Apr 03 2026
Maya Angelou – On the Pulse of Morning
On the Pulse of Morning
by Maya Angelou
A Rock, A River, A Tree
Hosts to species long since departed,
Mark the mastodon.
The dinosaur, who left dry tokens
Of their sojourn here
On our planet floor,
Any broad alarm of their hastening doom
Is lost in the gloom of dust and ages.
But today, the Rock cries out to us, clearly, forcefully,
Come, you may stand upon my
Back and face your distant destiny,
But seek no haven in my shadow.
I will give you no hiding place down here.
You, created only a little lower than
The angels, have crouched too long in
The bruising darkness,
Have lain too long
Face down in ignorance.
Your mouths spelling words
Armed for slaughter.
The rock cries out today, you may stand on me,
But do not hide your face.
Across the wall of the world,
A river sings a beautiful song,
Come rest here by my side.
Each of you a bordered country,
Delicate and strangely made proud,
Yet thrusting perpetually under siege.
Your armed struggles for profit
Have left collars of waste upon
My shore, currents of debris upon my breast.
Yet, today I call you to my riverside,
If you will study war no more.
Come, clad in peace and I will sing the songs
The Creator gave to me when I
And the tree and stone were one.
Before cynicism was a bloody sear across your brow
And when you yet knew you still
Knew nothing.
The river sings and sings on.
There is a true yearning to respond to
The singing river and the wise rock.
So say the Asian, the Hispanic, the Jew,
The African and Native American, the Sioux,
The Catholic, the Muslim, the French, the Greek,
The Irish, the Rabbi, the Priest, the Sheikh,
The Gay, the Straight, the Preacher,
The privileged, the homeless, the teacher.
They hear. They all hear
The speaking of the tree.
Today, the first and last of every tree
Speaks to humankind. Come to me, here beside the river.
Plant yourself beside me, here beside the river.
Each of you, descendant of some passed on
Traveller, has been paid for.
You, who gave me my first name, you
Pawnee, Apache and Seneca, you
Cherokee Nation, who rested with me, then
Forced on bloody feet, left me to the employment of
Other seekers–desperate for gain,
Starving for gold.
You, the Turk, the Swede, the German, the Scot…
You the Ashanti, the Yoruba, the Kru,
Bought, sold, stolen, arriving on a nightmare
Praying for a dream.
Here, root yourselves beside me.
I am the tree planted by the river,
Which will not be moved.
I, the rock, I the river, I the tree
I am yours–your passages have been paid.
Lift up your faces, you have a piercing need
For this bright morning dawning for you.
History, despite its wrenching pain,
Cannot be unlived, and if faced
With courage, need not be lived again.
Lift up your eyes upon
The day breaking for you.
Give birth again
To the dream.
Women, children, men,
Take it into the palms of your hands.
Mold it into the shape of your most
Private need. Sculpt it into
The image of your most public self.
Lift up your hearts.
Each new hour holds new chances
For new beginnings.
Do not be wedded forever
To fear, yoked eternally
To brutishness.
The horizon leans forward,
Offering you space to place new steps of change.
Here, on the pulse of this fine day
You may have the courage
To look up and out upon me, the
Rock, the River, the Tree, your country.
No less to Midas than the mendicant.
No less to you now than the mastodon then.
Here on the pulse of this new day
You may have the grace to look up and out
And into your sister’s eyes, into
Your brother’s face, your country
And say simply
Very simply
With hope
Good morning.
— from The Complete Collected Poems of Maya Angelou, by Maya Angelou
/ Image by particlem /
I have been away from the Poetry Chaikhana for a few weeks. As I was considering which poem to send out, I came across this one by Maya Angelou. Reading it this morning, I had that special experience of reading a poem I’ve ready many times before, but it was as if for the first time. I found myself thinking, What a stunning poem! Why hasn’t this been in my mind and heart all along? I think the poem was just waiting for me to catch up and be ready to receive it.
So here it is for you. Perhaps it has been waiting for you too…
Our history is in the earth, in rock and tree, our shared home. We stand upon our past. And that past speaks to us, calling us back to ourselves. History’s tears and terrors turn our hearts back to the peace that is every soul’s true nature. Seeing the past, acknowledging and accepting all of it, with head and heart engaged, that courageous act unblinds us. Only then are we freed to see distant horizons, and witness new dawns.
When you feel stuck, when the world feels stuck around you, take a moment to sit upon a rock, listen to a tree. They are yourself, and the selves of all who have gone before. They carry the collective wisdom of the eons.
A few of the lines that particularly stand out to me:
You, created only a little lower than
The angels, have crouched too long in
The bruising darkness…
…
Come, clad in peace and I will sing the songs
The Creator gave to me when I
And the tree and stone were one.
…
Today, the first and last of every tree
Speaks to humankind. Come to me, here beside the river.
Plant yourself beside me, here beside the river.
…
Lift up your faces, you have a piercing need
For this bright morning dawning for you.
…
Lift up your eyes upon
The day breaking for you.
Give birth again
To the dream.
Women, children, men,
Take it into the palms of your hands.
Mold it into the shape of your most
Private need. Sculpt it into
The image of your most public self.
…
Lift up your hearts.
Each new hour holds new chances
For new beginnings.
…
…And say simply
Very simply
With hope
Good morning.
Sending love to you all!
The horizon leans forward,
Offering you space to place new steps of change.
Recommended Books: Maya Angelou
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| The Complete Collected Poems of Maya Angelou | Phenomenal Woman: Four Poems Celebrating Women | And Still I Rise | A Brave and Startling Truth | The Collected Autobiographies of Maya Angelou |
| More Books >> | ||||
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Maya Angelou
US (1928 – 2014) Timeline |
Maya Angelou was born Marguerite Annie Johnson in 1928 in St. Louis, Missouri. After her parents separated, she and her brother were sent to live with their grandmother in Stamps, Arkansas — a deeply religious woman whose faith and dignity left a permanent mark on the girl who would become one of America’s great voices.
When Marguerite was eight years old, she was assaulted by her mother’s boyfriend, and the trauma left her nearly silent for five years. It was in that silence that she fell in love with words — reading voraciously, absorbing poetry and literature — until a neighbor named Bertha Flowers drew her back to speech by insisting that poetry must be read aloud to fully live. In finding her voice again, she found her vocation.
Her path to writing wound through dance, performance, and civil rights activism alongside Martin Luther King Jr. and Malcolm X before she emerged as a literary force with *I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings* (1969). Her poetry — particularly “Still I Rise” and “Phenomenal Woman” — carries the rhythms of the Black church tradition: the sermon, the spiritual, the call that expects a response.
Her faith was rooted in the Black Baptist tradition but expansive in spirit. As an adult she explored widely — she had genuine engagement with Zen Buddhism, Judaism, and Islam — but she returned to Christianity as her home. She described being a Christian as an ongoing process, not an arrival, and spoke of God’s presence in every created thing.
Her faith was not private or quietist — it fueled her civil rights work directly. To believe that every person was made in God’s image was, for her, not a sentiment but a demand.
What runs beneath all of it is her conviction that language is sacred, that words carry spiritual force, and that the work of beauty and the work of healing are the same work.
Thank You Ivan for Maya Angelou’s beautiful poem. In times like these we need
writing to give us spaces to breathe, to bring us energy, and strength. As I read this
poem the first time, I moved from fear, knots in my stomach, to the present with
more calm and peace than I felt before. Writing such as this carries a spiritual force,
and with it comes healing.