Still I Rise..........

Still I Rise

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.

Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I've got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?

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. 

Maya Angelou

Purple Balloons.

"One day you will be riding the bus and thinking what a worthless piece of crap you are when a little girl will get on the bus holding the strings of two purple balloons. She’ll offer you one of the balloons, but you won’t take it because you believe you no longer have a right to such tiny beautiful things. You’re wrong. You do." Sugar on the Rumpus 

Slow Dancing in a Burning Room..........

I have decided to start blogging again. I guess I never really started, I sorta just copied and pasted other peoples thoughts down and stuck them next to meaningful images. I would like to say I will do this often but as life takes over, I know that isn’t true.

Today marks the 5^th anniversary of my sweet baby brother being called to Heaven. My arms ache to squeeze him and my ears strain to hear his voice. He joins my father, and the only two paternal grandparents I had known. I am not sure I believe humans can become angels, the good book actually indicates they can’t. But I do wonder if they can see me, and if they could what do they think?

I wonder what the miss most about me?

As I sit in the airport, I am surrounded by people in their 50’s, drinking heavily, talking crudely and getting lubed up to go make some bad decisions in New Orleans. And in all honestly, I think, why do they get to be here and Mason doesn’t. “Slow Dancing in a Crowded Room” comes on the iPod, and that’s how I feel……

I watch two kids building Legos and think, one day I will have children and what will I do if they are taken from this world before I am? How will I breathe? Then I think of my mother, who lost her husband, her mother and her son all in less than 5 decades. My mother who raised 5 highly disobedient, angst ridden children that were lacking a father and self-esteem.

Then my mind goes back to my present life, and I ache that my beautiful husband who is smart, and charming and loves me through my crazy will never meet my father. A father that would be so proud to know I was married to a soccer player and healer.

I think about how I will never be able to explain to my husband a hurt that runs so deep, and burns so hot that it paralyzes me. A grief that consumers every fiber of my being, a love that only brothers and sisters know. And I wish I could, but instead I choose to lash out, to cry and run into the details of life.

Then my mind moves to my friends, to the most unlikely of those that remembered and the ones I thought who would never forget, that did. I get angry, and I want to take drastic measures like defriend them on Facebook, then stalk their page.

But instead, I will try and quiet my mind by my favorite verse. Exodus 14:14 which reads, “The Lord will fight for you, you need only to be still.” And I will try and find a piece in the words, “Beloved, I am always near to you. I am with the crushed in spirit.”

Then I will wonder if I put the punctuation of this note where it should go, I will worry that I didn’t spell something correctly. I am terrible at grammar, but I love to talk.

As the song wraps up, I will put it on repeat, wait to board the plane and try to be thankful I feel something at all. 

Take some time to watch this...and then be grateful and a conscientious consumer...Digging for gold, children work in harsh conditions, paid with bags of dirt http://ping.fm/SdBEC via @RockCenterNBC

I Can Say With Certainty....There is No Better Mom Then Mine

"When God Created Mothers"

When the Good Lord was creating mothers, He was into His sixth day of "overtime" when the angel appeared and said. "You're doing a lot of fiddling around on this one."

And God said, "Have you read the specs on this order?" She has to be completely washable, but not plastic. Have 180 moveable parts...all replaceable. Run on black coffee and leftovers. Have a lap that disappears when she stands up. A kiss that can cure anything from a broken leg to a disappointed love affair. And six pairs of hands."

The angel shook her head slowly and said. "Six pairs of hands.... no way."

It's not the hands that are causing me problems," God remarked, "it's the three pairs of eyes that mothers have to have."

That's on the standard model?" asked the angel. God nodded.

One pair that sees through closed doors when she asks, 'What are you kids doing in there?' when she already knows. Another here in the back of her head that sees what she shouldn't but what she has to know, and of course the ones here in front that can look at a child when he goofs up and say. 'I understand and I love you' without so much as uttering a word."

God," said the angel touching his sleeve gently, "Get some rest tomorrow...."

I can't," said God, "I'm so close to creating something so close to myself. Already I have one who heals herself when she is sick...can feed a family of six on one pound of hamburger...and can get a nine year old to stand under a shower."

The angel circled the model of a mother very slowly. "It's too soft," she sighed.

But tough!" said God excitedly. "You can imagine what this mother can do or endure."

Can it think?"

Not only can it think, but it can reason and compromise," said the Creator.

Finally, the angel bent over and ran her finger across the cheek.

There's a leak," she pronounced. "I told You that You were trying to put too much into this model."

It's not a leak," said the Lord, "It's a tear."

What's it for?"

It's for joy, sadness, disappointment, pain, loneliness, and pride."

You are a genius, " said the angel.

Somberly, God said, "I didn't put it there." 


— Erma Bombeck (When God Created Mothers)

"In And Out Of Time" by Maya Angelou

In And Out Of Time

the sun has come
the mists have gone
we see in the distance
our long way home

i was always yours to have
you were always mine
we have loved each other
in and out of time

when the first stone looked up at the blazing sun
and the first tree struggled up from the forest floor
I have always loved you more

you freed your braids
gave your hair to the breeze
it hung like a hive of honey bees

i reached in the mass
for the sweet honeycomb there
ahh... God, how I loved your hair

you saw me bludgeoned by circumstance
lost, injured, hurt by chance

i screamed to the Heavens
loudly screamed
trying to change our nightmares
into dreams

the sun has come
the mists have gone
we see in the distance
our long way home

i was yours to have
and you were always mine
we have loved each other
in and out,

in and out,

                                                         in and out of time...

A Poem for a Sunday Night

What though the radiance which was once so bright
Be not forever taken from my sight,
Though nothing can bring back the hour
Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower;
Grief not, rather find,
Strength in what remains behind,
In the primal sympathy
Which having been must ever be,
In the soothing thoughts that spring
Out of Human suffering,
In the faith that looks through death
In years that bring philophic mind.

-William Wordsworth