Best Newmann Poems

It occurred to me
I think more and more like a poet
Thoughts jumbled with imagery
Off in my own colourful world
Small wonder there’s a disconnect
With dusty musty...

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Here they are before me, 
   surreal in the dazzling morning sun.
      Against clear skies of blue, and
peaked...

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 Cold the winter night as snow fell,
it drifted-  collected on streets;
where a meandering lost girl struggled to walk,
weary and tired; 
she ran away...

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I like Muslims,
Particularly Yemenis
And Pakistanis (in Yemen)—
With whom, as a university don,
I happened to live for six years. 

Arabic vowels render 
A Yemeni voice gruff.
So...

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in my life-
some    have tried to murder my spirit-
to assassinate my soul
with their single-mindfulness

nincompoops    mean and nasty

torture  ...

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Corrupt words shake the ocean of my sleep-
   Since childhood words have infected my mind,
and the endless winds of time roll and creep;
...

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Rubiks Cube, a 3D puzzle, a toy, invented in 1974
became a worldwide craze 
called by many names over time
Magic Cube
   Speed Cube
 ...

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Moon Spoon


In high school, I met
my sweetheart, 
and together, 
we followed our dream  
to romance that turned into love.
When school ended,
he joined the Marines.

We...

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I lay my sad words on paper white,
and weave my grief and tears;
but my chosen words will not rest quietly,
they spiral, curling, whirling-

My words...

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With this psychosis, faces wear dark, angry stares,
   and all at once, chills travel up and down my spine.
    ...

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Each religion has its own ideology
Its own house of worship
It has its own dialect,
It is bounded by 
its own rites and rituals
Its own drama and...

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C orn, golden gains dried ready to pop

O kra green pods from the garden plot

R aisins dried from fall's grape crop

N ew fresh brown turkey...

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If the Rubik's cube were round;
As a ball, as a globe- round;
Could I drop and roll it around town;

If the Rubik's cube were round;
Like this...

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She walks ruggedly
in an abandoned long tunnel;
Her feet ~ as heavy as the stale steel rails
almost buried in forgotten soil;
Her hands as cold as tombstone's...

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If you follow my poem's flight,
Pray, hold it under no search light,
Worse, under prying microscope,
Nor keen discreet ears, I do hope.
Let not your mind's curious...

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