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Best Libyan Poems

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Libyan Air War: Confetti and Contraband by Parker, Stephen

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The Best Libyan Poems

Details | Libyan Poem | |


On the northern plain of Africa,
Tyrannically tortured tongues wail for revolution of injustice
To embrace the prescription of democracy by neighborhood
Amber anger of our pitiless god has now being awaken
How many million tongues shall lick this ripen death?
The aftermath begun the ceremony of blood-bath in Benghazi
When peaceful demonstrators were battered by rage of military strikes.
And anger-drenched folks without training fell in love with deadly weapon
Unimaginable anger of winged weapons handshake the fine faces of Misratah
Blood-dripping vibrating limbs were separated from their sources.
And human blood was made the entertainer of the day
The laughing horror stood by his principle of apocalypse
A thousand children without parents, lost 
In gaze of orchestra of flying missiles.

The broom of earth now intervened 
The god of the stars and stripes-the mouth-piece of mother earth 
Led the assembly of giants worms who donated their agents of death
"No fly zone", "Operation odyssey" wore the mask of death
The Dead and companions were invited for a feast of Missile-roasted mortals
From your screen, smiling skull smile at your astonished eyes. 
Who will lead the dreamt resurrection of justice,
When Zeus has refused to let go his sword?
The lost just began!

Copyright © Joseph Osita

More great poems below...

Details | Libyan Poem | |

AAre U Sure Them Is Real Camels Admiral

        al-Quaddafi Haiku-2
Tomahawks fly blind
may be al-Quaidas delight
Allah Ahkbar's cheer.

Here we go again
Belly dancing with Muammar
Hillarie can't dance.

He can dance alone.
al-Quaddafi's naval glows
diamonds up his nose.

Are they Libyan?
Maybe some, we just don't know.
Give them rice and lamb.

Send more Tomahawks
Reroute them to Syria
Belly dancing Booms.

Let's take on them all
every oil field we find
NATO gas stations

Big Chief Tomahawks
Geronimo's great revenge
Belly dance all night.

Gold in them thar hills
Black gold in the desert sand.
Someone's slight of hand.

Twenty thousand more
Suckers born every minute.
In the USA.

      Forwardddd!!! Huh?!

Copyright © Vee Bdosa

Details | Libyan Poem | |

Libyan Air War: Confetti and Contraband

allied jets litter
civilian shields cover ground
loyal thugs forage

Copyright © Stephen Parker

Details | Libyan Poem | |

My Daily Doses II

Alongside the bird I am awake
From still and sleep to shape and shake
To begin with, to Lord a praise
And thanks for Good and Gift and Grace.

For my life’s greatest miracle
Above the masterpiece magic and oracle
Is to breathe and see and be always sane
Albeit, the grace of flesh be in a constant wane.

Breakfast, if the thing is there
When times are tight I’ve learnt to bear
The gym and jog are games of must
And my wife, that darling lass I kiss in youthful lust.

On Libyan shoes, my Italian tuxedo and tie
The world I walk to know its new lie
To spin the sets and lay the law
And cut the meat while red and raw.

For I must seek and seal a deal
Lest I and kin miss on a meal
The gentleman’s way of chasing and choosing
A time winning and a time losing.

And when the afternoon’s bright and hot
If my bets some bounty begot
I sip a beer of flavour and froth
As poetry and prose I read both.

And later in the eve or into night
When I feel like luck is a nearer sight
The Casino I enter to wish and pray
And gamble the remainder coin away.

And after walking away with all God’s love
Or learning how His tests sometimes are tough
I am with wife and kids, and once again
We enjoy a walk down our life’s lane.

We joyfully joke in valiant dance
And chat the news and chart stance
And finally find our ways to bed to rest
Our lovely home, the home our best.

Copyright © Willy Munyoki

Details | Libyan Poem | |

Have They

Every second I breathe,
Another innocent life is taken,
Due to their selfishness and greed,
Have they ever seen?
Ever lived the life of an Iraqi, Palestinian or Libyan?
Ever watched their mother, father or brother?
Been tortured or killed,
Refusing to surrender?
Surrender to what?
Your laws and pathetic ways,
They would die for their faith.

Have they ever had to drink contaminated water? 
Beg for shelter?
Have they ever had to cry themselves to sleep at night?
Wishing for someone to hold them tight?
All they wish for is a democracy,
A peaceful life,
Where there is no war,
Only unity.

NO they haven’t,
‘cause they have everything they desire,
All the expensive things they want in life,
From fancy cars,
To mansions,
They have everything to take them higher.

But, we won’t give up,
We still have something they don’t have,
And they can never take it away from us,
And that is our faith;
At the end of the day,
Our faith is everything,
Our support,
Our one reason to keep fighting,
Because one day we will get there,
We will be shining!

Copyright © Asra Mir

Details | Libyan Poem | |

Syrian Graveyard

Unnumbered human corpses
mutilated and spread
like illegally-shot elephants in Waza Park!
From ‘man know thyself’
to ‘man hates himself’-
humans mutilate humans!

Future-bound glorious infants,
feeble moms
and luck-abandoned dads
bombed, suffocated, shot and slain
by politico-economic drunks!
Yawning stomachs here,
blood-dripping arms there,
open-mouth frozen heads here,
rotting breasts there,
decomposing legs here…

We are in Homs,
we are in Alep,
we are in Damascus where
there has been fierce fighting
since long ago…

Vultures in black suits
brace up
for carnivorous autopsy ;
they transport chunks from
the uninterred corpses to
carnivorous mortuaries up-sky.
Maggots, ants and scavengers
perform rapid interments,
substituting caskets and graves
with their innards and
facilitating the cycle from dust to dust.

These mean creatures,
some flying,
others crawling
and some others walking,
feast on the garbage corpses ,
mocking man’s inhumanity to man
and celebrating
this sudden twist of values—
the beastification of humans and
the humanisation of beasts.

They mock us,
they mock us
for this sudden twist of values.
They also mock us and bemoan
the occidental-egoistic planes
that burned
infinite barrels
of exploitation fuel on Libyan skies,
urinating bombs and missiles,
grinding and crushing humans for humans
or humans for oil.

Aha! What a twist of values!
Exploitation went mad
and naked in Bengazi…

We are in Homs,
we are Alep,
we are in Damascus
where all Pauls
have gone Sauls…

Annan can’t understand
humanitarians’ whereabouts
now. His six points
repose in occidental dust bins.
Then he sighs.
Then he sighs,
performs Pilatism
and gives up.

Moscow and London
persistently draw parallels
that can only
meet magically
in Damascus.
So-called World Powers
Now ride snails to
Syrian emergency meetings
while they were flown
in swallows to Tripoli.

We are in Homs,
we are in Alep,
we are in Damascus
where countless infinities
of Arab eyes have focused
on one cushion since last year :
one cushion of thorns and pleasure,
one cushion of spikes and leisure.

The solution then?
It only lies back
in the Syrian Graveyard.

Syrians, counts these abandoned, mutilated,
rotting, decomposing corpses.
Count them and drop your arms.
Count them, drop your arms
and impregnate your land
with progress.

Know this: There is only one
seat in every presidency…
A president may toy
with a human constitution,
but can never ever
thwart the Womb-to-Tomb Constitution .

(Mbankolo, 6 August 2012)

Copyright © Nsah Mala

Details | Libyan Poem | |

the business of cuisine

The business of Cuisine 
Two tins of Swedish meatballs in cream sauce.
The Swedish export their soul even if it is hidden in tins.
Unsalted mind stem and a heart of creamy white gravy.
 The new world is about buying and selling, and that is ok, 
Chinese dumplings bought at a pavement cafe it took days 
to settle my stomach

So you think I know nothing I have been dining at a posh 
Chinese restaurant with rotating tables  
I said then, but not too cosy up to the host, Chinese food 
was leading in the fields of cousin.

That was when I had the misfortune to go to Paris. 
excellent food but served with an arrogance that was
off putting. I thought is there nowhere were people serve 
food without prancing trays about. Finally, I did in 
Alentejo (Portugal) where food is served without fanfare,
because the food is natural, wholesome and good.... and 
if you are not driving, try their superb red wine and avoid 
a French philosopher whose vanity is shifty as Libyan sand.

Copyright © jan oskar hansen

Details | Libyan Poem | |


9 more libyan civilians killed by NATO---
7 adults & 2 babies
(18 others injured)
slaughtered because of a
“weapons system failure”---
imagine if the families of the idiots
were killed in the same brutal manner of
pushing a button to incinerate them,
as NATO so 
dropped bombs on a
residential building in tripoli
ending the lives of people who did not ask 
these idiots to enter their country
in order to bomb their building,
attempting to scare other civilians into
rebellion against a man that the west has wanted
so that all the oil can be drained from their land &
used in western cars
without a second thought as to what will happen to these
who the west is so obviously
at this present time---
if this had happened on western soil
there would be a new patriot act passed overnight
and the stealth bombers would be flying in the morning
to bomb a country that we have a problem with,
but who had nothing to do with it---
so that we could try and kill two birds
(iraq & afghanistan),
with one stone,
all over again.

Copyright © andrew delapruch