From Author: I want to take a moment to express my gratitude to the men who have honored me with roses throughout my life—1,000 roses, given on 11 different occasions. Some were gestures from royalty, others from friends, and some from my late husband, whose love and memory remain etched in my heart. Every 1000 roses, no matter the giver, has been a symbol of affection, devotion, and the moments of beauty that have graced my journey. This poem, 1000 Roses, is a reflection of that gratitude and the emotions woven into every petal.
1000 Roses
A thousand roses, each a whispered vow, In moments fleeting, I remember them now. Blush of dawn, crimson fire, softest white, Each bloom a story, a memory alight.
Some came with crowns, from men of high place, Royalty’s hand, a gesture of grace. Their petals spoke of elegance, rare, A fleeting dance of splendor and care.
Some came from friends, steady and true, With laughter and warmth in every hue. No titles, no crowns, just hearts aligned, In the giving, love’s simplicity I find.
And some came from the one who shared my days, My late husband, whose love lit my way. Each rose a heartbeat, tender and near, A fragrance of comfort that lingers here.
I traced their petals, soft as whispered prayer, Felt their presence, their thoughtfulness rare. A thousand roses, yet each distinct, A tapestry of hearts, delicately linked.
Some roses wore the blush of shy delight, Some burned with passion, fierce as night. Some whispered secrets only I could hear, Some held laughter, some held a tear.
Each occasion, a mark upon my soul, A thousand roses, making me whole. The numbers grow, yet the feeling stays, In silent reflection, in sunlight rays.
I thank the givers, known and unknown, For every rose, how my heart has grown. In velvet folds, love’s language unfurls, A thousand roses, a thousand worlds.
They remind me that love wears many hues, In red and gold, and gentle blues. In every petal, a story of grace, A thousand roses, a thousand embraces.
Through time and memory, each bloom survives, A fragrant echo of cherished lives. And though some hands now rest beyond, Their roses remain, forever fond.
A thousand roses, yet still I see, The depth of love that surrounds me. Royalty, friendship, a husband’s devotion, All carried to me on petals’ motion.
So here I stand, with gratitude deep, For every rose, for every keep. A thousand roses, eleven times given, Each a whisper of heaven, a fragment of heaven.
Good hair is the crown God wove with His own hands, A tapestry of coils, curls, kinks, and strands, A language spoken in spirals and waves, A history braided through mothers and graves.
Good hair is the rhythm of roots that rise, Defying gravity, touching the skies, A halo of strength that the world once denied, Yet still blooms boldly with unbroken pride.
Good hair is Sunday mornings with warm oil’s sheen, Auntie’s hands parting like a quiet routine, The pull, the twist, the tender care, Love is passed down in every braid we wear.
Good hair is shrinkage—magic in motion— A spring of life, a living ocean, Proof that what looks small can expand with grace, Proof of resilience woven in place.
Good hair is softness wrapped in a tough embrace, A garden of texture no copy can trace, A map of identity, sacred and true, A signature style the Creator drew.
Good hair is locs that speak of time, Twists that whisper, “I am divine,” Afros that rise like a new dawn’s fire, Edges that swoop with artistic desire.
Good hair is the right to choose, To press, to braid, to twist, to fuse, To rock it natural or wear it long, Each style a verse in a freedom song.
Good hair is not what others decide— Not a scale, not a standard, not a measure of pride. Good hair is the hair God placed on your head, Alive with stories your ancestors said.
Good hair is heritage, holy and deep, A beauty the world tried to steal but couldn’t keep, A reflection of glory, regal and rare— You don’t have good hair. You have good hair.
The heart once shattered, torn in two, Still beats because His Word is true. “He healeth the broken in heart,” they say, “And bindeth up their wounds each day” (Psalm 147:3, KJV).
Tears may linger through the night, But joy shall come with morning light. For sorrow’s shadow cannot stay, “Weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning” (Psalm 30:5, KJV).
Though love of man may fall apart, The Lord is near the contrite heart. “The LORD is nigh unto them that are of a broken heart; and saveth such as be of a contrite spirit” (Psalm 34:18, KJV).
Where pain has pierced and trust has died, God whispers soft, “My grace is nigh.” “My grace is sufficient for thee: for my strength is made perfect in weakness” (2 Corinthians 12:9, KJV).
So rise, dear soul, lift up your eyes, Redemption shines beyond the skies. “They that wait upon the LORD shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles” (Isaiah 40:31, KJV).
For brokenness is not the end, But where God meets you as a Friend. His love restores, His hand imparts— The mender of all broken hearts.
Maya Angelou: A Caged Bird Who Soared—The Voice, The Vision, The Victory of a Phenomenal Woman
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Few figures in American history have embodied the spirit of resilience, eloquence, and cultural pride quite like the late great, Dr. Maya Angelou. Born Marguerite Annie Johnson on April 4, 1928, in St. Louis, Missouri, she emerged as one of the most influential poets, memoirists, performers, and activists of the 20th and 21st centuries. Her life’s work defied categorization, transcending literature and the arts to become a moral and cultural compass for Black America and the world.
Angelou’s early life was marked by trauma and hardship. After her parents’ divorce, she was sent to live with her grandmother in the deeply segregated town of Stamps, Arkansas. At the age of eight, she was sexually abused by her mother’s boyfriend. Following this traumatic experience, Angelou stopped speaking for nearly five years. It was during this long silence that her love for literature was born. The works of Black writers like Paul Laurence Dunbar and Langston Hughes became her refuge, and words—though unspoken—became her means of survival. Later in life, she famously declared, “There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you” (I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings, 1969). This became the heartbeat of her writing.
Her literary debut, I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings, is widely considered a cornerstone of American memoir. Published in 1969, it recounts her youth marked by racism, trauma, and transformation. It was one of the first widely read autobiographies by a Black woman that dealt openly with sexual violence, racial oppression, and personal rebirth. Angelou’s voice was raw yet refined—she did not write to entertain, but to liberate. For Black Americans, particularly Black women, her story was a mirror and a map: a reflection of their pain, and a guide to their power.
While Angelou’s literary career was monumental, her 1978 poem Phenomenal Woman cemented her as a cultural icon. Written in a time when Eurocentric beauty standards dominated media and society, the poem was a defiant love letter to Black femininity and natural confidence. It celebrated the curves, poise, rhythm, and strength of women whose beauty could not be defined by magazine covers. She wrote:
“It’s in the reach of my arms, The span of my hips, The stride of my step, The curl of my lips. I’m a woman Phenomenally.”
With this work, Angelou redefined beauty—not as something adorned, but as something lived. The poem resonated deeply with women of all backgrounds and became a rallying cry for body positivity and self-respect. She wrote not for applause but for affirmation—of identity, dignity, and womanhood.
Throughout her career, Maya Angelou received numerous accolades. She was awarded more than 50 honorary degrees, three Grammy Awards for her spoken-word albums, and was nominated for Tony and Emmy Awards for her acting and screenwriting. Her literary work was complemented by her activism; she worked alongside Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. and Malcolm X, and was deeply involved in Pan-Africanist movements during her time living abroad in Ghana and Egypt. In 1993, she recited her poem On the Pulse of Morning at President Bill Clinton’s inauguration, becoming the second poet in U.S. history to be so honored. Later, in 2011, President Barack Obama awarded her the Presidential Medal of Freedom, the highest civilian honor in the nation.
Angelou’s personal life was as layered as her professional one. She was married briefly to Tosh Angelos, a Greek sailor, though the marriage ended in divorce. She adopted “Angelou,” a variation of her birth and married names, as her stage name. She had one son, Guy Johnson, whom she gave birth to at the age of seventeen. Her devotion to him was unwavering, and he often spoke of her strength, describing her as “the greatest woman I’ve ever known.” Her fierce independence and sacrifices as a single mother gave depth to her understanding of womanhood and motherhood, which often permeated her writing.
Despite her fame, Angelou remained deeply connected to her roots and committed to uplifting her community. Her influence reached far beyond the literary world. She appeared in films such as Roots (1977), Poetic Justice (1993), and How to Make an American Quilt (1995), and directed Down in the Delta (1998), a poignant film about healing and generational restoration. She was a frequent guest on television, notably with Oprah Winfrey, and her impact on popular culture spanned generations. Her words were sampled in music, quoted in speeches, and recited at women’s empowerment events across the globe.
Angelou was revered in the Black community as a truth-teller, a mother figure, and a living ancestor. While some white institutions initially resisted her unapologetic Blackness, she eventually won universal acclaim. Yet she never sought white validation. She understood that her work was rooted in telling the Black truth—and that truth had the power to shake systems and heal souls.
Her poem Phenomenal Woman continues to be a timeless ode to self-worth. When asked about the inspiration behind it, Angelou explained that she wanted to give women permission to be proud of their presence, not just their appearance. She wrote:
“Now you understand Just why my head’s not bowed. I don’t shout or jump about Or have to talk real loud. When you see me passing, It ought to make you proud.”
The poem’s resonance was not only literary but deeply personal to women who had been told to shrink themselves. Angelou’s command was simple: be big, be bold, be phenomenal.
She also had personal pleasures—she loved gumbo, Southern cuisine, jazz music, gardening, and Shakespeare. These interests grounded her as a woman of both intellect and heart, rooted in heritage but always reaching for something transcendent.
When asked about her inspiration, Angelou always pointed back to her childhood silence. It was her muteness, paradoxically, that gave her voice such force. Writing became her resurrection. As Pearl Bailey, her dear friend and fellow performer, once said: “She’s more than a writer. She’s a spirit. A thunderous force of truth wrapped in grace.”
After Angelou’s passing in 2014, her son Guy Johnson reflected on her legacy with reverence, saying: “My mother lived a life of deep honesty, and in doing so, she gave millions permission to tell their own truths.”
Maya Angelou was not merely a woman of letters—she was a woman of legacy. Her work endures not because she conformed, but because she dared to live—and write—the truth. She was, and remains, a phenomenal woman in every sense. Her voice still sings, still soars, reminding generations that even a caged bird can rise and touch the heavens.
References
Angelou, M. (1969). I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings. Random House. Angelou, M. (1995). Phenomenal Woman: Four Poems Celebrating Women. Random House. Obama, B. (2011). Presidential Medal of Freedom Recipients. The White House Archives. Johnson, G. (2014). Interview on the legacy of Maya Angelou. National Public Radio (NPR). Bailey, P. (1985). Reflections on Maya Angelou. Ebony Magazine.
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