Why the Caged Bird Sings

Fox News turns
clock irrelevant  
as night and day  
meld into fear.  
If no surprises from the  
current King’s reign  
nor no left-leaning bastion unseated,  
certainly then we should expect  
to see more poor immigrants,  
to read faces of rapists  
in those of the desperate.  
Why must they be so  
Brown?  
What could they be after?  
My comfortable home  
shutters in around me.  
The land upon which it sits  
moans in ancient tongues  
of those long before.  
Why do Brown people still  
come? Who will  
surrender their shutters    
and cede them  
one more morning?


#MayaAngelou

I was conceived by a bloodline  
  of warriors:  Jew and Cherokee;    
I'm certain if we draw deep      
  there is also African American      
     
Thus, "abandon" is not a word      
existing in my ancestry—    
  neither does "quit"    
    though definition appears equal    
     
Maybe they are, technically      
  according to the dictionary—    
but, one slices more personally    
  as part of our humanity    
     
I am no quitter despite suffering    
  having swallowed the streets;      
I never stopped believing      
   'One day' I would have it:    
     
'One day' it would arrive—      
  a flagship bearing proof    
the treasure in its cargo hold    
  for those who refused to let go:    
     
the abandoned, hurt, destitute      
faithfully waiting upon the dock    
   with not one guarantee      
   anything would ever make port    
     
But, there you have it . . .    
  laden with truth, relief, and reward    
for those who didn't desert hope;    
  who refused to walk—  to quit    
     
  not on some lost dream, or lover      
  they could no longer stomach—      
nor a cruel plantation owner    
beating bloody the helpless . . .      
     
those who walked not by sight    
  entrenched knee-deep in mud    
toward a lost covenant of Love    
  finally having learnt      
     
the only thing needed to survive    
circumstance is belief—      
   whether in this world or the next    
   despite how hard it's kicked;      
   
Because freedom is never in vain;    
   it will rise up, and up again      
~      
     
#Maya Angelou

 
You needn’t care of what I seek,  
My father taught me, he was wise:  
“No matter how you look and speak,  
Become the sun each day you rise.”  
 
Do I annoy you by my spunk,
The way I handle every slight?  
Why do you fill your head with junk?  
As President? Well I just might.
 
My faith is day, my passion night,
But you don’t know me, you despise  
How much I love, with whom I cite,  
And wonder next time when I’ll rise.  
 
You hate me for my looks & strength,  
Of different hair & skin & nose.  
You think about my life, it’s length.
All the above, our Maker chose.  
 
Don’t think about my happiness,  
I feel I’ve won the lottery.  
Without a dime, in God I’m blessed,  
My plate is full, His gifts to me.  
 
I am a Mardi Gras delight,  
Confetti floating from the skies.  
The crowd will dance with me all night,  
And like balloons in air, I’ll rise.  
 
Do I hear gunshots, go to jail,  
Is that the life you think I lead?  
With all the wisdom as my bail,  
I will remind that slaves were freed.
 
The ghettos and the jungles show  
It’s of diversity we’ve come.  
You plant us anywhere, we’ll grow,  
We won’t go back where we came from.  
 
You lie awake, of me you shake,  
I’ve got the gist of your surmise.  
What do I cook as biscuits bake?  
It won’t be long now ‘till I rise.
 

When I wake in the morning,
ain’t never surprised,  
I got no time for cryin’  
so still the pen glides.  
  
How, they would wonder  
could I ever have arrived  
when grief falls around me  
as dust on their winds of doubt rise?  
   
That I could have much of anything to say  
in wake of all I’ve survived,  
that I would have not become a slave    
to all my years for which dashed hopes  
I only strived?  
   
I lift a pen, I lift my voice    
and so amplify words,   
into a megaphone did I shout until
I was, by so many, heard.  
   
The lofty dream was always there,  
a little diamond in my heart,  
that I would rise from all despair-  
Riches from tattered rags of a journey  
I could share  
in words that still rise,  
and still the pen glides.  
   
           .....  
   
#Maya Angelou

Can we guess how hard that road to tread
to where the seeds of inspiration lead
the cramp before you spread your wings
the stones they threw of words that sting
 
The civil rights of Black and White
Wikipedia  I read between the lines
a resume that few can match
of sparks that flew to ring the change in time
 
From modesty the caged bird fledge  
but not to fly but to sing instead
challenge them and shake the world
born again not once but three or four
 
Cap and gown tread the halls renowned  
the doctorates that Universities provide
the investment that a small town girl made
paid dividends for all of us to share