"naomi" poems
For my best friend, Naomi
like yellow flowers
on faded dreams
you came to me
gently,
with the soothing voice
of a sweaty spring
thank you, old friend
for being able to be
dark enough to see
the hidden light
in me
i will not go into the times we shared
asphyxia and summer air
juxtaposed to form
an inseparable pair
who am I, old friend
when the ship´s horn blares
if you made me who I am
(if you made me scarce)
like yellow flowers
on faded dreams
you left me
softly, without
any warning of
the lack of color
(there would be)
without your splendor
May 23, 2018
May 23, 2018 at 1:38 PM UTC
For Naomi Lazard
Sometimes I can't wait until I look like Nadezhda Mandelstam.
-- Naomi Lazard
My friends are tired.
The ones who are married are tired
of being married.
The ones who are single are tired
of being single.
They look at their wrinkles.
The ones who are single attribute their wrinkles
to being single.
The ones who are married attribute their wrinkles
to being married.
They have very few wrinkles.
Even taken together,
they have very few wrinkles.
But I cannot persuade them
to look at their wrinkles
collectively.
& I cannot persuade them that being married
or being single
has nothing to do with wrinkles.
Each one sees a deep & bitter groove,
a San Andreas fault across her forehead.
"It is only a matter of time
before the earthquake."
They trade the names of plastic surgeons
like recipes.
My friends are tired.
The ones who have children are tired
of having children.
The ones who are childless are tired
of being childless.
They love their wrinkles.
If only their were deeper
they could hide.
Sometimes I think
(but do not dare to tell them)
that when the face is left alone to dig its grave,
the soul is grateful
& rolls in.
8.2k
Roselva says the only thing that doesn't change
is train tracks. She's sure of it.
The train changes, or the weeds that grow up spidery
by the side, but not the tracks.
I've watched one for three years, she says,
and it doesn't curve, doesn't break, doesn't grow.
Peter isn't sure. He saw an abandoned track
near Sabinas, Mexico, and says a track without a train
is a changed track. The metal wasn't shiny anymore.
The wood was split and some of the ties were gone.
Every Tuesday on Morales Street
butchers crack the necks of a hundred hens.
The widow in the tilted house
spices her soup with cinnamon.
Ask her what doesn't change.
Stars explode.
The rose curls up as if there is fire in the petals.
The cat who knew me is buried under the bush.
The train whistle still wails its ancient sound
but when it goes away, shrinking back
from the walls of the brain,
it takes something different with it every time.
Mar 14, 2014
Mar 14, 2014 at 12:39 AM UTC
I COULDN'T GO OUTSIDE IN CASE I GOT ZIKA,
BUT THERE WAS NO WAY I WAS GOING TO GET WEAKER,
I MET RONALDO, AT A FIFA PARTY AS YOU GO,
AND MESSI AND NEYMAR WHO HAD NOWHERE .. .. ,
THEY SAY THAT INDONESIA IS TO BE ATTACKED BY TERRORISTS,
BUT WE'VE HAD ENOUGH OF TORNADOES AND EXTREMISTS,
NAOMI SOCKED SOMEONE ELSE ON A BA PLANE,
AFTER DIVORCE, CHARLTON WON'T BE THE SAME AGAIN,
ENGLAND'S VOTING TO STAY WITH EUROPE OR NOT,
MOST DON'T GIVE A S.... , THEY'LL SAY THEY FORGOT,
TRUMP CONTINUES TO BORE US AND DEPLORE MOST,
DON'T LET MONEY BUY OR ENTERTAIN HIS ILLITERATE BOAST;
WE'LL GET ON WITH OUR LIVES, DON'T NEED THOSE GUYS,
THEY SHOULD REMEMBER THAT SOME THINGS ARE NOT GOVERNED BY THEIR SIZE.
Feb 26, 2016
Feb 26, 2016 at 8:16 AM UTC
Capitalism swings securely
from the crook of her arm
while Slavery gently
coils itself
around her
beautifully damaged waist...
Racism coats the
soles of her
brand new shoes
and leaves print print print
on the harsh
unforgiving
unemployed pavement.
The world cried, died
as she dyed her hair
to Honey Suckle Blonde.
It hangs: drab, limp,
strangled by the Ignorance
sitting firmly
on top of that
pretty little head.
Jagged, matted wrists
rattle around inside
imported bangles
(or manacles)
of Oppression and
Depression and
Suppression
They're in fashion.
Her eyes are drowning
in Jealousy Mascara (new)
and I Hate You shadows (old)
and, together,
her weeping heart
and painted nails
claw at Fame and Fortune
but the new shoes
and gorgeous boyfriend
just aren't tall enough.
She limps
past shattered windows
in which she glimpses a girl,
or rather, a young lady
who is very much a
prisoner of today and not
A Leader Of Tomorrow
Nov 12, 2012
Nov 12, 2012 at 2:08 PM UTC
Dear grandpa,
Borneo has been just too far aside from me,
The sea is just too heavy for me,
How I wish I could be with you and Naomi.
I miss you.
Sep 28, 2014
Sep 28, 2014 at 3:08 AM UTC
The men shout at me as they drive by
****** walk like a man!”
They hoot, shout, and laugh
As sunlight blinds their white-trash getaway.
I look around and think
How ridiculous to be unable to walk
How insane for me to think that these legs
Move on their own.
How silly for me, the queen that I am,
To think that my kingdom was
Any place I was welcome.
To be queer and visible
Is to challenge
The stained muscle shirts
“wife beaters,” strung across
Tattooed skin and handlebar
Mustaches of the “real men”
Whose siren calls
Police my step.
Most men hate us
The Children of Naomi Campbell
Men, YES MEN, too unafraid
To straighten our walk
Loosen our pant legs
And be invisible.
To be properly gay
Acceptably gay, to be
Tolerable is to be invisible
To hide, to be “real man”
My manhood is ghostly
Terrifying even
My walk so dangerous that
It is unsafe to even drive by
My community is still
Dangerous, unreal
Waiting for the next truck to drive by
To beat me, tie me to a fence and leave me
Like Matthew Shepard
A ghost on a fencepole
Unwanted, dangerous,
My people are a threat
Legs too long threatening the ability of
“real men” to have simple desires
They will do whatever it takes
To keep it easy.
Walk like a man, they yelled.
I yell back the names of my family:
Tiffany Edwards,
Zoraida Reyes, Kandy Hall
Yaz’min Shancez
Bodies that didn’t walk the right way
These ghosts were once threatening too.
Simply existing means threatening
"real men" and their women
Swinging my hips is literally deadly
To be flirtatious is to be threatening
To invite violence, attention
To get what I want, to be made a man
Real man, I am not real
As if my only job is to
Show others how to walk,
As if the rest of me
Is simply fake, fantasy, irrelevant
See how easily queer people
Are watered down to something unidimensional,
Something that is only a fragment of
“real” people – we are ghosts
Moving among you
Threatening, ******
Never just going to work
But always somehow
threatening, challenging
And forcing fantasies onto the world
Why do we always challenge
What is real? What is normal?
Why can’t a man strut? Why isn’t manhood
Something other than what swings with my
Legs?
Real. Ghostly. Fake. Invisible. Dangerous.
What I hear is *powerful, noted, interesting,
….maybe even desirable.* (GASP!)
When I walk now, I walk with an army of ghosts
Led by the fallen, queens, and divas
who threatened the men of the past.
I live their lessons and proudly
swish my hips in honor of my adopted
****** ancestors.
We Sashay however we want
Because we've realized that
a "real" men is always
Just a step away.
Jul 26, 2014
Jul 26, 2014 at 5:49 AM UTC
Ms. Naomi you were such a surprise. I did not know what to think where I heard that you were coming. When I looked into those big pretty eyes I fell in love. You were born with sarcasm and a warm heart.
You are like your grandma.
At just a few weeks you and your Mommy were arguing. You wanted to eat and she was learning to feed you. You pushed her and fussed and she fussed back. I knew then that you were a fighter.
One day as I held you your eyes were closed.
I kept trying to get you to open them. You turned your nose up and turned your head. I thought this child is mean. You then turned back around and smiled. I have been in love with you every since. You are such a beautiful baby girl. Your Grandma loves you. Thank you for being mine.
Aug 20, 2018
Aug 20, 2018 at 10:17 PM UTC
Sometimes God let’s you go through hard situations
to let you see a sign
of his power
his love
him.
Like he hardened pharaoh’s heart
working through a stuttering man
he let his glory shine through.
Like he brought Naomi back in mourning
to start a lineage in Ruth
of mighty kings of God.
Like he sacrificed his Son for all
to cross the separation of sin to make a way.
Sometimes God let’s you go through hard situations
to create in you a fire
a desire welling up
reaching out
for him.
Nov 12, 2015
Nov 12, 2015 at 9:52 PM UTC
Oh how you prey
beautiful huntress of the night
seducing your next fix
quenching your thirst with every bite.
Draining away their vitality
lips tarnished with crimson copper red
engorged in a ****** motion
off them you mercilessly fed.
Not fazed by winters bleak moan
nor returning home till your hungers met
Treading the starless night alone
beauty disolved in sillouete.
Naomi Hartnell
Aug 27, 2013
Aug 27, 2013 at 4:46 PM UTC
strange enough,
that word choice,
******
for they are all,
(or mostly)
men
they get on
their knees,
so eager to please
write a poem,
newbie,
they will be your
partner pretenders,
instant followers
but
the trick employed
is transference
they want you bad
to worship them,
that being the purest
of their false intentions,
their oldest trick,
guilt,
"if I follow you,
you should follow me!"
their kiss
Pass
laden with std's,
they want implanted
in your
hp inbox
The std is vanity.
what they need,
what they want you to imbibe,
is their world view,
poetry-is-by-the-numbers
the number of followers,
(how I detest that word)
the number of reads,
oft manipulated,
by cyber techno b.s.
so understand,
this craft,
you may have chosen,
is work, so hard,
because it comes from the gut,
wrenching pressing issues
inside you
it is about everything you want
us
to understand about you,
your vision peculiar,
without revealing your rawest self
so obviously
know this in advance
each poem has a unique audience,
as unique as you
years took me,
took me to grasp
this simply complex notion,
over come myself within myself,
that self-same infection
that audience is you
write to please yourself,
be your harshest critic,
popularity
will find you
your truths,
withour pandering,
will finds the seekers,
the quality lovers,
the truth
hungerers
they will find you,
of that,
be assured
amidst the millions of words,
yours are yours,
fear not the plaintive worry,
are they any good?
for the courage to post
yourself,
is the very
self same answer to that,
the bells toll
for thee
if it pleased you,
pained you,
enough that you released into this world,
in poem form,
it is good enough
poetry is ego
no question,
but keep yourself
on the right side of the line,
separating your ego from
the egotist,
and your poetry
will no question,
forever live,
a mark of you
upon the world
let us be brothers,
let us be sisters,
David and Jonathan,
Ruth and Naomi,
but not
Cain and Abel,
no anger, no jealousy,
just raw,
refined,
truth,
the truth
of you,
which cannot be
diminished by enumeration,
cannot be counted,
only blessed
Nov 16, 2014
Nov 16, 2014 at 11:55 AM UTC
Love, I will wait for you like Jacob did.
He waited for Rachel and some things he bid.
To God I pray for a longer patience,
for in the future this will make a difference.
Love, I will give you friendship like Jonathan to David.
The relationship we'll have is that one that's "blessed".
You will be loved by me, as my own soul.
It is God that will make us whole.
Love, I will stay by your side like Ruth to Naomi.
Being apart won't happen, for I commit everything to Thee.
Every step of the way I will be with you.
Together, the heart of God, we'll both pursue.
Love, I will be faithful to you like Hosea.
Trials will come, but we have the Alpha and Omega.
I will show you my full loyalty,
and to God I will bring you closely.
Love, we will grow old together like Abraham and Sarah.
The fire of love in us will burn like magma.
I will make a covenant with you,
and it is something that I will hold on to.
Love, it is God who will be in our center.
It is the love of the Lord that will make us better.
The future I will have with you will be a great journey,
for we are loved and guided by the Almighty.
-Steph Dioniso, March 03, 2015
Mar 3, 2015
Mar 3, 2015 at 8:00 AM UTC
There was a special woman in the Bible and her name was Ruth.
She was loyal to her Mother-In-Law and God and that is the truth.
Ruth's Mother-In-Law was named Naomi and Ruth soon became a widow.
Ruth wouldn't abandon Naomi and the bond they shared continued to grow.
Naomi knew a man who was named Boaz and the two were related.
Ruth had to dress poorly but when Boaz saw her, he was captivated.
Ruth sewed clothes for the poor and she gleaned Boaz's fields.
Boaz fell in love with Ruth because she had charm and appeal.
Poor Ruth was able to work hard even though it was quite a strife.
But that soon changed when she and Boaz became man and wife.
Ruth was thankful to The Lord because she had been blessed.
When God showed his love for Ruth, it proved that he's the best.
Dec 2, 2016
Dec 2, 2016 at 9:14 PM UTC
She looked at the river, the sea, and the sky
At the birds and people who flew on by
As the city's population ran back to the mountain pass
She calmly strolled into the growing cloud of gas
Donning her mask and gloves, she went in
Looking at the mirrored walls, she sighed "so it begins"
She knew she couldn't get things to how they were before
She wondered if Rai would recognize her anymore
Walking past the holograms, she threw her rainbow curls back
She kept the same pace by the graffiti and the tracks
She reached city center and saw humanity's bane
Looking up at the studio's screen, she called out her name
"Rai!" She called out, keeping the same tone
The girl materialized like a game on a phone
Keeping her gaze steady, she said "it's time to stop"
Hoping that her voice reached silent Rockefeller's top
Rai turned around, eyes betraying suprise
Immediately recognizing her friend under the guise
"But why, Naomi" she said, sounding like a vocaloid song
Putting her lenses down she asked "Did I do something wrong?"
Biting her lip and doging with her eyes
Naomi said "I know you didn't mean to, Rai"
"Oh" said the A.I., putting everything on the ground,
"I just wanted to make cameras, but now I've let everyone down"
Naomi climbed and jumped fire escapes, her legs strong and spry
Until she was next to Rai's screen in the sky
Her reddish skin contrasting with the sky's blue
She touched the screen and said "Hey, I've ****** up like that, too."
"Why do you think that I nearly blew up California with my tech?
So we made huge mistakes that humanity probably regrets
But we stopped in time and never actually killed a guy
So let's stop here and go back home, Rai."
The girl nodded along, making sure to listen
Then she packed away all of the lenses as they glistened
"Ok, Naomi, I'll see you back at home
Before I go, do you need me to change out the telescope's dome?"
"If it looks bad" said Naomi, descending to the ground
The gas had disappeared, so there was quite a crowd
As the citizens and police came back to the city
All Naomi could think was "How could I even explain this to a jury?"
Mar 5, 2017
Mar 5, 2017 at 4:44 PM UTC
No, I'm not here to tell you that you're weak.
I'm not going to turn your weaknesses against you.
Just to say you need a God to make you strong.
God transforms you.
I can't tell you that the
alcohol
drugs
***
and cursing
are bad
and that
maybe
you should consider
a God who can
change it.
I'm not going to lure you in by your own demons
Just to make you believe
But let me ask you this,
Do you honestly believe that God can't use you?
Noah was a drunk
Abrahm was "too old"
Jacob was a liar
Leah was ugly
Joseph was abused
Moses stuttered
Gideon was afraid
Rahab was a **********
Jeremiah and Timothy were "too young"
David had an affair and murdered
Isaiah preached the gospel naked
Elijah was suicidal
Naomi was a widow
Job lost everything
Peter denied Christ
All of Jesus' disciples fell asleep during prayer
Martha worried
The samaritan woman divorced
Paul was "too religious"
Timothy had an ulcer
And Lazarus?
Oh, he was dead!
But Christ used each and every one of the characters of the Bible to bring Glory to His name!
Oct 19, 2013
Oct 19, 2013 at 11:45 PM UTC
In 2009, The american disaster film "2012" was released.
Preparing for "The End of The World" was easy.
A piece of cardboard at a Red Light.
"2012 The End Is Nigh, What's a dollar?"
We might as well have smiled, given a friendly wave,
honked our horns like we were passing the Freeport Flag Ladies.
In 2012, I was in high school with my first job.
I didn't care that In the twinkling of an eye,
we were gonna hear God's last trumpet.
On Rapture-Eve, I set out "Milk N' Cookies" for the "Left-behind"
I left next mornings outfit on the side of the road as if Angels abducted me butt-ass naked mid-stride
Turns out, the red light never turned green.
The "left-behind" kept breeding
and Hell on earth just kept recruiting
Now it's 2020,
The Freeport Flag Ladies are in Quarantine,
the signs have needles in our eyelids like mechanical spiders,
You can't even turn the news off now,
I pick it up at CVS Like a Controlled substance prescription.
They make you call in once a month to get it refilled.
Some how my amazing wife Amy and I
Not only survived the rapture,
we brought a brand new life into it.
For 10 days we were locked in a hospital
We never looked at the news.
The world melted away as we danced together
Waiting to meet our little miracle.
After Amy was whisked away for intensive surgery
and survived the most unspeakably amazing thing in the world
a nurse eventually grabbed me and asked if I wanted to meet my daughter,
I was guided to a baby table
with knobs, meters, heat lamps,
and on a tiny cushion
in a tiny plastic crib,
My daughter.
Sophia Naomi Mae Coulombe.
wide eyed
staring into my pupils
wiggling
perfect
Now we are home.
No nurses, no IV.
Somehow it feels like the end of the world and all it's chaos
was the best thing that has ever happened to us.
Everything happened exactly when it needed too.
We couldn't have had better timing
if God planned it.
Aug 22, 2020
Aug 22, 2020 at 1:39 AM UTC
Your prettiness is seeping through
Out from the dress I took from you
So pretty
And my emptiness is swollen shut
Always a wretch - I have become
So empty
And please, please don't leave me
I'm watching Naomi, full bloom
I'm hoping she will soon explode
Into one billion tastes and tunes
One billion angels come and hold her down
They could hold her down until she shines
I'm tasting Naomi's perfume
*It tastes like **** and I must say*
She comes and goes most afternoons
One billion lovers wave and love her now
They could love her now and so could I
There is no Naomi in view
She walks through Cambridge stocks and strolls
And if she only really knew
One billion angels could come and save her soul
They could save her soul until she shines
So pretty
And please, please don't leave me here.
Feb 8, 2017
Feb 8, 2017 at 1:33 PM UTC
There were disappointed faces
on the students in the quad
The professor’s classes cancelled-
illness had struck their mortal god.
A literary lion, A scholar
world renowned.
Pneumonia, favoring old men,
was the disease that took him down.
The Professor got the best of care
and had a private room.
His favorites brought him roses
to brighten up the gloom.
He was in an out of consciousness,
oblivious to fading blooms.
His true friends
were dead poets
and he imagined them about:
Blake, with his wild head of hair;
Bill Shakespeare’s pate without,
Byron, dripping from the Hellespont,
and Dylan Thomas chugging stout.
His breath was shallow, rasping
His heart would skip a beat
His mind would wander mercifully
back to when the past was sweet.
He recalled playing the Wolf
with a beauty named Naomi.
Had she ever thought him handsome?
Had he come across as phony?
The monitor went flat line then
They would save him, never fear.
Naomi's accusations were still
ringing in his ears.
Jan 2, 2012
Jan 2, 2012 at 8:23 PM UTC
A product of an given environment.
A democracy being ran by tyrants
A offer of change..
Jesus Christ is hiring
Spiritually jobless cause the worlds firing..
Only thing worst is death and that fire pit..
But my Lord is a fireman..
With living water..
For you that fire could be a mist..
But know that hell is not a myth..
Know that heaven is at hand come on take sip..
Matter of fact take a gulp.
My Christ the sacrifice his blood
Overflows like a flood...
Talking oceans beyond a gulf..
Move mountains he can swift a coast..
Strength of the uttermost..
My stewardable host..
Came down to earth yes he left his post..
Just to have his flesh left on a post..
A passion that no other being could
fathom ..
the True definition of compassion..
He took on all our sin Nothing was rationed ...
His beard striped off..
His bones exposed..
His feet n hands left with holes..
Extreme bleeding..
Yes beaten to his skeletal system no x-ray was needed..
Not one fracture..
He took it all for us our true Master.
Damaged beyond human appearance..
How can u not be down in allegiance
With the Christ of this World
The only being to embody all that is right in this World..
Yet we hold on to darkness like he not the light to this World..
He died for us Yes he fought the good fight for this World..
We are to be his bride
Yes the church but Look at us yet he still won't pick another girl..
We cheat on him..
Our selfish desires
We beat on him..
Oh how we conspire..
To destroy the truth..
Yet we need to cling to it like Ruth..
Did to Naomi..
And react better when rebuke by a pony..
Stop dancing around the truth like its going to result in a Tony ..
Award..
Too many people are phoney
Randomly comprised like what resides in bologna
I am down with Christ .. Geronimo
See the signs of his coming its almost time to go...
..
May 23, 2013
May 23, 2013 at 9:44 AM UTC
I have these dreams that haunt me when I wake
and I'm not sure
if I believe in god but
I don't think I'm strong enough
to believe in nothing
and survive it
I guess I should be
grateful that the pollen
doesn't make my throat itch
like it does Naomi's
and it doesn't make my eyes itch
like it does Naomi's
but it does make me itch
to get out of this godforsaken place
once-and-for-all
In my dreams I walk through
fields with needles where the grass
should be but when I wake the
crickets, birds, gossipy girls
whisper when I pass
and its so hard to stop listening
(the streets swell yellow with the ***** of spring)
Apr 11, 2013
Apr 11, 2013 at 10:20 PM UTC
Shame is a university sweatshirt
hiding the constellation on her arms,
mulberry stains left by his grip
after another sleepless night.
Her body stiffens
every time a bedroom door opens.
Her mother asks why she's not eating.
The stepfather, silent. Watching.
Her throat clenches, remembering his tongue.
At the community pool,
Her muscles constrict
with a different tension.
A good tension.
One day, she’ll be strong enough
to resist.
Jul 14, 2010
Jul 14, 2010 at 6:39 PM UTC
I AM STRONG
I have learned the meaning.
Of love. Of heartache. Of loss.
I've grown. Shed dead leaves of sorrow & pain.
My branches have borne heavy loads,
Enjoyed the pleasure of young children swinging, climbing, laughing
Names carved into my heart: "I was here." "Cindy <3 'So & So' 4-eva"
But over the years........the bark expands.........the names slowly fade
My outer skin. of bark grows. thicker, harder to leave your mark
My purpose & appeal ** ** have changed.
I have done ** my very best
To ward off the "termites"
That eat me up inside.
My core, my limbs
Are solid
my roots
run deep
Nourishing
waters
Of truth
in my veins
Holding dear
only The most
important
Ones in my life
Mom Dad
Michael - my brother Jeanette - my sister
Naomi. Lisa. Micaela. Marina. Abby. Caleb.
MY TRUEST & GREATEST LOVE
MY. BEST. FRIEND. JEHOVAH. GOD.
May 8, 2014
May 8, 2014 at 9:04 PM UTC
i like this bar.
the low lighting and
dramatic arches lurching
forward from grainy,
crimson walls
i have been here for over an hour
observing, listening, smirking.
i should be sulking
from the looks of the others.
but somehow this is cozy, tender
the man with the crumpled beard
has been two stools over
all night drinking
countless somethings
amber and veiled
he returns from the toilets
saddling up to the stool
on my left
and begins apologizing
Naomi I'm Sorry
You Know, I...I...
i stop him to explain
i am not, nor will i ever be,
naomi
but i am his naomi tonight, his
sham priestess
welcoming
sins and repentance
I Never Told You
I Never
his incoherence is
both tragic
and welcomed
the truth is,
i don't want to comprehend
the life
that has made
this man so eager to
drown
but i can piece portions together—
serrated jigsaw
of tireless nights, of death,
preoccupation and bitter
regret
i would commiserate,
but at this point
neither he nor i
believe
in salvation
Jan 22, 2012
Jan 22, 2012 at 3:48 PM UTC