We were accustomed to read one thousand
And one night in Baghdad...
Tonight the glorious city-sky is sad,
It sounded bang! Bang
Where is my mummy? Where is my dad?
Are they all alive under the cruise wreckage;
Or are they all dead?
The a ‘Rashid city was weeping,
It rained hatred,
It rained prejudiced,
It rained cactus of different shapes,
They're all aliens,
Some were homemade,
They're all colourful,
In blue, in yellow and in red.
Do you still remember brother?
Because if you don't I still do
What the big Satan, Lucifer what he said!
The cross versus the crescent, take it or leave it,
An entire racism by the media was also fed.
Some hidden in a banker,
Others crawling of hunger,
Others demonstrating with anger,
Pale, yellowish faces they all looked bad.
Where is my nation..My Arabity..My Islam ?
Oh...Mutasamahh! Where are my brothers?
Are they all dead???
They called it precise bombing and it was right indeed,
In the heart of the baby-heart
Like the British game of dart,
The arrow hit its target,
It hit it like mad.
Nobody moves a finger,
In the age of Patriot and Stinger,
They all believe in star-wars, economic prosperity,
They all believe in the Pope, pop-star singer,
They all believe that one-day Allah would side with them to defeat,
The neo-Thamud and Aad,
They're all waiting for the coming future Mahdi,
And for the Armageddon battle to be led.
Copyright © Abder Derradji | Year Posted 2015
I do not know?
Elegant creatures of nature
Roam around in the world
In search of pleasure and power
But found domination
Under the shadow of their counter
And as ages pass by
They still remain a prisoner
Bound by the chains of
Family and younger souls
Copyright © anbes rawal | Year Posted 2015
I am Charlie
Je suis Charlie
I laugh at myself
I laugh at the world
I mock you with love
I love to contemplate
I love for humanity to think
There are no limits to freedom of expression
As long as we have no hate in the heart
Let us mock the universe
In gaiety and laughter
If we learn not to take ourselves too serious
Maybe just maybe
We shall feed a few poor
Maybe an act of kindness
Maybe we shall forgive and open our hearts
Maybe one shall rejoice and clap at a daily good deed given
Maybe our kindness will rank higher than our ideals
Maybe, just maybe, a cartoon can be just that
We all have different views
Our diversity is our beauty
We can each enjoy that which we see as art
We can each ignore, that which pleases not the eye
Free choice is golden
Cold blooded killers
Have no place in our civilization
Whoever kills in the name of the most merciful
Is a fool and an infidel
If Allah was an artist
The infidels would be caricatures on a sketch pad
To be erased from all of humanity
Yes, I am Charlie
Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2015
Reality is lost and I fear…
That someday, somewhere so near…
I will fall amongst the people so dear…
I fear…that I’ll just be another one…
Another one lost…
I wonder what the cost of my life is
not to get political…
But I want to know what the cost of my life is
Is it money, is it land?
I do not own any of them, I’m just a simple man
I remember, when I ran across your land…
I remember when I kissed my grandmothers hands…
You ripped me away from her, from my home
You took me away from my heart, you took me away from my soul
I feel helpless, I feel low
It’s hard to play along when I know, I have no role
I have become a slave.
After all the love I gave.
When I look at my country, people I want to save
When I look around me, people I wish to change
It seems like a hard thing to do…
When the world around is bigger than you
To the fools who dare murder in his name
When God gave us life…
He warned us, only he can take our lives…
Oh Syria, my home
Oh Syria, my all
Oh Syria, what did they hurt you for?
I am Proud to be your son…
Copyright © Zeki Majed | Year Posted 2013
Who's that staring through my window walls, with eyes as old as time
the clock has not yet moved and the wind outside has died
no breath for me to find nor the strength to check the time
unless the minute hand is lying theirs a chance i may have died
I wish this all a dream but the eyes i see dont lie, they have told me with their watching that all men do really cry
yet in vain is all my wishing but perhaps this is delusion of a sedimentary man with his mind ripe for losing
Come at me then red devil, I shout within my mind yet the tension I had hoped for was delayed and rather dry
no ravishingly velvet flame encircled this such room, nor were the furniture and ottoman thrown like an old shoe
marvelous the time in which a demon throwns your home and his only one intent is to stare right through your soul
to that i bid goodnight to you, to do as you wish, regardless of the manner I am nothing more then fish. to be shot out of a barrel for a fellow such as this
If you do deem it fit that I wake another morning all i ask is that the clocks all please return to working order
Copyright © chriss todd | Year Posted 2013
Afternoons the sky shuts down around the swamp's warning tapes
propped up with restoration piping and dirt leak fencing.
We’re fleeing toward the wild, seeking the names and shapes,
the same way the Cedar Waxwing flit and grip for berries tree to tree.
Canada Geese are easy, they lead off down the lane leaving residue,
Widgeons have green stripes and gold stripes, one American
the other European, and they’re all mumbling our family phew-do
they didn’t burn the kid, they can’t keep the house clean, drugs…
Blink away the cold wind tears. Forget all that, only remember
Shovelers have the long low profile and the long bill from studies
in New Zealand, like a deep breath, we set aside work, unlimber
spy the race of killdeer away from their guarding territory in gravel.
Our boss didn’t try to replace us, he ducked out to a new job
leaving the crime ringing in our ears like the police car roaring past.
Head down, we tunnel under the high way finding the dunk and bob
of mergansers and their hallowed or red heads,
remarking differences when the sudden scream of honking
mallards flee up river. Caught off guard, we wonder did we cause
all this pain? The rise and dunk flying goldfinch happily chirping
cling to the thistle, their favorite waste near the waste water
ponds where all the Black River water flows for cleaning
spilling into the nesting lower stages of the tertiary treatment.
That’s all this is, treatment for the shock wave week riding
current events on our shoulders, almost like the red-tailed hawk
that screams and skims our head, rising up to the setting sun
turning the sky purple and pink and bruised. That’s when wood
ducks skim into view, our breath captured and then steaming undone
but soon the heavens offer confirmation, blue angels
with their huge oversized wings soar in pairs down as gift.
We hold each other then, let screams silence, detail enriched.
Copyright © Sheri Fresonke Harper | Year Posted 2014
This expanse of land has seen things.
Things all of us can only see in dreams.
It's seen war, it's gotten it's fair share of scars.
Bombs bursting, bullets throwing sand into the air like it's a volleyball tournament.
The sand running red with blood silently mocking our arteries.
This magnificent stretch of land has seen heroes' tears fall; dropping to their knees while sadness envelopes their fallen brothers but also looking up to their beloved whilst carrying a ring in their hand.
It's seen bright days, the sun glimmering over wet sand, footprints of past loves being washed away as the sun smacks the horizon.
This expanse of land...has seen things we can only imagine.
Copyright © Tyler Kisner | Year Posted 2013
Speak gently when you offer criticism,
but don't be so soft as to sacrifice the truth.
Rumi (M. Mafi, trans)
Speak gently when you offer your truth,
when you confront violence and dissonance,
about your own egocentric merits and demerits,
but don't be so soft as to sacrifice your contented confluence,
your exegetical Orthodoxy.
Speak gently, wrestle with and not against,
when you confront dissonant overheated evils,
and remain just flexible enough to foregive
the absence of absolute truth in this HereNow moment,
about our ecocentric merits and demerits
and addiction to love and active peace
Gently root for underdog, understory, parasites
as active self-appointed Hosts sharing Earth's vast Tree of Life.
We each and all play parasite and Host economies,
hunters sometimes hunted,
lovers warm toward becoming Beloved,
hunted sometimes hunters,
fear hunts fear of hunger
thirsts for enough to recontent
polycultural simplicity, just-right enough
in balanced EcoJustice.
We each incarnate both cooperative ecologic
and competitive ego-normic.
We play our strategic games more sustainably
as we comprehend underdog parasites
are also benign Host potential,
both Yin and Yang
within a self-regenerative Tao Community
balancing EarthTribe Ways,
more joyfully greeting, meeting,
and getting through each day.
Hosting optimal regenerative spaces
for ecological cooperative economic choice making
is a wise, and strikingly shamanic, natural systemic vocation.
Eco-facilitation mentors normative logical orthopraxis
with optimizing continuously quality improving performance,
meeting design and Original Positive Teleological Intent.
EcoTherapy mentors slowing down our aspiring Ego heartbeats
while optimally filling our lungs and minds
with each Other,
rather than getting all Yanged up,
with a lot of shallow,
and talking without sufficient feeling,
as the sea through which we all fly together.
Weapons of Evil
as Teachers of Right-brained Good
Of all things, weapons are instruments of evil,
Therefore the polycultural person,
possessed of Tao's (0) Core Logos,
avoids violent tools of anger and enslavement and hate.
Polycultural Communities and Persons
favor scientific logos,
Yang mutually active peace
and care-giving protection within domestic life,
But, within undomesticated infractive occasions
favors Right-brained mythic Yin mutual accommodation,
nurturing non-violent intent and assumptions of equivalent response,
redemptive fore-giveness to meet Challenger half way,
as Other understands their needs at this time.
Predators are weapons of monocultures.
They are not the tools for polycultural sustainability.
When the use of predators cannot be helped,
The best policy is calm restraint,
minimal dissonant response frequencies and functions.
To fore-bare arms evolves proactive peacemaking.
To remain calm revolves maintainable contentment.
Even in victory, there is no boasting,
And who boasts of short-term Win-Lose outcomes
Is one who delights in violence,
unnecessarily lodges, enstates, restates
negative karmic dissonance.
Delight in EcoPathology
cannot achieve diastated EcoJustice power.
Intuited good, true, beauty favors Left-brain reception.
Dissonance, violence, evil favor Right-brain dissonant appositional feeling.
Our Ego stands on the Left's sensory input loop,
Our SuperEco stands in the Right's Elder Memory processor space.
That is to say, Elder Right celebrates Dying-Life Rites of Passage.
Speak gently Left toward Rites Passage
but don't be so Left-brained soft
that EcoJustice cannot find you,
and all EarthTribe
within each HereNow Beloved Community Event.
Copyright © Gerald Dillenbeck | Year Posted 2015
Butterfly on a limb
you hide your prideful
red and yellow trim.
A brief exposure
then it's over,
wings shut like a door—
you dare to show me no more!
You’ll learn what nets
and killing jars are for.
My captive beauty,
I’ll squeeze your throat
and pin your silk kaleidoscope
against the board
survived by your colors
alive and adored.
May 16, 2016
A Kaleidoscope of Butterflies Contest
Copyright © Rita A. Simmonds | Year Posted 2016
i like to dress for an imaginary girl
(we will meet each other soon) by putting on
a silk tie with subtle Chinese birds
she may be picturing me in her mirror
as she applies exactly the necessary line
of mascara to lengthen her lashes and darken
whatever begins as a mystery ends as a
blind, the nuances so well known
that birds chirp violently at their mirror images
but the pools
as they are revealed in the sunlight of
every accidental nod of the eyes remain
calm as a mirror in which there is no
image ever seen.
Copyright © Robert Ronnow | Year Posted 2015
For shall the almighty dance with wickedness
Freasting darkness solidifies clashing swords
Forsaking us illuminates our lust for fulfillment
Attributes for grace heightens desolation’s plot
Fiend mends the holy terror back to life
Your gracefulness is deafening to us sinners
Exuberant romance awaken golden hour twilight
Lightlessness fuel starts to shed our midnight skins,
Letting us rejoice among the self-righteousness waters
Perplexing there was no storm in the Lords
Storms among harts in airlings wings has forsaken ourselves
Copyright © Luke Stashak | Year Posted 2016
Sharp alien quiet accosts nuclear fallout,
Twin beds and I between them,
Remnants of faces
Exchanges deadline in future tense,
The decimating absence of marriage
To anything whole--
This uniform hotel room mien
Eats emotional in-betweens
Red blue green
Symmetrically channeling Western loneliness,
"The hours till midnight cannot be so far away..."
You woke up from a nap
To the novelty of a breakthrough to love.
Through our smashed windows
You catapulted incriminating ice
Onto million-dollar cars
As I laughed at my deadbeat reflection.
402. A strong number.
Overlooking a strong highway.
At dusk a family walks beside me in the hallway,
The boy I used to be unaware of what's coming.
A vase screams as it falls to the ground.
It was cheap anyway
Like every time I feel my heart flip
Knowing midway through
The floor and its face are doomed to marry.
What does my smile mean to the waitress? Why do our eyes keep
awkwardly meeting? Why am I still obsessed over her? Why are you
on the first floor and not listening to that awful tea-kettle whistle
in our room, the one that sounds like the far-off scream of a dumb waiter
getting the order wrong for the guv'na of gasoline? Why doesn't the bathroom
possess a fan? Why haven't you realized that our souls suck? Why don't you just
sit back, count to five,
and find me lost in Swans?
Did you check behind the Kraken?
USA Mountains lend me their ears. I see them
Somewhere in memoriam,
Waiting for lonelier wine cabinets
To drop philharmonic discoveries
About cousins who don't care about you and I anymore.
A knife flew from your tingling tips. Kyrie Eleison.
It's nein 9:16 PM. The carpet is morning inviting
Than your insanity your ghost licks the bed.
"Going away for a while, hit my head,"
Said Madeline (on TV). We're selfish, can't sword-fighting;
The digital flow goes gameroom lighting,
and a dallop of Daisy corkscrews insomnia.
"I luv ya." You slur this and always I believe,
no matter what the future heaves
knowingly, I know this.
In the morning I'll gladly forget
Our breakdown in this indifferent Connecticut hotel.
Copyright © Richard H. Dunsany | Year Posted 2017