Naomi Shihab Nye

(12 March 1952 / St. Louis, Missouri)

Naomi Shihab Nye Poems

1. One Way or Another 4/30/2015
2. Lying While Birding 5/22/2015
3. Many Asked Me Not to Forget Them 6/22/2015
4. Loving Working 1/23/2016
5. Snow 5/16/2015
6. Business 5/13/2015
7. How Palestinians Keep Warm 5/16/2015
8. Arabic 5/16/2015
9. Negotiations with a Volcano 12/10/2015
10. Valentine for Ernest Mann 5/9/2015
11. Arabs in Finland 6/10/2015
12. The Turtle Shrine Near Chittagong 1/4/2012
13. Song Book 12/1/2014
14. The Story, Around The Corner 1/4/2012
15. The Words Under The Words 1/4/2012
16. The Traveling Onion 12/26/2014
17. Yellow Glove 1/4/2012
18. Trying To Name What Doesn’t Change 1/4/2012
19. Wedding Cake 12/17/2014
20. Truth Serum 1/4/2012
21. Last August Hours Before The Year 2000 1/4/2012
22. San Antonio 1/4/2012
23. Spruce Street, Berkeley 1/4/2012
24. Alaska 1/4/2012
25. Supple Cord 1/4/2012
26. Hello 1/4/2012
27. The Small Vases From Hebron 1/4/2012
28. Fundamentalism 1/4/2012
29. Jerusalem 1/4/2012
30. The Rider 1/4/2012
31. Hugging The Jukebox 1/4/2012
32. My Uncle’s Favorite Coffee Shop 1/4/2012
33. Shoulders 1/4/2012
34. Boy And Egg 1/4/2012
35. So Much Happiness 1/4/2012
36. The Art Of Disappearing 1/4/2012
37. Different Ways To Pray 1/4/2012
38. Burning The Old Year 1/4/2012
39. Famous 1/4/2012
40. Sewing, Knitting, Crocheting... 1/13/2003
Best Poem of Naomi Shihab Nye

Blood

"A true Arab knows how to catch a fly in his hands,"
my father would say. And he'd prove it,
cupping the buzzer instantly
while the host with the swatter stared.

In the spring our palms peeled like snakes.
True Arabs believed watermelon could heal fifty ways.
I changed these to fit the occasion.

Years before, a girl knocked,
wanted to see the Arab.
I said we didn't have one.
After that, my father told me who he was,
"Shihab"--"shooting star"--
a good name, borrowed from the sky.
Once I said, "When we die, we ...

Read the full of Blood

Half-And-Half

You can't be, says a Palestinian Christian
on the first feast day after Ramadan.
So, half-and-half and half-and-half.
He sells glass. He knows about broken bits,
chips. If you love Jesus you can't love
anyone else. Says he.

At his stall of blue pitchers on the Via Dolorosa,
he's sweeping. The rubbed stones

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