In Honor of Maya Angelou

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It took me 10 years to put myself through college, there were many semesters that I wondered if it was worth all the struggle. To be honest, there have still been times over the past 16 years since graduation when I wondered if was worth it. However, yesterday when I found out the world had lost Maya Angelou, I knew it was worth it. It was in the final few years of my college experience when I was introduced to Maya's work. Her words busted my heart open to myself. She was one of the first women who helped me to own my voice, use it in my writing and love myself in that way. maya quote web small

I was so moved by those words yesterday. I paused. I reflected. I shared on my personal Facebook that "In Maya's honor, today I stand proud of myself for all that I have overcome in my life, starting from way back in 1974. I rarely give myself credit, rarely acknowledge it all. It can be uncomfortable, yet therein lies my strength."

Someone asked me "What happened in 1974?" You see, I was born in 1970 and 1974 is the year my parents got divorced and my mom left me. That is the year everything changed for me. I don't remember the years between 1974 and 1978 very well, I have glimpses of things in between. I've always called it a "swiss cheese memory." And I have been overcoming things ever since, all my life. Haven't we all?

As I said on Facebook, I want to be stronger, lighter and more free with every passing moment.

Thank you Maya for everything you have taught me and for all I still have to learn. For now, today, I stand proud of myself.

P.S. This poem of Maya's, "When Great Trees Fall" was extremely soothing to me yesterday.  Did you know I used to have a series called Friday Poems on my blog? When I read poetry, I feel called to write. When I read Maya Angelou's work, I feel called to write. I was a writer long before I was a photographer.

Friday Poems

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Untitled

I am very alone right now
This moment has me by myself
If I were feeling healthier
I would play my guitar
And make up songs
To sing for life
All the air would hear
As the same way
Birds sing in the morning
Only now I understand
Them more because
I am now likened unto them
And their song
Sings to my heart
With a new meaning of life
Yet I have always loved them
Perhaps this moment inside me
Always knew it would come to pass
Maybe in your life
There are moments waiting
Such as this one was in mine
Also I guess I'll never want to die
As long as there are moments waiting
How about you?

I guess he ran out of moments.
Because he sure seemed to want to die as far as I could tell.

Or maybe I still don't understand much about anything at all and what I still see, ten years later, is him giving up on life when to him it was probably the acceptance of death.

Friday Poems

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The Last Island

Bored on a waver
cast upon sand
beyond the hand
of hope
Palm trees
sea view
plains of day
Sadly stars shine
I watch the night
fade away
Dawns born
breathing breeze
white crested fingers
try for the sky
Sun climbs high
Man needs
Or die
Still moments
never soon
sun's so hot
its [sic] afternoon
Go away, away
dizzy dizzy
see how I chase the day
I must be, my eyes are open
Ha! me a loon
Breezes blow, nightime [sic]
I love the moon

Friday Poems

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I'm getting anxious
I don't know why
maybe something
I just wrote
My nerves are
your nerves
My time is
your time
and there ain't
too many hippies.
I think it's the same show
over and over
and over again
I wonder how long
it will go on?
Are the prophets
really that good?
that they're wanted
so bad?
Or is the need so bad,
that it's good
to want them?
Grapes are growin
out of season?
Never, Never, Never!

Friday Poems

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Untitled

The river runs across my forehead
Too many words been spoken
Not enough's been said.
I'm gonna be mighty mad
If I'M living to be dead.

Born a poor boy
But I don't mind
Life's a joy
So hard to find

I chased a girl
Around a world
Until my heart
Broke my mind

Love is Love is
There to find
Follow your heart
To repair your mind


(I will always type these things exactly as my dad did, so all capitalization, grammar, etc. was a poetic choice. Or so I assume. No scan today, lately my scanner is really breaking my mind!)

A Light Exists in Spring

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(photo taken yesterday at the Mission Playground & Pool, SF)


A light exists in spring
Not present on the year
At any other period.
When March is scarcely here

A color stands abroad
On solitary hills
That silence cannot overtake,
But human nature feels.

It waits upon the lawn;
It shows the furthest tree
Upon the furthest slope we know;
It almost speaks to me.

Then, as horizons step,
Or noons report away,
Without the formula of sound,
It passes, and we stay:

A quality of loss
Affecting our content,
As trade had suddenly encroached
Upon a sacrament.

Emily Dickinson

(Thanks Julie)

Friday Poems

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Recently, I was gently encouraged to bring back the idea of Friday Poems.

On his birthday last month, I read poems before I went through my dad's yearbook and set a few aside. Here's the first one from that stack.

Your Cue Card

Your dirty feet
left a face on my door.
Your dirty face
left some feet on my floor.
If I could hate you,
it would be my passion.
You got some nerve
to come on in that fashion!
Heads like yours
should sit on stools in bars.
Where the barmaid gets made,
talky, chalky, hopped up cars.
Someday your egg
is gonna crack.
Not in your beer,
but on your back.
Maybe you might not be a fool,
but what you know is nothing
you know cool.
If words got hurt
when abused,
All you say
would come out bruised.




I am beyond curious to know who he wrote this about!

Friday Poem

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I go down to the beach

  Upon the sand

I bare my feet
  To the young and ancient

My eyes roll out
  to all the beauty
  that surrounds me

My mind mingles
    with the ocean
    with the sky
    with the sand
    with the mountains
    with the sun
    with the seagulls
    with the people
    with the dogs
    with the sandpipers

My heart tries hard
  to sing a happy song

My mind grows weary
  knowing my heart is sad

My mind gets confused
  asking questions
  recieving [sic] answers

My heart is sad, still,
  I go down to the beach

Friday Poems

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I think I might try to post one of my dad's poems on Fridays. God knows there are volumes and volumes to choose from and this is one way for me to make time and read them. I have no idea when this was written. I don't even personally think this is very good poetry, but I do like the image of my dad sitting on some New York street watching the world go by.

A Few Minutes on Eighth Street

Now I'm here
sitting on a step
on Eighth Street
near the avenue
of Americas
I tell you this
the streets are
being walked on
the wrong way.
The shops are
being looked at
the wrong way.
I bend my head down
and stare at the ground.
I see the sun shining brightly
and everything is beautiful.
But beauty's not what
I want to write about
or is and should be known
but isn't and
that's why I must write
this next line.
Something's wrong, terribly.
I hear the feet go by
and everyone is walking.
I see the eyes
all roaming
and everyone is looking.
I see the sky so blue.
I see clouds of
angels hair
upon it.
I hear voices with
the footsteps.
I see the whole world
of Eighth Street
and it's flowing
green, green.
Someone again
said to me
What's the matter
with you?
It's been only
a couple of minutes
on Eighth Street,
But such a
long time.