{"id":8690,"date":"2026-04-03T09:00:49","date_gmt":"2026-04-03T16:00:49","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.poetry-chaikhana.com\/blog\/?p=8690"},"modified":"2026-04-03T09:00:49","modified_gmt":"2026-04-03T16:00:49","slug":"maya-angelou-on-the-pulse-of-morning","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.poetry-chaikhana.com\/blog\/2026\/04\/03\/maya-angelou-on-the-pulse-of-morning\/","title":{"rendered":"Maya Angelou – On the Pulse of Morning"},"content":{"rendered":"

On the Pulse of Morning
\nby Maya Angelou<\/a><\/strong><\/p>\n

A Rock, A River, A Tree
\nHosts to species long since departed,
\nMark the mastodon.
\nThe dinosaur, who left dry tokens
\nOf their sojourn here
\nOn our planet floor,
\nAny broad alarm of their hastening doom
\nIs lost in the gloom of dust and ages.<\/p>\n

But today, the Rock cries out to us, clearly, forcefully,
\nCome, you may stand upon my
\nBack and face your distant destiny,
\nBut seek no haven in my shadow.
\nI will give you no hiding place down here.<\/p>\n

You, created only a little lower than
\nThe angels, have crouched too long in
\nThe bruising darkness,
\nHave lain too long
\nFace down in ignorance.
\nYour mouths spelling words
\nArmed for slaughter.<\/p>\n

The rock cries out today, you may stand on me,
\nBut do not hide your face.<\/p>\n

Across the wall of the world,
\nA river sings a beautiful song,
\nCome rest here by my side.<\/p>\n

Each of you a bordered country,
\nDelicate and strangely made proud,
\nYet thrusting perpetually under siege.
\nYour armed struggles for profit
\nHave left collars of waste upon
\nMy shore, currents of debris upon my breast.<\/p>\n

Yet, today I call you to my riverside,
\nIf you will study war no more.
\nCome, clad in peace and I will sing the songs
\nThe Creator gave to me when I
\nAnd the tree and stone were one.
\nBefore cynicism was a bloody sear across your brow
\nAnd when you yet knew you still
\nKnew nothing.<\/p>\n

The river sings and sings on.<\/p>\n

There is a true yearning to respond to
\nThe singing river and the wise rock.
\nSo say the Asian, the Hispanic, the Jew,
\nThe African and Native American, the Sioux,
\nThe Catholic, the Muslim, the French, the Greek,
\nThe Irish, the Rabbi, the Priest, the Sheikh,
\nThe Gay, the Straight, the Preacher,
\nThe privileged, the homeless, the teacher.
\nThey hear. They all hear
\nThe speaking of the tree.<\/p>\n

Today, the first and last of every tree
\nSpeaks to humankind. Come to me, here beside the river.
\nPlant yourself beside me, here beside the river.<\/p>\n

Each of you, descendant of some passed on
\nTraveller, has been paid for.<\/p>\n

You, who gave me my first name, you
\nPawnee, Apache and Seneca, you
\nCherokee Nation, who rested with me, then
\nForced on bloody feet, left me to the employment of
\nOther seekers\u2013desperate for gain,
\nStarving for gold.<\/p>\n

You, the Turk, the Swede, the German, the Scot\u2026
\nYou the Ashanti, the Yoruba, the Kru,
\nBought, sold, stolen, arriving on a nightmare
\nPraying for a dream.<\/p>\n

Here, root yourselves beside me.<\/p>\n

I am the tree planted by the river,
\nWhich will not be moved.<\/p>\n

I, the rock, I the river, I the tree
\nI am yours\u2013your passages have been paid.
\nLift up your faces, you have a piercing need
\nFor this bright morning dawning for you.<\/p>\n

History, despite its wrenching pain,
\nCannot be unlived, and if faced
\nWith courage, need not be lived again.<\/p>\n

Lift up your eyes upon
\nThe day breaking for you.
\nGive birth again
\nTo the dream.<\/p>\n

Women, children, men,
\nTake it into the palms of your hands.
\nMold it into the shape of your most
\nPrivate need. Sculpt it into
\nThe image of your most public self.
\nLift up your hearts.
\nEach new hour holds new chances
\nFor new beginnings.<\/p>\n

Do not be wedded forever
\nTo fear, yoked eternally
\nTo brutishness.<\/p>\n

The horizon leans forward,
\nOffering you space to place new steps of change.
\nHere, on the pulse of this fine day
\nYou may have the courage
\nTo look up and out upon me, the
\nRock, the River, the Tree, your country.<\/p>\n

No less to Midas than the mendicant.
\nNo less to you now than the mastodon then.<\/p>\n

Here on the pulse of this new day
\nYou may have the grace to look up and out
\nAnd into your sister\u2019s eyes, into
\nYour brother\u2019s face, your country
\nAnd say simply
\nVery simply
\nWith hope
\nGood morning.<\/em><\/p>\n

<\/a> \u2014 from The Complete Collected Poems of Maya Angelou<\/a>, by Maya Angelou<\/font><\/p>\n


\/ Image by particlem<\/a> \/<\/em><\/font><\/p>\n

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\u2019ve ready many times before, but it was as if for the first time. I found myself thinking, What a stunning poem! Why hasn\u2019t 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.<\/p>\n

So here it is for you. Perhaps it has been waiting for you too\u2026<\/p>\n

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\u2019s tears and terrors turn our hearts back to the peace that is every soul\u2019s 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.<\/p>\n

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.<\/p>\n

A few of the lines that particularly stand out to me:<\/p>\n

You, created only a little lower than
\nThe angels, have crouched too long in
\nThe bruising darkness\u2026<\/p>\n

\u2026<\/p>\n

Come, clad in peace and I will sing the songs
\nThe Creator gave to me when I
\nAnd the tree and stone were one.<\/p>\n

\u2026<\/p>\n

Today, the first and last of every tree
\nSpeaks to humankind. Come to me, here beside the river.
\nPlant yourself beside me, here beside the river.<\/p>\n

\u2026<\/p>\n

Lift up your faces, you have a piercing need
\nFor this bright morning dawning for you.<\/p>\n

\u2026<\/p>\n

Lift up your eyes upon
\nThe day breaking for you.
\nGive birth again
\nTo the dream.
\nWomen, children, men,
\nTake it into the palms of your hands.
\nMold it into the shape of your most
\nPrivate need. Sculpt it into
\nThe image of your most public self.<\/p>\n

\u2026<\/p>\n

Lift up your hearts.
\nEach new hour holds new chances
\nFor new beginnings.<\/p>\n

\u2026<\/p>\n

\u2026And say simply
\nVery simply
\nWith hope
\nGood morning.<\/i><\/p>\n

Sending love to you all!<\/p>\n

The horizon leans forward,
\nOffering you space to place new steps of change.<\/i><\/p>\n


\n

<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

<\/a>Recommended Books: Maya Angelou<\/font><\/b><\/p>\n\n

<\/p>\n

\n\n\n
<\/a><\/td>\n<\/a><\/td>\n<\/a><\/td>\n<\/a><\/td>\n<\/a><\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
The Complete Collected Poems of Maya Angelou<\/a><\/small><\/td>\nPhenomenal Woman: Four Poems Celebrating Women<\/a><\/small><\/td>\nAnd Still I Rise<\/a><\/small><\/td>\nA Brave and Startling Truth<\/a><\/small><\/td>\nThe Collected Autobiographies of Maya Angelou<\/a><\/small><\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
More Books >><\/a><\/i><\/td>\n<\/tr>\n<\/table>\n

<\/center>
\n<\/p>\n\n\n
\n\"Maya<\/a>\n<\/td>\n\nMaya Angelou<\/strong><\/a><\/p>\n

US (1928 \u2013 2014) Timeline<\/a>
\nSecular or Eclectic<\/a><\/a>
\n<\/a><\/a><\/em>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n<\/table>\n

<\/p>\n

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 \u2014 a deeply religious woman whose faith and dignity left a permanent mark on the girl who would become one of America\u2019s great voices.<\/p>\n

When Marguerite was eight years old, she was assaulted by her mother\u2019s boyfriend, and the trauma left her nearly silent for five years. It was in that silence that she fell in love with words \u2014 reading voraciously, absorbing poetry and literature \u2014 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.<\/p>\n

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 \u2014 particularly \u201cStill I Rise\u201d and \u201cPhenomenal Woman\u201d \u2014 carries the rhythms of the Black church tradition: the sermon, the spiritual, the call that expects a response.<\/p>\n

Her faith was rooted in the Black Baptist tradition but expansive in spirit. As an adult she explored widely \u2014 she had genuine engagement with Zen Buddhism, Judaism, and Islam \u2014 but she returned to Christianity as her home. She described being a Christian as an ongoing process, not an arrival, and spoke of God\u2019s presence in every created thing. <\/p>\n

Her faith was not private or quietist \u2014 it fueled her civil rights work directly. To believe that every person was made in God\u2019s image was, for her, not a sentiment but a demand.<\/p>\n

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.<\/p>\n

More poetry by Maya Angelou<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

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, […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[3],"tags":[113],"class_list":["post-8690","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-poetry","tag-maya-angelou"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.poetry-chaikhana.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/8690","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.poetry-chaikhana.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.poetry-chaikhana.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.poetry-chaikhana.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.poetry-chaikhana.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=8690"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/www.poetry-chaikhana.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/8690\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":8691,"href":"https:\/\/www.poetry-chaikhana.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/8690\/revisions\/8691"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.poetry-chaikhana.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=8690"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.poetry-chaikhana.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=8690"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.poetry-chaikhana.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=8690"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}