And... POEMS

These are the poems written by women that you sent to me to celebrate the International Women Day. I include a small biography of each poet.

When I am an old woman I shall wear purple
With a red hat which doesn't go, and doesn't suit me.
And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves
And satin sandals, and say we've no money for butter.
I shall sit down on the pavement when I'm tired
And gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells
And run my stick along the public railings
And make up for the sobriety of my youth.

From Warning           Jenny Joseph

Jenny Joseph (7 May 1932 – 8 January 2018) was an English poet.

She was born in Birmingham and, with a scholarship, studied English literature at St Hilda's College, Oxford (1950).^[1] Her poems were first published when she was at university in the early 1950s.^[2] She became a journalist and worked for the Bedfordshire Times, the Oxford Mail and Drum Publications (Johannesburg, South Africa).

STILL I RISE

You may write me down in history
with your bitter, twisted lies.
You may trod me in teh very dirt
But still, like dust, I'll rise.

Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
'Cause I walk like I've got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.

Just like moons and like suns, 
With the certainty of tides, 
Just like hopes springing high, 
Still I'll rise.

Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops.
Weakened by my soulful cries.

Does my haughhtiness offend you?
Don't you take it awful hard
'Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines
Diggin' in my own backyard.

You may shoot me with your words, 
You may cur me with your eyes, 
You may kill me with your faithfulness, 
But still, like air, I'll rise.

Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I'´ve got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?

Out of the huts of history’s shame
I rise
Up from a past that’s rooted in pain
I rise
I’m a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise.

Maya Angelou and Inma

Maya Angelou  born Marguerite Annie Johnson; April 4, 1928 – May 28, 2014) was an American poet, singer, memoirist, and civil rights activist. She published seven autobiographies, three books of essays, several books of poetry, and was credited with a list of plays, movies, and television shows spanning over 50 years. She received dozens of awards and more than 50 honorary degrees.^[Angelou is best known for her series of seven autobiographies, which focus on her childhood and early adult experiences. The first, I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings (1969), tells of her life up to the age of 17 and brought her international recognition and acclaim.

Mad Girl's Love Song

By Sylvia Plath and

Sylvia Plath was an American poet, novelist, and short-story writer. Born in Boston, she studied at Smith College and Newnham College at the University of

Cambridge before receiving acclaim as a poet and writer. She married fellow poet Ted Hughes in 1956, and they lived together in the United States and then in England. They had two children, Frieda and Nicholas, before separating in 1962.
Plath was clinically depressed for most of her adult life, and was treated multiple times with electroconvulsive therapy (ECT). She committed suicide in 1963












"I shut my eyes and all the world
I lift my lids and all is born again.
(I think I made you up inside my
head.)
drops dead;
The stars go waltzing out in blue
and red,
And arbitrary blackness gallops
in:
I shut my eyes and all the world
drops dead.
I dreamed that you bewitched me
into bed
And sung me moon-struck, kissed
me quite insane.
(I think I made you up inside my
head.)
God topples from the sky, hell's
fires fade:
Exit seraphim and Satan's men:
I shut my eyes and all the world
drops dead.
I fancied you'd return the way you
said,
But I grow old and I forget your
name.
(I think I made you up inside my
head.)
I should have loved a thunderbird
instead;
At least when spring comes they
roar back again.
I shut my eyes and all the world
drops dead.
(I think I made you up inside my
head.)"




I’LL COME WHEN THOU ART SADDEST

I’ll come when thou art saddest,
Laid alone in the darkened room;
When the mad day’s mirth has vanished,
And the smile of joy is banished
From evening’s chilly gloom.

I’ll come when the heart’s real feeling
Has entire, unbiassed sway,
And my influence o’er thee stealing,
Grief deepening, joy congealing,
Shall bear thy soul away.

Listen, ‘tis just the hour,
The awful time for thee;
Dost thou not feel upon thy soul
A flood of strange sensations roll,
Forerunners of a sterner power,
Heralds of me?

Emily Brönte

Emily Jane Brontë (July 1818 – 19 December 1848) was an English novelist and poet who is best known for her only novel, Wuthering Heights, now considered a classic of English literature. Emily was the third-eldest of the four surviving Brontë siblings, between the youngest Anne and her brother Branwell. She wrote under the pen name Ellis Bell.