The real, A Good Woman Feeling Bad

Posted: November 18, 2006 in poetry

The blues may be the life you’ve led

Or midnight hours in

An empty bed. But persecuting

Blues I’ve known

Could stalk

Like tigers, break like bone.

 

Pend like rope in

A gallows tree,

Make me curse

My pedigree,

 

Bitterness thick on

A rankling tongue,

A psalm to love  that’s

Left unsung.

 

Rivers heading north

But ending South,

Funeral music

In a going-home mouth.

 

All riddles are blues,

And all blues are sad,

And I’m only mentioning

Some blues I’ve had. 

 

 

 

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Comments
  1. Mieca says:

    Oh, how wonderful is Maya Angelou! Let’s go ahead and give the credit where it’s due.

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