, , ,


Even though I write I have never been one to create poems. That’s really not my thing. I do, however, enjoy a good poem when I read/hear one, and admire those who are able to link words together that deliver intense feelings of emotion that may be good, bad happy or sad. (Hold up! I just made a rhyme! There may be hope for me yet. :-))

Last year I did create something I placed in my “Random Thought” category that is probably the closest I’ve ever come to writing a poem. The piece is called The Dreaded Box and was written the day after I attended my father’s funeral back in October. Although it’s a little cryptic, the piece basically encompasses all the emotions I was feeling at the time. You can be the judge on whether it’s an actual poem or not.

Since April is National Poetry Month I’ve decided to step out of my comfort zone and try my hand at writing a real poem. At the end of the month I hope have something worth sharing with you all. If you’re up for the challenge I would love for you to join me in my efforts.

I’m going to leave you with one of my favorite poems by Maya Angelou – Phenomenal Woman. The reason I like this poem so much is because the narrator knows that on first glance her physical attraction may not be obvious to many, but if someone dares to take a closer look, they too will see the natural beauty she has always known that she possesses. Enjoy.



Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.
I’m not cute or built to suit a fashion model’s size
But when I start to tell them,
They think I’m telling lies.
I say,
It’s in the reach of my arms,
The span of my hips,
The stride of my step,
The curl of my lips.
I’m a woman
Phenomenal woman,
That’s me.
I walk into a room
Just as cool as you please,
And to a man,
The fellows stand or
Fall down on their knees.
Then they swarm around me,
A hive of honey bees.
I say,
It’s the fire in my eyes,
And the flash of my teeth,
The swing in my waist,
And the joy in my feet.
I’m a woman
Phenomenal woman,
That’s me.
Men themselves have wondered
What they see in me.
They try so much
But they can’t touch
My inner mystery.
When I try to show them,
They say they still can’t see.
I say,
It’s in the arch of my back,
The sun of my smile,
The ride of my breasts,
The grace of my style.
I’m a woman
Phenomenal woman,
That’s me.
Now you understand
Just why my head’s not bowed.
I don’t shout or jump about
Or have to talk real loud.
When you see me passing,
It ought to make you proud.
I say,
It’s in the click of my heels,
The bend of my hair,
the palm of my hand,
The need for my care.
’Cause I’m a woman
Phenomenal woman,
That’s me.
(My apologies for the absence of breaks in the poem’s stanzas. Technical difficulties on my end.)