These Powerful Poems Written by Maya Angelou Will Help You to Remember Her Life and Legacy.

Maya Angelou

1928-2014

 

 

It can be so hard to say good-bye to people that we have come to know and love. Although many of us have never met Maya Angelou, we have likely encountered her fine poetry and writing during our own lives. Maya claimed to be a follower of Christ, and if this is indeed true we are so happy that she is resting and rejoicing with her Savior, sweet and phenomenal Jesus.

 

 

 

Savior

 

Petulant priests, greedy

centurions, and one million

incensed gestures stand

between your love and me.

 

Your agape sacrifice

is reduced to colored glass,

vapid penance, and the

tedium of ritual.

 

Your footprints yet

mark the crest of

billowing seas but

your joy

fades upon the tablets

of ordained prophets.

 

Visit us again, Savior.

Your children, burdened with

disbelief, blinded by a patina

of wisdom,

carom down this vale of

fear. We cry for you

although we have lost

your name.

 

 

 

I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings

 

The free bird leaps

on the back of the wind

and floats downstream

till the current ends

and dips his wings

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 fearful trill

of the 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.

 

 


Preacher, Don't Send Me

 

Preacher, don't send me

when I die

to some big ghetto

in the sky

where rats eat cats

of the leopard type

and Sunday brunch

is grits and tripe.

 

I've known those rats

I've seen them kill

and grits I've had

would make a hill,

or maybe a mountain,

so what I need

from you on Sunday

is a different creed.

 

Preacher, please don't

promise me

streets of gold

and milk for free.

I stopped all milk

at four years old

and once I'm dead

I won't need gold.

 

I'd call a place

pure paradise

where families are loyal

and strangers are nice,

where the music is jazz

and the season is fall.

Promise me that

or nothing at all.

 


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Hebrews 9:27-28

 

Credit: All Poetry, Photo 1, Photo 2