Just about everyone should know who Maya Angelou is. And if you don’t you’re about to find out because she is my famous black female poet for today. Even if you haven’t heard of Mrs. Angelou surely you have at least heard or heard of this poem she wrote about being a beautiful woman but not necessarily the fashion-crazed model type. No, Mrs. Angelou’s poetic definition of being a beautiful woman, or better yet, a highly extraordinary woman, focuses on her confidence and courage to be herself. In the second line she even says, “I’m not cute,” but throughout the poem we see that others are still amazed by her. Although she does talk about her physical appearance it is really all in how she carries herself and her personality filled with confidence along with humbleness that makes her so phenomenal. This is Phenomenal Woman by Maya Angelou.

Phenomenal Woman

Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.
I’m not cute or built to suit a fashion model’s size
But when I start to tell them,
They think I’m telling lies.
I say,
It’s in the reach of my arms
The span of my hips,
The stride of my step,
The curl of my lips.
I’m a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That’s me.

I walk into a room
Just as cool as you please,
And to a man,
The fellows stand or
Fall down on their knees.
Then they swarm around me,
A hive of honey bees.
I say,
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,
The sun of my smile,
The ride of my breasts,
The grace of my style.
I’m a woman

Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That’s me.

Now you understand
Just why my head’s not bowed.
I don’t shout or jump about
Or have to talk real loud.
When you see me passing
It ought to make you proud.
I say,
It’s in the click of my heels,
The bend of my hair,
the palm of my hand,
The need of my care,
‘Cause I’m a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That’s me.

Written by Maya Angelou

My black poet for today is more known than the others I have used for Black History Month. Today’s poet is Langston Hughes and his poem is titled Life is Fine. I really like this poem because I think it’s fun. One may read it and think it is sad, until they reach the end, because it’s like Langston is saying he wants to kill himself or that when he gets in dangerous situaitons its like no one is there to save him or hear his cry. He’s actually saying the opposite. What I get out of the poem is that he feels that life is so good that sometimes is makes us want to do crazy things that could result in our death, but then we stop and realize how great life really is. Yes sometimes we holler and cry but doesn’t the good outweigh the bad? I know it does in my life and no matter how bad life appears to be at times, life is still just fine!

Life Is Fine

I went down to the river,
I set down on the bank.
I tried to think but couldn’t,
So I jumped in and sank.

I came up once and hollered!
I came up twice and cried!
If that water hadn’t a-been so cold
I might’ve sunk and died.

But it was Cold in that water! It was cold!

I took the elevator
Sixteen floors above the ground.
I thought about my baby
And thought I would jump down.

I stood there and I hollered!
I stood there and I cried!
If it hadn’t a-been so high
I might’ve jumped and died.

But it was High up there! It was high!

So since I’m still here livin’,
I guess I will live on.
I could’ve died for love–
But for livin’ I was born

Though you may hear me holler,
And you may see me cry–
I’ll be dogged, sweet baby,
If you gonna see me die.

Life is fine! Fine as wine! Life is fine!

Written by Langston Hughes

Have you ever confused fact with fiction or the dream world with reality? I know that happens a lot with me. The poem today is an original, one written by me and it is based off surrealism, a type of art and/or literature that stresses the subconscious or non-rational significance of imagery. It’s quite interesting actually. I wrote this poem in art class in 11th grade. I got an “A” on it so of course I decided to keep it and actually right now it might be put in a poetry book. What I am portraying in this poem is a dream where people believe that the “end” is near and ultimately will be better but at the same time people cannot be trusted. So how does the world turn when no one can be trusted and those who decide to put their trust in man face consequences? Eventually in this dream I realize that the real and only truth lies inside me. I just have to escape from the drama of life to find it. This is Surreal, by me

Surreal

I’m supposed to be dead.
This is only the bigger mistake.
The only bloodstained love burned off.
Another club, the pool of drama is laid out.
I figure we’re sailing toward real life.
But this is some big disaster stuffed with chaos.
Our real world edging up to mistakes close.
It’s not anybody but Nobody is a real person.
I don’t know the better setting yet, who’s alive, who’s Not.
Because life trained the right way
gets shot-gunned way dead
Me, naked inside, look back to ignore violence, look up.
I have to break out and live.

Written by Yvonna Walton

The Struggle

What this poet writes about seems to be common among many people regardless of age, gender, or color. This poem is titled The Struggle and that is exactly what it is about, the struggle of life. Torrian, the poet, writes about dealing with sadness and wanting to find happiness. Overall he deals with confusion and being lonely, believing that there is no one who understands or feels his pain. But in the end he remembers who is really in control and when this thought comes to mind, suddenly everything is alright. Many times I too have had this experience, life may seem overbearing but I remember God won’t put any more in my life than I can handle, and all my faith is in that. This is The Struggle by Torrian Tucker.

  

Life is a struggle with pain
I can’t see the sunny days for the rain
I feel like losing control and going insane
But through this poetry I release my pain
This journey is a weary path
Sometimes you are happy and sometimes you’re sad
You will cry more than you will laugh
It seems like the struggle will never end
In a world that is troubled and filled with sin
But through this poetry I can pretend
That all my troubles will surely end
Sometimes I just want to scream
Because my burdens are so overwhelming
I have eyes but I cannot see
Why all of this is happening
I wonder what peace is… something I never known
I wonder what love is… something I’m never shown
I wonder what friends are and why I’m all alone
I wonder what Heaven is and a voice says “my home”
I then remember that God does care
And he’ll never put more on than I can bear

Written by Torrian Tucker

How many times have you heard the question “Why” proposed? This question is asked constantly about so many different aspects of life, I can’t even begin to name them all. But the biggest and most obvious is “Why are we here?” This poem in its entirety may not answer the question, why are we as humans here on Earth, but it does get the blood flowing and the mind wondering as it specifically targets the black community. Today’s black poet is a man named David Farrar and his poem is titled Why.

Why

Why are we ignorant
To the things that we do
Like Black on Black crime
From the violence we brew
Why do we wear
Our pants hanging low
Like ghetto-ish bums
In a circus freak show
Why do we curse
And cuss like we do
And talk in Ebonics
Like the slaves use to do
Over four hundred years
Of shame and disgrace
We use the “N” word
Like no other race
Why do we leave
Our young ones alone
No family like structure
No house to call home
Why can’t we prosper
Like Immigrants do
Who came here with nothing
And pave their way through
Why do we live
Such drug hungry lives
With gangsters and thugs
Packing guns and sharp knives
We seem to enjoy
Life on the streets
We work those slave jobs
Where pay is dirt-cheap
We live a life style
Of roach broken homes
Where trash and graffiti
And rats seem to roam
We don’t get involve
In political laws
Nor do we vote out
Laws that have flaws
We’re exploiting our music
With our sexual drive
Degrading our women
And destroying their lives
Our schools become jails
That we seem to fill
Like thieves in the night
We learn how to steal
So why can’t we learn
Constructible skills
And walk the right path
To conquer all hills
Why can’t we start
A new kind of trend
As Doctors and Scholars
And Builders of men
Why can’t we sharpen
Our minds and technique
And show the whole world
That we are unique
Why can’t we come
Together as one
So No one can say
That we were born dumb
Why can’t we break
This bondage we keep
This hole that’s been dug
So low and so deep
Why must we feel
It’s been too many years
Wearing these chains
Of blood sweat and tears
And why can’t we send
Our kids off to college
Its always been known
That strength comes from knowledge
We are destine to lose
This destruction of doom
The road of dead ends
These shadows of gloom
I prayer we could change
These things we do wrong
For it’s tough being Black
And hard to stay strong

Written by David Farrar

Although this is one of the longer poems I have chosen I believe there is still so much that wasn’t said. Of course this poem is not true for all black people but it does speak to us in general because we’re all here to help each other. At least that’s my belief. Its seen everyday on TV, people debating Rap music and questioning its influence on the outlook on women as well as what message is it portraying on getting sex, money, and drugs. These days the message that comes across to young people is how to get things quick. People learn how to take but not how to gain and how to earn. Instead of working hard and receiving what is deserved, people want to take the easy rout and take what they want.

Some of this poem is even personal in my life. Nothing that I do but I have many friends who just curse for no apparent reason and I can‘t stand it. Sadly these are many of my male friends and they are the ones this poem is mainly targeting. Men are thought to be the ones who take control but if the majority of the black males are so concerned about their “most popular” appearance, getting things quick, talking like they are uneducated and being lazy; then where are all the strong black men? Not saying that the black women are any better. Yes there are many “Rap videos” that talk trash about and degrade women but there are usually women on those same videos half naked dancing  to the music. So who looks stupid; the black rapper degrading the queens of his own race or the black queens enjoying the music? And things only continue to worsen. So I guess the question isn’t only why, but when does it all end?

Speak

Since I’ve decided post poems by black people I’ve seen plenty of poets that I have never heard of. Even more interesting to me, all of the poems I’ve seen all have black female writers. I haven’t even come across the black males yet. This second poem is called Speak by Schenita White and it is a love poem.

Speak
words that you say
words that can be heard a mile away
Speak
not empty
not full
but sincere
speak to all of me
Speak the vernacular of the heart and mind
my love speaks a dead language
Dead to all things sane
I am asking you to let go of your sanity
speak to my heart
speak to my mind
and let our love converse

Written by Schenita White

I think in this poem that Schenita is saying that love is it’s own language. It isn’t sane but insane and only those brave enough to step our of the box of “normality” are those who have the ability to speak the language. She is also saying that the one who loves her doesn’t have to say too much or too little but just enough in sincerity in order to get the point across. What I’ve got out of this poem is when people are in love and are honest with each then they fully understand each other.

It sucks to go through an entire school week working hard, and then the weekend comes and ya get sick. I feel horrible. Really I can’t complain too much because I actually feel much better than I did this morning. This morning I was crampy, coughing, I had a soar throat and my head was spinning. Now I’m still coughing but I don’t feel like an icicle either. My boyfriend’s roommate is sick too, so Eric has pretty much been taking care of both of us. Hopefully Sunday will be better.

Wow, it seems like we just returned from a long winter break, it is already February and the first day of Black History Month. This month has given me an opportunity to expand my weblog because I’ve definitely run out of things to write . So I have decided, and with a little inspiration from my good friend Tamika Jarvis, to write what I feel everyday about what different black writers (specifically poets and and sometimes myself included) have written. This poem is real short and sweet and is partially why I like it, it is straight to the point.

Still

Everything is still,
not a voice, whisper, or a breath
is heard,
nor a presence, or a knock,
just still.

Written by Tomora Michelle Pace

  

Another reason I like this poem is because it’s so simple. It shows that not all poetry has to be long and complex. I am sure that many people could understand what this poem is saying because I know that so many times I too feel stillness around me and everything is just at peace. Someone else would probably read this short piece and feel alone and maybe even afraid. But that’s just the beauty of poetry, the meaning is always your own interpretation.