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"Beautiful Shades Of Ebony"






 





On this page you will see Poetry By Famous African American Women Writers
One of my favorite writers is Maya Angelou
Her words touch my Heart & Soul.
Peace ~ Love ~ Light
Karen ~aka~ Neah
© 2001-2002
Modified: April 14, 2002





"Four Generations Of Love, Hope and Strength"








The Beauty Of A Woman

The beauty of a woman, isn't in the clothes she wears, The figure that she carries, or the way she combs her hair.

The beauty of a woman, must be seen from in her eyes Because that's the doorway to her heart, the place where love resides.

The beauty of a woman, isn't in a facial mole, but true beauty in a woman, is reflected by her soul. It's the caring that she cares to give, the passion that she shows, And the beauty of a woman, with passing years, only grows.

~Author Unknown~


Wishing

I wish you bright mornings and warm, sunny days, Soft shade to cool you from sweltering rays, Raindrops, a few, from some cloud floating by, Rainbows thereafter to color your sky.

Rambling rivers and great shining seas, Mountains and forests with towering trees, Hillsides and valleys, all flower-festooned, Nature that nurtures whomever's attuned.

A faithful companion who'll stay by your side, Children to care for, to love and to guide, Enough work to do with enough time for play Then restful sleep at the close of the day.

Friends when you need them and when they need you, Something to spend, just as much as will do A heart full of laughter; perhaps a few tears, A faith you can follow through all of your years.

Then, fearlessly facing your last setting sun, As you contemplate all the deeds you have done, Recalling a life that's been more than worthwhile, Perhaps you will pause and give thanks with a smile.

~Author Unknown~





Eloise Bibb

1878~1927


AN OFFERING.

Lord, all I am and hope to be, I humbly offer, King, to thee! When clouds arise, thy guidance send, Accept my life, and bless it, Friend.

O Father! let me rest in thee, Resigned to what thou will'st for me; Content, though all my fond hopes fade, And visions bright in gloom are laid.

When I was but a tiny child, Thou shielded me from tempests wild; And gave me strength to do the right Within temptation's treacherous sight.

And now in girlhood's solemn time, Oh, make my life one perfect rhyme, Sung to the air of sweet content, With blended sounds of a life well spent.




On being brought from
AFRICA to AMERICA.

"TWAS mercy brought me from my Pagan land, Taught my benighted soul to understand That there's a God, that there's a Saviour too:

Once I redemption neither sought nor knew. Some view our fable race with scornful eye, "Their color is a diabolic die."

Remember, Christians, Negros, black as Cain, May be refin'd, and join th' angelic train.





Maya, wrote this poem and read it at
President Clinton's Inauguration.

~**~ Inaugural Poem ~**~

Maya Angelou
20 January 1993

A Rock, A River, A Tree Hosts to species long since departed, Marked the mastodon. The dinosaur, who left dry tokens Of their sojourn here On our planet floor, Any broad alarm of their hastening doom Is lost in the gloom of dust and ages.

But today, the Rock cries out to us, clearly, forcefully, Come, you may stand upon my Back and face your distant destiny, But seek no haven in my shadow. I will give you no more hiding place down here.

You, created only a little lower than The angels, have crouched too long in The bruising darkness, Have lain too long Face down in ignorance. Your mouths spilling words Armed for slaughter.

The Rock cries out today, you may stand on me, But do not hide your face. Across the wall of the world, A River sings a beautiful song, Come rest here by my side. Each of you a bordered country, Delicate and strangely made proud, Yet thrusting perpetually under siege.

Your armed struggles for profit Have left collars of waste upon My shore, currents of debris upon my breast. Yet, today I call you to my riverside, If you will study war no more. Come, Clad in peace and I will sing the songs The Creator gave to me when I and the Tree and the stone were one. Before cynicism was a bloody sear across your Brow and when you yet knew you still Knew nothing.

The River sings and sings on. There is a true yearning to respond to The singing River and the wise Rock. So say the Asian, the Hispanic, the Jew The African and Native American, the Sioux, The Catholic, the Muslim, the French, the Greek The Irish, the Rabbi, the Priest, the Sheikh, The Gay, the Straight, the Preacher, The privileged, the homeless, the Teacher. They hear. They all hear The speaking of the Tree.

Today, the first and last of every Tree Speaks to humankind. Come to me, here beside the River. Plant yourself beside me, here beside the River. Each of you, descendant of some passed On traveller, has been paid for.

You, who gave me my first name, you Pawnee, Apache and Seneca, you Cherokee Nation, who rested with me, then Forced on bloody feet, left me to the employment of Other seekers--desperate for gain, Starving for gold.

You, the Turk, the Swede, the German, the Scot ... You the Ashanti, the Yoruba, the Kru, bought Sold, stolen, arriving on a nightmare Praying for a dream.

Here, root yourselves beside me. I am the Tree planted by the River, Which will not be moved. I, the Rock, I the River, I the Tree I am yours--your Passages have been paid.

Lift up your faces, you have a piercing need For this bright morning dawning for you. History, despite its wrenching pain, Cannot be unlived, and if faced With courage, need not be lived again. Lift up your eyes upon The day breaking for you. Give birth again To the dream.

Women, children, men, Take it into the palms of your hands. Mold it into the shape of your most Private need. Sculpt it into The image of your most public self.

Lift up your hearts Each new hour holds new chances For new beginnings. Do not be wedded forever To fear, yoked eternally To brutishness.

The horizon leans forward, Offering you space to place new steps of change. Here, on the pulse of this fine day You may have the courage To look up and out upon me, the Rock, the River, the Tree, your country. No less to Midas than the mendicant. No less to you now than the mastodon then.

Here on the pulse of this new day You may have the grace to look up and out And into your sister's eyes, into Your brother's face, your country And say simply Very simply With hope Good morning.





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