Nenya Coleman's poetry

Nenya was a wonderful woman with such a bright and perfect smile. Fancy as all get out. You know those women always dressed? Always looking good. Nenya. I knew her brother in L.A. and when I moved to Atlanta he introduced us 'cause "yall should just know each other." He was right.

Nenya used to come over my house and read me her poetry because she wouldn't read it anywhere else. I'm honored that she did. Honored that she chose me.

Nenya was there for me. Everytime I performed in Atlanta if she could be there she was, with her crew. Always my favorite group in the crowd.

I got a call early one morning. That call. Nenya passed away. I sat there at her service with her friends and family and couldn't believe it. Her body was not there. Instead there was a big picture of her with that perfect smile. Those eyes and high cheek bones.

The following is a message she sent to me along with a poem. After that one there are others of Nenya's poetry.
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Here is a poem I wrote wanted to know what you thought is it ok to read in front of men and women?

THE FUNERAL

I wore my red dress, with my black heels, got my nails, feet and hair done
You’d be proud of me I folded all your things neat and precise the way you would have liked

I am still scrubbing the aroma of your scent away but it won’t be long till I don’t even smell a whiff of you.

A procession of tears cascade down my cheek for the last time, but I am a big girl I will be fine

I even cooked something; I rarely if ever did for you, invited folks over even put on some Jazz you know that just wasn’t like me

Threw away all my black clothes, holey panties, even decided to buy me some plus size lingerie and expensive perfume. You know how cheap I was

In reality, I know you still live on the other side of town at some unknown zip code but I had your funeral today.

2/19/07 By Nenya Coleman
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SWEET VENOM

I am slowly dying! How could that be?

All I received from you was love’s sweet kiss!

The kiss made my body turn 360 just to land me right back on my feet.

Your chocolate palate melted me like wax

Your eyes left impressions on my soul

The nectar of your venom was too tempting to resist

I have succumbed to your lethal love….how can I escape?

It is too late for me…but not for others to learn

If you except loves sweet kiss it may come with a price!

Your Life!

By: Nenya Coleman
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THE RIGHT ONE

The joy and headaches that love can bring, sometimes makes you wonder if you did the right thing

An unkind word or slip of the tongue makes you feel hurt for the wrong you’ve said or done

When there is no meeting of heart and mind the love you have may diminish over time

Yet, when loves gentle had comes in to referee all else is forgotten all bad thoughts flee

All you remember is the hand, that comforts you when times are bad, the kiss that makes you quiver like none you’ve ever had

The eyes that say I love you need no words

Kisses gently down your spine

A relationship that clearly states to others hands off he/she is mine!

Embracing love as life goes on makes you self-assured you’ve

PICKED THE RIGHT ONE!
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THE LOVE AFFAIR

Silence can be your best friend or your worse enemy

Silence can console you, for when it speaks only you will hear

Silence allows you into its bosom and doesn’t get upset when you have nothing to say

Silence has been my friend but once I have spoken quickly turns away!

It’s time that silence and I stop this love affair for spoken words have seduced me taking me to higher plains

I will let silence slip out of my clutch like a freed cageling

Spoken word has now become my new love affair
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ONLY HUMAN

I use to be radiant and ignorant as regards my value. Yet, now that beauty, value and worth are gone I seem to have NOTHING!

How I yearn for the times when I could omit a smile and know that the stares I received were those of admiration.

When I sit and ponder am I actually more vain now, with all my afflictions since through the suffering I don’t take the opportunity to appreciate that I still have the privilege to enjoy;

The sight of the morning sun? To feel even though pain is what I am welcomed with? To hear the foul and delightful expressions of the planet?

Though sadness is my friend and time is my enemy who has robbed me of delight

I will forgive both since neither can feel my rage against them and I will forgive myself for I am only human.
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THE DANCE

Resentment understands me giving me reason to feel just in hating you

It says keep that chip on your shoulder don’t let forgiveness knock it off

Whispering in my ear, it tells me all the reasons to hate you making me forget why I ever loved you

Resentment and I do a tango until I get tired letting it take the lead

Hidden in the dark are all the qualities that use to mean so much to me

As we complete this dance of conflict I will take the lead back to

Forgiveness
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BARREN

Leaves of silence have fallen all around me

I can’t detect sound no matter how loud it omits

My only consolance is my inner voice reassuring me I am not alone in this desolate place

I faintly remember your nurturing touch and soft caresses

A barren land is what I now amount too I have become one who’s life source is depleted

I wish the dew of love would return to shower me with affection and warmth

I have pleaded with GOD to start the midst within you, which would produce rain?

Yet, I guess my prayers are in vain because I am still parched
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WHERE ARE YOU?

As summer turns to fall and autumns leaves are shed I seem to remember that phrase you once said

I will be there summer; winter or fall I will be here through it all

These words once of comfort bring nothing but pathetic lamenting on my part

Summer has come and gone winter is knocking on its door but where are you?

The seasons in their entire splendor have more consistency than I have been able to observe in you

As the leaves of fall cascade I still momentarily remember your words that use to console me

I will be there summer, winter or fall I will be here through it all

Where are you?
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WHEN YOU’RE READY

You say I am infatuated with you? Dismissing the fact that I could actually love you?

Yes, You! Do you think you are not worthy of my precious words…words I reluctantly let drip out of my mouth without fear of the consequences! Entrusting you with my innermost feelings

Are you the only one capable of being hurt? Every time I utter these words I am letting vulnerability show and giving you so much power over me

You say I am infatuated with you? I know your flaws I see them clearly I don’t have the luxury or the time for rose colored glasses!

Maybe, being naïve and lost for words I do not know how to fully express how someone can make you feel alive and complete by merely just communicating with them

You said I am infatuated with you? If saying this eases the responsibility of you relinquishing your feelings to me I will accept that I will take the weight of love and carry it alone on my shoulders until

You Are Ready For Love
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SINCE YOU COULD NEVER BE MINE

Since you could never be mine, I hold you at arms length not letting you get to close to see my flaws.

Since you could never be mine, your voice has to stroke my heart and ego from a distance.

Since you could never be mine, we have to remember that life has played a funny trick knowing that if we had met in a different time

You could have been mine
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IN YOUR EYES

I look into your eyes for strength and I feel protection

I look into your eyes for answers and I am shown the truth

I look into your eyes for understanding and I am shown forgiveness

I look into your eyes for reassurance and I see

Love
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A DISTANCE

You say nothing

No contact with me is made

Spoken words you have not uttered, nor would I be capable of hearing them

Giving no outward impressions

Eyes tell your secret

You love me from a distance
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INFATUATION

I am infatuated with your youth

The dew of adolescence is omitting an enticing odor I attempt to taste some of it on my palate just enough to moisten it, not enough to intoxicate me.

What good would it be to lament? I am past the bloom of youth and I can’t live vicariously through you.

I am infatuated with your youth

The twinkle in your eye, the way you have no strings attaching you to life.

Pursue your dreams attach yourself to life so you don’t wake up

Infatuated
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MY ADDICTION

You have become my addiction I have acquired a sweet tooth for the taste of your tongue in my mouth. You are my drug of choice, minutes, hours and days go by and I am feigning for a hit of you!

The needle marks of your love are clearly visible I try and deny I have come to depend on your body as my warmth, your arms as my support and your secret places to quench my desire.

As I attempt to break this addiction I asks myself am I a fool for allowing you to awaken desires that might lead to an overdose of you?

I think about this only for a moment as I proceed to get my next hit of you!
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THE STRUGGLE

I can smell the scent of similac on your palate

Your are age appropriate to be a man. Yet, you have a daily struggle to leave old baggage behind.

It saddens you to take in solid food; your mouth is still salivating for Gerber

At times the temptation of youth get it’s clutches on you, making you revert to infantile ways and attitudes

As you continue to swell in knowledge always know the struggle was well worth

Becoming a man
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IMPRESSIONS

You were young and naïve

You thought he’d bring you happiness, nights of tenderness to fill your bed. All of those dreams were just in your head.

Instead of a loving embrace, he slammed his fist into your face!

He then apologized even dropping to his knees, letting out a pitiful tear.

Taking him back, you quickly forgot the impression he left on you. The painful gift his love brought!

Of all the impressions he made, he left one for all of us who loved you to remember

HE KILLED YOU!
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STUPIDITY

Counting the hours before I see you again, I recall the aroma of stale beer, old burnt cigarettes and other seedy paraphernalia omitting from your palate. Relishing each scent as if it is the last time I will smell your essence there is a souring in the pit of my stomach.

Never knowing when your departure will be, I wish I would have the satisfaction of knowing I was not just being stupid! Dueling with myself in desperation blinded by the fact you don’t love me

Honesty lets me know you were only playing a game with me, a cruel game where I would never come out the winner. Stupidity has allowed me to risk my health, mental well being all to be there for you and it’s stupidity that still tells me

I LOVE YOU
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MY MOLESTER

Calling my name even in the quiet lazy part of the afternoon when things are still and serene. Tapping on my shoulder reminding me of its existence even if I momentarily rest thinking he has decided to vacation from molesting me.

Letting my guard down I relax especially when I have confidence in my abilities, strengths and physical awareness he leaves me for a short time. Not for one moment though do I forget he is around the corner.

His return is swift picking up all the deposits left in my memory bank of hurt, mistrust and abandonment. I personally, welcome him in when I allow self doubt to visit. He creeps up swiftly like the wind just subtle enough to know his existence is presence but not enough to be aware of his power.

Making it my resolve not to let him conquer me, I will fight tooth and nail. If I let him win he will silence me leaving all who love me remembering his name

SUICIDE
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THE VOICES

Convincing myself that I can fix what ails you I have pretended to possess a PHD, a doctorate in knowing the intricate details of your mind. Bending, reaching and stretching to try and accommodate the nature of your being I have become schizophrenic in my behavior.

Voices tell me you love me, need me and depend on me to help you reach your potential. Losing the ability to judge realism I have allowed these voices to misguide me making me think of only YOU, YOU and more YOU!

I have become a mirage I don’t exist anymore. Who am I? Did I ever really know myself? Again, I polish off the PHD that I don’t possess and repeat the cycle 1) he needs 1 cc of love 2) all my effort and attention 3) a bandage to heal his hurt.

Voices again stir in my head these voices though a little louder, stronger and indignant telling me to WAKE UP! They tell me heal me, accommodate me, bandage me and above all else

LOVE ME
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THE ACCUSER

Pointing the finger I boldly accuse you of using me. I count and recount the ways of your indiscretions reminding you of the burden it’s been to know you. Tears streaming down my face I blame you for a life full of problems, even though I have only known you for six months I am sure you are the culprit of my heartache!

Pummeling your manhood reducing you to a child I chastise you “YOU USED ME!” Like a catholic repeating the rosary making sure every bead is touched with precision. I make sure you feel every sting of my version of truth I can spit out!

Quietly, I whisper not even loud enough for you to hear and let the truth seep out. Knowing if I am brutally honest, I have used you! I have made you my constant crutch, the culprit of my murdered spirit and my personal self esteem robber. Knowing full well that once I was able to walk on my own I would …………….

LEAVE YOU
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MY COMPETETION

I can’t compete with her for your affections she is at your beck and call. Endearing names you have for her, not me, she is your; boo, amour, Cherie and your constant lover. I am consumed with jealousy you have caressed every inch of her brown slim body.

Knowing the intricate detail of your mouth each curve and venture she has explored. Allowing her to kiss and caress you and I am not allowed to even touch you! A day doesn’t go by that you don’t go get her, visit with her, and on occasion you may see her more than once in the day.

How can I compete? Where are my affections and my attention?
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An Invitation

I invite you to see my history!

From the continent of Africa where my struggles began with blood, sweat and tears of my families torn apart. Passages through waters of lost souls.

I invite you to see my history!

I invite you to hear my melodic utterances from the kettledrums, to ragtime of New Orleans or maybe even Harlem. To the churches down south or even Carnegie Hall. Follow my melody from lips of Mahalia, to the whine of Billie or to the soul of Aretha.

You have an invitation to come with me on journeys from back of the bus to State Capital.

I invite you to peer into the contributors of present Oprah Winfrey, Michael Jordan, Mae Jemison and Dr. Maya Angelou

Your invitation is always open so that WE can close the gap that separates my history from being…………

AMERICA’S HISTORY
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WHEN LOVED

Loving oneself means, not measuring yourself by anyone else’s standards waiting for approval that you are acceptable

Loving oneself means, finding life’s rainbow and riding it until it disappears

Loving oneself means, looking at your reflection and falling in love, not with superficial beauty but your internal corpus

Loving oneself means, letting those who truly love us into our little space we call our world, making no apologizes for being you

Loving oneself, merely means loving a unique being who can only be nurtured when

LOVED
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Why Are Poets So Sad

Psychologists say they it’s because they have identity, isolation and connection issues.
All I know is my muses are gone they have taken their own lives. Channeling out to Plath, Sexton and Berryman beckoning them to bestow on me creativity I take my pen.
Did we not notice their discontented spirit in there writing was everyone blind to there plight?
Were the first-person singular self-references such as "I," "me" and "my" ignored as references to their suicidal intent.
Poets are not normally a bubbly, chipper group they use words associated with death.
Why are poets so sad?

Ask Me
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I, APOLOGIZE

I apologize if you thought this poem was for you. This poem is not to entertain you, tickle your ears or the podium where you should be my critic. These words are for the little girl who felt tangled up in verses, terms and vocabulary she was too apprehensive to utter.

Selfishly, I keep these expressions for the soul that has wailed Niagara Falls and still prevails. I release these emotions for the woman that still struggles with insecurity, loneliness and the fear of not being good enough.

If my words happen to find a home in your bosom then I welcome you to let them linger. Before, I go I will be taking back each verse, emotion and maybe by sharing my poem with you…… I can tell the little girl who was tangled up and too apprehensive to utter.

I MADE THIS POEM FOR HER

By: Nenya C. Coleman 12-8-06