They Went Home They went home and told their wives, that never once in all their lives, had they known a girl like me, But ... They went home. They said my house was licking clean, no word I spoke was ever mean, I had an air of mystery, But ... They went home. My praises were on all men's lips, they liked my smile, my wit, my hips, they'd spend one night, or two or three. But ... The Gamut Soft you day, be velvet soft, My true love approaches, Look you bright, you dusty sun, Array your golden coaches. Soft you wind, be soft as silk, My true love is speaking. Hold you birds, your silver throats, His golden voice I'm seeking. Come you death, in haste, do come, My shroud of black be weaving, Quiet my heart, be deathly quiet, My true love is leaving. A Zorro Man Here in the wombed room silk purple drapes flash a light as subtle as your hands before love-making Here in the covered lens I catch a clitoral image of your general inhabitation long and like a late dawn in winter Here this clean mirror traps me unwilling in a gone time when I was love and you were booted and brave and trembling for me. To a Man My man is Black Golden Amber Changing. Warm mouths of Brandy Fine Cautious sunlight on a patterned rug Coughing laughter, rocked on a whorl of French tobacco Graceful turns on woolen stilts Secretive? A cat's eye. Southern. Plump and tender with navy-bean sullenness And did I say "Tender"? The gentleness A big cat stalks through stubborn bush And did I mention "Amber"? The heatless fire consuming itself. Again. Anew. Into ever neverlessness. My man is Amber Changing Always into itself New. Now New. Still itself. Still. Late October Carefully the leaves of autumn sprinkle down the tinny sound of little dyings and skies sated of ruddy sunsets of roseate dawns roil ceaselessly in cobweb greys and turn to black for comfort. Only lovers see the fall a signal end to endings a gruffish gesture alerting those who will not be alarmed that we begin to stop in order simply to begin again. No Loser, No Weeper "I hate to lose something," then she bent her head, "even a dime, I wish I was dead. I can't explain it. No more to be said. 'Cept I hate to lose something. "I lost a doll once and cried for a week. She could open her eyes, and do all but speak. I believe she was took, by some doll-snatching sneak. I tell you, I hate to lose something. "A watch of mine once, got up and walked away. It had twelve numbers on it and for the time of day. I'll never forget it and all I can say Is I really hate to lose something. "Now if I felt that way 'bout a watch and a toy, What you think I feel 'bout my lover-boy? I ain't threatening you, madam, but he is my evening's joy. And I mean I really hate to lose something." When You Come to Me When you come to me, unbidden, Beckoning me To long-ago rooms, Where memories lie. Offering me, as to a child, an attic, Gatherings of days too few, Baubles of stolen kisses, Trinkets of borrowed loves, Trunks of secret words, I CRY. Remembering Soft grey ghosts crawl up my sleeve to peer into my eyes while I within deny their threats and answer them with lies. Mushlike memories perform a ritual on my lips I lie in stolid hopelessness and they lay my soul in strips. In a Time In a time of secret wooing Today prepares tomorrow's ruin Left knows not what right is doing My heart is torn asunder. In a time of furtive sighs Sweet hellos and sad goodbyes Half-truths told and entire lies My conscience echoes thunder. In a time when kingdoms come Joy is brief as summer's fun Happiness its race has run Then pain stalks in to plunder. Tears Tears The crystal rags Viscous tatters of a worn-through soul. Moans Deep swan song Blue farewell of a dying dream. The Detached We die, Welcoming Bluebeards to our darkening closets, Stranglers to our outstretched necks, Stranglers, who neither care nor care to know that DEATH IS INTERNAL. We pray, Savoring sweet the teethed lies, Bellying the grounds before alien gods, Gods, who neither know nor wish to know that HELL IS INTERNAL. We love, Rubbing the nakednesses with gloved hands, Inverting our mouths in tongued kisses, Kisses that neither touch nor care to touch if LOVE IS INTERNAL. To a Husband Your voice at times a fist Tight in your throat Jabs ceaselessly at phantoms In the room, Your hand a carved and Skimming boat Goes down the Nile To point out Pharaoh's tomb. You're Africa to me At brightest dawn. The Congo's green and Copper's brackish hue, A continent to build With Black Man's brawn. I sit at home and see it all Through you. Excerpted from Maya Angelou - The Complete Poetry by Maya Angelou All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.
