Wednesday, September 9, 2009

The Lost Poems Of Maya Angelou

I can't get enough of poetry. Man, oh man! I love it! I do! I love poetry so much I wish I could marry it. But I'm already married. I love poetry so much I wish I could buy it a steak dinner. Poetry is so wordy and stuff like that. I love stuff like that. (Which is why I love poetry.)

I love poetry so much I wish I could go to Disneyland with it and ride the Matterhorn. We'd scream and laugh and then stand in line for another ride. Me and poetry. After a long day of fun, we'd drive back home. Poetry would fall asleep in the car while holding the balloon I bought it.


I'm so happy I found a small book in my backyard as I was not watering. We're not allowed to water here in Southern California because we're in a drought. We're allowed to play with the hose and stuff, we just can't turn it on. It's fun to hear the dead grass crunch under your feet.

So there I was, not watering and crunching dead grass, when I spotted a small journal. I don't know how long it's been there, but it must have been years. The grass was too green and lush and alive for me to see it. But not anymore. Thank goodness for crunchy, dead grass!

The book was dirty. I don't mean dirty as in naughty. I mean it had dirt on it. And dead grass.

I opened it up and to my surprise it said, "Property of Maya Angelou." (I don't mean that the book spoke those words. It was written there.)

Inside were a bunch of hand-written poems. I don't know how many Maya Angelous there are out there. But I think these were written by THE Maya Angelou. I can't prove it. I'm just saying...

So, I read a few of the poems and thought I'd share some of them with you. Here they are. See if you can spot a theme...


Weeping mournfully I uttered nothing
Lips pursed in quiet silence trickled
The man in the hat
The man in the hat
Greeting muted passings on the long long road
Running clippingly as fresh baked yams mocked gleefully
Strong were the words of solitude
Anger at their mention
Hatred like a doo doo.


Corn knows no other way
It cannot grab with fleshy paws
It cannot sing the song of the perennial
Corn knows no other way
Corn knows no other
Corn knows no
Corn knows
Doo doo


June bug, crackerteeth and crow
He devised his own
Out of his own
June bug!
The long shadows weeping iridescent globules while their own voices shattered and rambled but un-noisily, un-willingly, un-applogetically, un-to and un-der the OTHERS who themselves sat lazily and doo doo.


  1. I think "Into Nothing" is my favorite. That should have won some sort of awesome prize. "Epic Prize for Poetry" they'd call it.

  2. Talent!

    I guess you're born with it.

    She had it from the start.


    I think I'm lacking it.

    I made a poem that rhymes with "fart."


    Top that, poem girl!


    John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt
    125 Sarsparilla Lane
    Apt 2G
    Ogden, Utah 78655

  3. Here's one for you.

    A rose by any old name may smell sweet,
    but every rose comes with a thorn of deceit.
    This rose has a surprise to you see,
    for inside this rose is a giant bee.

    by, Me. =D

  4. One L.A. landscaping company just struck it rich painting dead lawns green.