Homework For Mouthourie Bolton For May 9, 2008

**Maya Angelou

1.Alone

Lying, thinkingLast nightHow to find my soul a homeWhere water is not thirstyAnd bread loaf is not stoneI came up with one thingAnd I don't believe I'm wrongThat nobody,But nobodyCan make it out here alone.Alone, all aloneNobody, but nobodyCan make it out here alone.There are some millionairesWith money they can't useTheir wives run round like bansheesTheir children sing the bluesThey've got expensive doctorsTo cure their hearts of stone.But nobodyNo, nobodyCan make it out here alone.Alone, all aloneNobody, but nobodyCan make it out here alone.Now if you listen closelyI'll tell you what I knowStorm clouds are gatheringThe wind is gonna blowThe race of man is sufferingAnd I can hear the moan,'Cause nobody,But nobodyCan make it out here alone.Alone, all aloneNobody, but nobodyCan make it out here alone.

2.Phenomenal Woman

Pretty women wonder where my secret liesI'm not cute or built to suit a model's fashion sizeBut 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 steps 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 of 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 for my care. 'Cause I'm a woman Phenomenally Phenomenal woman That's me.

3.Still I Rise

You may write me down in historyWith your bitter, twisted lies,You may trod me in the very dirtBut 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 wellsPumping 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 minesDiggin' 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 surpriseThat I dance like I've got diamondsAt the meeting of my thighs?Out of the huts of history's shameI riseUp from a past that's rooted in painI riseI'm a black ocean, leaping and wide,Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.Leaving behind nights of terror and fearI riseInto a daybreak that's wondrously clearI riseBringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,I am the dream and the hope of the slave.I riseI riseI rise.

**Nikki Giovanni

1.Balances

in life one is alwaysbalancinglike we juggle our mothersagainst our fathersor one teacher against another(only to balance our grade average)3 grains of saltto one ounce truthour sweet black essenceor the funky honkies down the streetand lately I've begun wondering if you re trying to tell me somethingwe used to talk all nightand do things alone togetherand i've begun(as a reaction to a feeling)to balancethe pleasure of lonelinessagainst the pain of loving you

2.Mothers

the last time i was home to see my mother we kissed exchanged pleasantries and unpleasantries pulled a warm comforting silence around us and read separated books i remember the first time i consciously saw her we were living in a three room apartment on burns avenue mommy always sat in the dark i don't know how i knew that but she did that night i stumbled into the kitchen maybe because i've always been a night person or perhaps because i had wet the bedshe was sitting on a chair the room was bathed in moonlight diffused through tiny window panes she may have been smoking but maybe nother hair was three-quarters her height which made me a strong believer in the samson myth and very black i'm sure i just hung there by the door i remember thinking: what a beautiful lady she was very deliberately waiting perhaps for my father to come home from his night job or maybe for a dreamthat had promised to come bycome here! she said i'll teach you a poem: i see the moon the moon sees me god bless the moon and god bless me i taught that to my son who recited it for her just to say we must to bear the pleasures as we have borne the pains

3. A Greater Love Of God And Country

There is no reason to ask WHY? since to ask "WHY" is to enter some dark and crazy spot where one presumes there is REASON and A REASON that willmake sense which is not to say there is a craziness: I don't believethis is crazy but rather mean.... hateful.... ugly-though not ignorant because there is knowledge here and there is a purpose here but there is knowledge here and there is a purpose here but there is NO REASON People who will burn a cross will burn a churchThe building my be rebuilt but the creak of a stair... the smell of the polish in the pews the old kitchen where Sunday dinners were reheatedthe icebox where the iced tea was kept... the too narrow steps leading to the damp and dusky basement... the leaky window that could not always keep the cold at bay... the knowing that this building was built by these hands to worship this God who has Delivered us..................... No..... that cannot be rebuilt The people who have burned crosses will burn a church Something will be lost and the world just a bit sadder for the loss of the building.... But the people who sift through ashes know that fire is a friend and that fire can be a foe But the people who use fire are lowdown.....And the people who know that some people are lowdown will watchthe fires..... will forgive the trespasses..... and will go right on thanking their God for His powerful..... magnificent Deliverance

**Gwendolyn Brooks

1.The Bean Eaters

They eat beans mostly, this old yellow pair.Dinner is a casual affair.Plain chipware on a plain and creaking wood, Tin flatware.Two who are Mostly Good.Two who have lived their day,But keep on putting on their clothesAnd putting things away.And remembering . . .Remembering, with twinklings and twinges,As they lean over the beans in their rented back room thatis full of beads and receipts and dolls and cloths,tobacco crumbs, vases and fringes.

2.To Be In Love

To be in love Is to touch with a lighter hand. In yourself you stretch, you are well. You look at things Through his eyes. A cardinal is red. A sky is blue. Suddenly you know he knows too. He is not there but You know you are tasting together The winter, or a light spring weather. His hand to take your hand is overmuch. Too much to bear. You cannot look in his eyes Because your pulse must not say What must not be said. When he Shuts a door- Is not there_ Your arms are water. And you are free With a ghastly freedom. You are the beautiful half Of a golden hurt. You remember and covet his mouth To touch, to whisper on. Oh when to declare Is certain Death! Oh when to apprize Is to mesmerize, To see fall down, the Column of Gold, Into the commonest ash.

3.The Crazy Woman

I shall not sing a May song. A May song should be gay. I'll wait until November And sing a song of gray. I'll wait until November That is the time for me. I'll go out in the frosty dark And sing most terribly. And all the little people Will stare at me and say, "That is the Crazy Woman Who would not sing in May." Anonymous submission.

**Langston Hughes

1.I, Too

I, too, sing America.I am the darker brother.They send me to eat in the kitchenWhen company comes,But I laugh,And eat well,And grow strong.Tomorrow,I'll be at the tableWhen company comes.Nobody'll dareSay to me,"Eat in the kitchen,"Then.Besides,They'll see how beautiful I amAnd be ashamed--I, too, am America.

2.Dream Variations

To fling my arms wideIn some place of the sun,To whirl and to danceTill the white day is done.Then rest at cool eveningBeneath a tall treeWhile night comes on gently,Dark like me-That is my dream!To fling my arms wideIn the face of the sun,Dance! Whirl! Whirl!Till the quick day is done.Rest at pale evening...A tall, slim tree...Night coming tenderlyBlack like me.

3.Justice
That Justice is a blind goddessIs a thing to which we black are wise:Her bandage hides two festering soresThat once perhaps were eyes.

**Paul laurence Dunbar

1.A Choice

They please me not-- these solemn songs That hint of sermons covered up. 'T is true the world should heed its wrongs, But in a poem let me sup, Not simples brewed to cure or ease Humanity's confessed disease, But the spirit-wine of a singing line, Or a dew-drop in a honey cup!

2.Life's Tradgedy

It may be misery not to sing at all, And to go silent through the brimming day; It may be misery never to be loved, But deeper griefs than these beset the way.To sing the perfect song, And by a half-tone lost the key, There the potent sorrow, there the grief, The pale, sad staring of Life's Tragedy.To have come near to the perfect love, Not the hot passion of untempered youth, But that which lies aside its vanity, And gives, for thy trusting worship, truth.This, this indeed is to be accursed, For if we mortals love, or if we sing, We count our joys not by what we have, But by what kept us from that perfect thing.

3.Morning

The mist has left the greening plain, The dew-drops shine like fairy rain, The coquette rose awakes again Her lovely self adorning.The Wind is hiding in the trees, A sighing, soothing, laughing tease, Until the rose says "Kiss me, please," 'Tis morning, 'tis morning.With staff in hand and careless-free, The wanderer fares right jauntily, For towns and houses are, thinks he, For scorning, for scorning. My soul is swift upon the wing, And in its deeps a song I bring; Come, Love, and we together sing, "'Tis morning, 'tis morning."

**Rita Dove

1.Exit

Just when hope withers, the visa is granted. The door opens to a street like in the movies, clean of people, of cats; except it is your street you are leaving. A visa has been granted, "provisionally"-a fretful word. The windows you have closed behind you are turning pink, doing what they do every dawn. Here it's gray. The door to the taxicab waits. This suitcase, the saddest object in the world. Well, the world's open. And now through the windshield the sky begins to blush as you did when your mother told you what it took to be a woman in this life.

2.Golden Oldie

I made it home early, only to get stalled in the driveway-swaying at the wheel like a blind pianist caught in a tune meant for more than two hands playing. The words were easy, crooned by a young girl dying to feel alive, to discover a pain majestic enough to live by. I turned the air conditioning off, leaned back to float on a film of sweat, and listened to her sentiment: Baby, where did our love go?-a lament I greedily took in without a clue who my lover might be, or where to start looking.

3.Wiring Home

Lest the wolves loose their whistles and shopkeepers inquire, keep moving, though your knees flush red as two chapped apples, keep moving, head up, past the beggar's cold cup, past the kiosk's trumpet tales of odyssey and heartbreak- until, turning a corner, you stand, staring: ambushed by a window of canaries bright as a thousand golden narcissi.

**Sterling Brown

1.Old Lem

I talked to old Lemand old Lem said:"They weigh the cottonThey store the cornWe only good enoughTo work the rows;They run the commissaryThey keep the booksWe gotta be gratefulFor being cheated;Whippersnapper clerksCall us out of our nameWe got to say misterTo spindling boysThey make our figgersTurn somersetsWe buck in the middleSay, "Thankyuh, sah."They don't come by onesThey don't come by twosBut they come by tens."They got the judgesThey go the lawyers They got the jury-rollsThey got the lawThey don't come by onesThey got the sheriffsThey got the deputiesThey don't come by twosThey got the shotgunsThey got the ropeWe git the justiceIn the endAnd they come by tens."Their fists stay closedTheir eyes look straightOur hands stay openOur eyes must fallThey don't come by onesThey got the manhood They got the courageThey don't come by twosWe got to slink aroundHangtailed hounds.They burn us when we dogsThey burn us when we menThey come by tens . . ."I had a buddySix foot of manMuscled up perfectGame to the heartThey don't come by onesOutworked and outfoughtAny man or two menThey don't come by twosHe spoke out of turnAt the commissaryThey gave him a dayTo git out the countyHe didn't take it.He said 'Come and get me.'They came and got himAnd they came by tens.He stayed in the county--He lays there dead.They don't come by onesThey don't come by twosBut they come by tens."

2.Riverbank Blues


A man git his feet set in a sticky mudbank,A man git dis yellow water in his blood,No need for hopin', no need for doin',Muddy streams keep him fixed for good.Little Muddy, Big Muddy, Moreau and Osage,Little Mary's, Big Mary's, Cedar Creek,Flood deir muddy water roundabout a man's roots,Keep him soaked and stranded and git him weak.Lazy sun shinin' on a little cabin,Lazy moon glistenin' over river trees;Ole river whisperin', lappin' 'gainst de long roots:"Plenty of rest and peace in these . . ."Big mules, black loam, apple and peach trees,But seems lak de river washes us downPast de rich farms, away from de fat lands,Dumps us in some ornery riverbank town.Went down to the river, sot me down an' listened,Heard de water talkin' quiet, quiet lak an' slow:"Ain' no need fo' hurry, take yo' time, take yo'time . . ." Heard it sayin'--"Baby, hyeahs de way life go . . ."Dat is what it tole me as I watched it slowly rollin',But somp'n way inside me rared up an' say,"Better be movin' . . . better be travelin' . . . Riverbank'llgit you ef you stay . . ."Towns are sinkin' deeper, deeper in de riverbank,Takin' on de ways of deir sulky Ole Man--Takin' on his creepy ways, takin' on his evil ways,"Bes' git way, a long way . . . whiles you can."Man got hissea too lak de Mississippi Ain't got so long for a whole lot longer way,Man better move some, better not git rooted Muddy water fool you, ef you stay .. ."

3.Southern Road


Swing dat hammer--hunh--Steady, bo';Swing dat hammer--hunh--Steady, bo';Ain't no rush, bebby,Long ways to go.Burner tore his--hunh--Black heart away;Burner tore his--hunh--Black heart away;Got me life, bebby,An' a day.Gal's on Fifth Street--hunh--Son done gone;Gal's on Fifth Street--hunh--Son done gone;Wife's in de ward, bebby,Babe's not bo'n.My ole man died--hunh--Cussin' me;My ole man died--hunh--Cussin' me;Ole lady rocks, bebby,Huh misery.Doubleshackled--hunh--Guard behin';Doubleshackled--hunh--Guard behin';Ball an' chain, bebby,On my min'.White man tells me--hunh--Damn yo' soul;White man tells me--hunh--Damn yo' soul;Got no need, bebby,To be tole.Chain gang nevah--hunh--Let me go;Chain gang nevah--hunh--Let me go;Po' los' boy, bebby,Evahmo' . . .

**Lucille Clifton

1.Good Times

my daddy has paid the rentand the insurance man is goneand the lights is back onand my uncle brud has hitfor one dollar straightand they is good timesgood timesgood timesmy mama has made breadand grampaw has comeand everybody is drunkand dancing in the kitchenand singing in the kitchenof these is good timesgood timesgood timesoh children think about thegood times

2.Listen Children

listen children keep this in the place you have for keeping always keep it all ways we have never hated black listen we have been ashamed hopeless tired mad but always all ways we loved us we have always loved each other children all ways pass it on

3.Memory

ask me to tell how it feelsremembering your mother's faceturned to water under the white wordsof the man at the shoe store. ask me,though she tells it better than i do,not because of her charmbut because it never happenedshe says,no bully salesman swaggering,no rage, no shame, none of itever happened.i only remember buying youyour first grown up shoesshe smiles. ask mehow it feels.

**Sonia Sanchez

1. Personal Letter

nothing will keep us young you know not young men or women who spin their youth on cool playing sounds.we are what we are what we never think we are.no more wild geographies of the flesh. echoes. that we move in tune to slower smells.it is a hard thingto admit that sometimes after midnight i am tiredof it all.

2.Poem # 3

I gather upeach soundyou left behind and stretch them on our bed. each niteI breathe youand become high.

**Phillis Wheatley

1.A Rebus

I.A bird delicious to the taste,On which an army once did feast,Sent by an hand unseen;A creature of the horned race,Which Britain's royal standards grace;A gem of vivid green;II.A town of gaiety and sport,Where beaux and beauteous nymphs resort,And gallantry doth reign;A Dardan hero fam'd of oldFor youth and beauty, as we're told,And by a monarch slain;III.A peer of popular applause,Who doth our violated laws,And grievances proclaim.Th' initials show a vanquish'd town,That adds fresh glory and renownTo old Britannia's fame.

2.On Imagination

THY various works, imperial queen, we see,How bright their forms! how deck'd with pompby thee!Thy wond'rous acts in beauteous order stand,And all attest how potent is thine hand.From Helicon's refulgent heights attend,Ye sacred choir, and my attempts befriend:To tell her glories with a faithful tongue,Ye blooming graces, triumph in my song.Now here, now there, the roving Fancy flies,Till some lov'd object strikes her wand'ring eyes,Whose silken fetters all the senses bind,And soft captivity involves the mind.Imagination! who can sing thy force?Or who describe the swiftness of thy course?Soaring through air to find the bright abode,Th' empyreal palace of the thund'ring God,We on thy pinions can surpass the wind,And leave the rolling universe behind:From star to star the mental optics rove,Measure the skies, and range the realms above.There in one view we grasp the mighty whole,Or with new worlds amaze th' unbounded soul.Though Winter frowns to Fancy's raptur'd eyesThe fields may flourish, and gay scenes arise;The frozen deeps may break their iron bands,And bid their waters murmur o'er the sands.Fair Flora may resume her fragrant reign,And with her flow'ry riches deck the plain;Sylvanus may diffuse his honours round,And all the forest may with leaves be crown'd:Show'rs may descend, and dews their gems disclose,And nectar sparkle on the blooming rose.Such is thy pow'r, nor are thine orders vain,O thou the leader of the mental train:In full perfection all thy works are wrought,And thine the sceptre o'er the realms of thought.Before thy throne the subject-passions bow,Of subject-passions sov'reign ruler thou;At thy command joy rushes on the heart,And through the glowing veins the spirits dart.Fancy might now her silken pinions tryTo rise from earth, and sweep th' expanse on high:From Tithon's bed now might Aurora rise,Her cheeks all glowing with celestial dies,While a pure stream of light o'erflows the skies.The monarch of the day I might behold,And all the mountains tipt with radiant gold,But I reluctant leave the pleasing views,Which Fancy dresses to delight the Muse;Winter austere forbids me to aspire,And northern tempests damp the rising fire;They chill the tides of Fancy's flowing sea,Cease then, my song, cease the unequal lay.

3.On Virtue

O Thou bright jewel in my aim I striveTo comprehend thee. Thine own words declareWisdom is higher than a fool can reach.I cease to wonder, and no more attemptThine height t' explore, or fathom thy profound.But, O my soul, sink not into despair,Virtue is near thee, and with gentle handWould now embrace thee, hovers o'er thine head.Fain would the heav'n-born soul with her converse,Then seek, then court her for her promis'd bliss.Auspicious queen, thine heav'nly pinions spread,And lead celestial Chastity along;Lo! now her sacred retinue descends,Array'd in glory from the orbs above.Attend me, Virtue, thro' my youthful years!O leave me not to the false joys of time!But guide my steps to endless life and bliss.Greatness, or Goodness, say what I shall call thee,To give me an higher appellation still,Teach me a better strain, a nobler lay,O thou, enthron'd with Cherubs in the realms of day.