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The thousands small birds of January in their smooth soaring cloud finding the trees.

Naomi Shihab Nye

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Naomi Shihab Nye
Age: 72
Born: 1952
Born: March 12
Poet
Teacher
University Teacher
Writer
St. Louis
Missouri
Findings
January
Finding
Soar
Bird
Cloud
Tree
Smooth
Small
Birds
Thousands
Trees
Clouds
Soaring

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I do think that all of us think in poems.
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Energy is everything. Rubbing happy and sad together creates energy.
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A poem is a cup of words open to the sky and wind in a bucket.
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I'm not interested in who suffered the most. I'm interested in people getting over it.
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I keep thinking, we teach children to use language to solve their disputes. We teach them not to hit and fight and bite. Then look what adults do!
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We start out as little bits of disconnected dust.
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There is a place to stand where you can see so many lights you forget you are one of them.
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We dropped our troubles into the lap of the storyteller, and they turned into someone else's.
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This is the world I want to live in. The shared world.
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I support all people on earth who have bodies like and unlike my body.
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... the real heroes of race and culture would always be the people who stepped out of their own line to make a larger circle.
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Since there is no place large enough to contain so much happiness, you shrug, you raise your hands, and it flows out of you into everything you touch. You are not responsible. You take no credit, as the night sky takes no credit for the moon, but continues to hold it, and share it, and in that way, be known.
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Before you know kindness as the deepest thing inside, you must know sorrow as the other deepest thing.
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our limbs which had already traveled far beyond her world, carrying the click of distances in the smooth, untroubled soles of their shoes.
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If someday, in a morning, you see you, in a mirror or the dent of a spoon, and wonder Where is my soul and Where has it gone, remember this: Catch the gaze of a woman on the metro, subway, tram. Look at a man. Seek and you will find you in the silvered space, a flash between souls.
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Let me peer out at the world through your lens. (Maybe I'll shudder, or gasp, or tilt my head in a question.) Let me see how your blue is my turquoise and my orange is your gold. Suddenly binary stars, we have startling gravity. Let's compare scintillation - let's share starlight.
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I want to be someone making music/with my coming.
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My father was very disappointed by war and fighting. And he thought language could help us out of cycles of revenge and animosity. And so, as a journalist, he always found himself asking lots of questions and trying to gather information. He was always very clear to underscore the fact that Jewish people and Arab people were brother and sister.
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Before you know what kindness really is you must lose things, feel the future dissolve in a moment like salt in a weakened broth.
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Later our dreams begin catching fire around the edges, they burn like paper, we wake with our hands full of ash.
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