by Maya Angelou

Pretty women wonder where my secret lies
I'm not cute or built to suit a model's fashion 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 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.

LIMBO LOSSES 

My life has fallen down
around me before
--lots of times,
for lots of reasons--
usually other people.

And most of the time
I was fortunate enough
to have a large lump of
that life hit me on the
head and render me numb
to the pain & desolation
that followed.
And I survived.
And I live to love again.

 

But this,

this slow erosion from below
--or within--
it's me falling down around my life
because you're still in that life
--but not really.
And you're out of that life
--but not quite.

I do all right alone,
and better together,
but I do very poorly
when semi-together.

In solitude
I do much,
in love
I do more,
but
in doubt
I only transfer
pain to paper
in gigantic Passion Plays
complete with miracles and martyrs
and crucifixions and resurrections.

Come to stay
or
stay away.

This series of passion poems
is becoming a heavy cross to bare.

==Peter McWilliams

 

TROPHY

It is done:

The past a dead fish between us

Its tail sticks out of your pocket

Embarrassing you in public places.

And the smell!

Well, I have my fish stuffed, mounted, and hung over the mantle.

What a fine fish, my new friends say.

Yes, fabulous, I agree.

And I have made up a fine fish story to go with it. 

--Unknown

 

A Grand House

 I never wanted a grand house.

A little cottage with cupboards filled,

A light beside my bed to read my rhyme

Was all I had in mind.

But, he wanted a grand house--

Servant-filled to tintillate the powerful.

Too many rooms to oversee for me.

--Jennifer Ross Sawyer

 

Life's Diary

My life’s an evolving diary each day a new page therein. I always thought I wrote it, but that’s not how it’s been. Certain of those pages come from mom and dad. Others come from life itself; they’re sometimes very sad. There are pages of my diary that have always puzzled me. I did things I didn’t want to! How could that ever be? When I pause to think about it, The answer’s plain to see. These days I make fewer entries. Now . . . my diary’s writing me! Those early chapters affect me still,  and had I been more aware, I would have better handled every threat or dare. My diary is an opus, but now’s the appointed time, to lift a pen, to alter prose and write a life that’s mine.  As I try to write new verse, The words just won’t take hold. The poem comes out as before; The lines aren’t new but old. Those vital parts that resist this change Are very strange indeed, They never leave, but will submit, When “I” resolve and lead  Anthony M. Pedone

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MY INNER VOICE

BY Tony Pedone

I have this little inner voice that goes around with me.

I tell it what I’m thinking, and tell it what I see.

I tell my little inner voice all my hopes and fears,

It listens and remembers everything it hears.

At first my little inner voice followed my command,

But after years of training, it’s gotten out of hand.

It doesn’t care what’s right or wrong,

Or what is false or true.

No matter what I try now,

It tells me what to do.

A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE 

enough money within her control to move out and rent a place of  her own, even if she never wants to or needs to...

A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE something perfect to wear if the employer,or date of her dreams wants to see her in an hour...

A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE a youth she's content to leave behind....

A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE a past juicy enough that she's looking forward to retelling it in her old age...