Poetry

“Seeing the World” by Steven Herrick

Every month or so,

when my brother and I

are bored with backyard games

and television, Dad says,

“It’s time to see the world.”

So we climb the ladder to our attic,

push the window open,

and carefully, carefully

scramble onto the roof.

We hang on tight as we scale the heights

to the very top.

We sit with our backs to the chimney

and see the world.

The birds flying below us.

The trees swaying in the wind below us.                     

Our cubbyhouse, meters below us.           

The distant city below us.And then Dad, my brother, and I lie back

look up and watch

the clouds and the sky

and dream

we’re flying

we’re flying.

In summer

with the sun and a gentle breeze

and not a sound anywhere

I’m sure I never want to land.

Still I Rise by Maya Angelou

You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But 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 wells
Pumping 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 mines
Diggin' 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.

Out of the huts of history's shame
I rise
Up from a past that's rooted in pain
I rise
I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.

I rise
I rise
I rise.