A poem by Maya Angelou

(I love this poem 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. 

A winter poem by Robert Frost

I loved this poem immediately when we learned it as children in school. And my parents recited it to us when we were young. It's a beautiful poem with lovely images that captures a moment in the life of the observer, who knows he is too busy living his life to 'explore' the woods. He ends by saying he has 'miles to go before I sleep', which is a metaphor for his eventual death. So I interpret the poem to mean that he can stop and reflect on his life at different points in his life, and that perhaps nature serves as a means for him to do this, but that he wishes to keep going, to keep living, to honor his promises, before he rests forever.


Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening

Whose woods these are I think I know.   

His house is in the village though;   

He will not see me stopping here   

To watch his woods fill up with snow.   

My little horse must think it queer   

To stop without a farmhouse near   

Between the woods and frozen lake   

The darkest evening of the year.   

He gives his harness bells a shake   

To ask if there is some mistake.   

The only other sound’s the sweep   

Of easy wind and downy flake.   

The woods are lovely, dark and deep.   

But I have promises to keep,   

And miles to go before I sleep,   

And miles to go before I sleep.

A summer moment

From the future I remember

Days in my past, etched in memory

Close my eyes halfway, I can see the sunlight

Glittering through the tree’s green leaves

Magician’s haze

In the heat of summer, feeling the warm sun

On my bare arms, loving that feeling.

Wondering if heaven had descended

Sitting there next to you on the bench

You reading your magazine

T-shirt slung over your shoulder

Me watching you and the life around us

No particular cares

Us watching the new magpie parents strut about

Three little ones to care for, wondering if they could fly

In case a cat came slinking by.

I can see the future in the present moment

Remembering this day this exact moment in time

And the past from the present

When I remember back to what I thought life would be

When I was younger

It starts with happiness, that warm melting feeling

When boundaries dissolve

Feeling gratitude, because it could all die away or change

And I am grateful that it hasn’t.

Watching the new generation take the place of the old

Spectator in my life, watching others, watching myself

Everyone gets older

Wondering if you have the same thoughts

But I cannot articulate them to you

You would think that I was feeling melancholy

When the opposite was true. 

copyright Paula M. De Angelis

28 May 2012

A poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning for Valentine's Day

Sonnets from the Portuguese - 43

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.

I love thee to the depth and breadth and height

My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight

For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.

I love thee to the level of everyday's

Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight.

I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;

I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.

I love thee with the passion put to use

In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.

I love thee with a love I seemed to lose

With my lost saints I love thee with the breath,

Smiles, tears, of all my life! and, if God choose,

I shall but love thee better after death.