When we left America and came to England in the 80s, the racism was horrifying. I had no idea that I was allegedly a wog /a nigger / a packie / a black shit until I met English kids in the playground of an awful state school. Similarly, I had no idea that it was acceptable for English kids to steal my packed lunch; to literally spit on me, to spit on my coat that I went to collect from the school cloakroom, until the teacher confirmed their behaviour was acceptable, simply by virtue of the fact that she did nothing about it. It was around that time that I was introduced to Maya’s poem, “Still I rise” at home. Fortunately, I was swiftly removed from that zoo and sent to a peaceful private school where parents pay for their children to actually be free of abuse.
You have to be stupid as F*ck to wanting to beat Serena or Vanessa Williams. It's like saying I want to one day be God of tennis. You don't say this. Tennis is a game of wellness and mentality. Who ever does not understand why and itself Must Not play it.
Poetry; Introducing: WHY GOD? Why do God love heathens so I can not say, I do not know! I will say this he has his own So tell the truth in a humble tone We are heathens full of doubt! We are not puzzles to figure out! Why do God love heathens so I do not think we want to know! Heathens do not care to see They want that God will set them free Spoil to mix and a mixtures blend! I can’t say why he loves heathens! The church door opens as we pour in We fill the seats and isles with sin We hate everyone and everything We join the choir, but cannot sing We see the glass half full with lies We sit in unity just to compromise I can not say from deep within I only know God loves heathens Copyrights by TELawrence (all rights reserved)$10
Me: Intro: The Crew Cut (Dedicated in memory of my nephew “the barber shop man” may he forever RIP)! As a barber men tend to know how to talk to other men, they care! They seem to get it when it comes to a shave and grooming men’s hair! The barber shop! A place where men gossip and make bad jokes! The barber is a community guy who love helping hardworking folks! It hurts when the community lose a good barber and a close friend! More than the crew cut is lost, it’s him being there just to comfort them! You know how it is when a man’s heart is overburdened and sad! He turns away from the bar to the barber cause he has no dad! Black men don’t know they’re real pops in ways other cultures do! The barber to the black man is like being a part of a barracks too! Black men become barbers because it’s where they know how to bond! That’s the one place a brother can go, and get his feelings on! He is endorsed by the brothers who help run his hood from within! The crew cut, the high top, the shape up, the low cut, or just a trim! All says to a brother this is your home away from home in here you’re free! The barber gets more confession in confidence than that of a priest! Well that’s what we know as angry black women about a brother! We know a barber is often told things they don’t even tell a wife or mother! That’s true of all heathen men, and barbers do not discriminate! When it comes to a man’s secret it’s with his barber he relates! Copyrights by TELawrence (all rights reserved)!$10 please
One of my main regrets is that while I was a student at Wake Forest University School of Law, I never tried to take a class from Maya Angelou while she taught at the school to glean from the knowledge and wisdom God gave her.
I believe it is a delayed continuation of the previously mentioned dichotomies. she is saying Vowed or Celibate or in other words married to another or single and chaste.
Overrated There is literally nothing blacks aren't allowed to do. The only "struggle" is with your own character. No one reading this was ever a slave. No one reading this ever owned a slave. Stop whining This is the best place to live in the history of Earth. Period
Seek help… and information pls. She published this in 1978 & you’re commenting in 2023 trying to convince us that her experience and life was not a struggle. You don’t know a single thing about Maya. Your only point was to tell “ blacks” something even tho she spoke to humans (and even made that clear in this video) You’re deranged and sad. Find light
I am not your robot! I am: The power of a knee Hello everyone the poets are here and liberated as black! Maya Angelou is not the only powerful female poet, fact! Solomon is a tribe of Kings, virtuous and considered poetically wise! If he was some arrogant prick that did not pray, he would have died! He was a virtuous spirit of a man that took a knee, and loved his dad! That is the power of the knee and the true story of a black man! On a wounded knee he found his actual valuable worth! On running feet he could provide for his family and prosper at work! The power of the King is not based on the thrown or his wife or crown! The power of a King ignited the day he learned to kneel down! It gave him compassion and peace enough to trust his brother! It taught him to grow independent of his clinging mother! When a black man kneels, and looks up to the heavens above! He, on bended knees, for the first time in his life, finds true love! Ahh yeah, a mother’s desire for her virtuous, but purposeful happy son! Is to live to enjoy seeing him prosper at what his own prays has done! On a wounded selfless knew he protects his wife and child! On his busy feet he forgives his past, and goes to work, meanwhile! On his way before he becomes that great black king of pride! He takes a knee, thanks God, and wipe the grateful tears aside! Copyrights by TELawrence (all rights reserved!#JOBS REPORT
Maya You knocked me over when I saw you When you spoke you reeled me in Your words tasted like velvet chocolate I swallowed your hook completely smitten Your smile worn like lace stockings Eyes dazzled like two sunbeams Your dulcet tones hit me like a high speed train As I watched you do your thing Everything done on purpose Not one thing left to chance I thought about your diamond thighs And how you’d move if I watched you danced The power of your poem hit me, like an atom bomb Destroying me as it starched my soul Every memory before this moment gone Your sassiness and sexiness oozed From your every pour I heard and felt every word you said And still I wanted more As I watched you up there on stage My heart began to pound You showed in a performance with such elegance My calling, I had found I Rise is just like oxygen That everyone should breath The whole world should see what I have seen Then we’d all believe Your etched forever in my memory My words they do not lie Maya Angelou my Queen of poetry It was my pleasure to watch you Rise Simon Drake
Been a junkie off opiates 5 years. Lost everything. Everyone looks at me like a bum. I got sober 2 weeks ago, still don’t got a dime in my pocket. Just paying past bills. This poem helps me through my rough nights where I feel helpless…
