mo’
And I wish that I had died."
And far into the night he crooned that tune.
The stars went out and so did the moon.
The singer stopped playing and went to bed
While the Weary Blues echoed through his head.
He slept like a rock or a man that’s dead.
by
Langston Hughes
| Posted in Nature poems | No Comments
Democracy will not come
Today, this year
Nor ever
Through compromise and fear.
I have as much right
As the other fellow has
To stand
On my two feet
And own the land.
I tire so of hearing people say,
Let things take their course.
Tomorrow is another day.
I do not need my freedom when I’m dead.
I cannot live on tomorrow’s bread.
Freedom
Is a strong seed
Planted
In a great need.
I live here, too.
I want freedom
Just as you.
by
Langston Hughes
| Posted in Democracy poems | 1 Comment