Still, like air, I'll rise

News today that writer poet activist humanitarian Maya Angelou has died. She was 86 and in declining health in recent years.

So hard to think of her in terms of decline, because if anyone defined the term “force of nature”, it was Angelou. I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings, first of several autobiographical works, knocks you off your chair and out of your complacency.

But it’s her poetry I love. I had to share “Phenomenal Woman” during National Poetry Month last year. Such a powerful piece to hold up next to your dreams and aspirations, filling them with strength and fire.

And now seems a good time to take up “Still I Rise”.

You may write me down in history

With your bitter, twisted lies,

You may tread 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.

You can also listen to what the Washington Post calls “her regal presence and her honeyed voice.