We can them assemble,
For they still resemble.
It won't things dissemble
Nor the whole world crumble
Nor Men cause to amble...
They won't burn like bramble
From moves to assemble:
While others Adamic,
Both also Abrahamic:
Not one part Semites,
And the other Hamites...
Sure,some voice would grumble,
"A Meant Bull!" mumble:
Risks of death's preambles,
For Union a shambles...
Arabs and Zionists:
Their least loved unionist...
Between us now a big dam:
When one weighs it: big gram!
I've just declined his fat ram;
Today, returned his fat yam
And it was a blow - A Bam!
No more his sweets in mouth cram
Arab against Uncle Sam:
On his high ways: Traffic Jam!...
Demanded parcels he'd got
To a friend buffet in court:
Tenant nuisance out to harm
Show The Law's Punitive Arm.
And they all went up in flames;
To me lips pushing the blames...
When I meet him, it's eyes right:
From tomorrow Eagle's Flight.
No doubt, I'd crossed mere Sawyer
While searching for a lawyer
Laughing more than necessary
And beginning from Beginning,
Jane about Joan and accessory:
"She'd looked like one a game winning,
Her blouse ungodly and real scary;
To even far - off eyes lots meaning,
Warden to reject stories fairy:
Breasts like ones a new baby weaning,
Still, a nose ring but bare back
And as she walked oft looked back...
"Are these what you might show Brethren;
And not win fires of cauldron?"
Devoted Christian De half Nude;
If she stayed back at home not good
But ushered into the fold a feud
Fold would be lucky if it withstood...
Its a tongue with ring for the Hymn
And a Joan sure it's good for Him.
Satan can’t leave Holy Jerusalem,
Rather planning to crowd her with Anselms
But as sooner with warring Salims:
A Theatre of Furnace fueled by felt menace;
Hand-made Arab Bombs for David’s Palace!
Satan is there in Jews’ Holy City
But not there to that idea pity
Packages that should make God cry ‘’Oh!’’
And to Angel Michael ‘’Now, Go!’’
He, Satan, had once met Angel Michael’s sword
And he is still alive, not with sin bored…
How many Sexual Perverts in her?
Satan shall The Number raise next year!
Arrows pointed at God important!
Does it matter each, at last, impotent?
Jerusalem’s Soil not The Most Fertile,
Elsewhere would be found some for a mile;
Satan The Picture makes clamorous
And Jew-Arab Shooting vigorous.
He does not treasure his link
With four Arab Terrorists:
Men who’d pretended they could think
But for their savage strikes, Humorists…
He shall his thoughts bare and not blink
“His haters now whisky glasses clink
And in The Blue Sky also pick out Pink”.
This is no picture of A Challenged Scenarist,
Rather A Good Nose’s for the smell of An Animist
Off and on, his rivals at one another wink
For The Armada about to profitably sink.
The four accursed terrorists
He’d taken for amiable tourists,
Until up the ugly heads of shotguns reared
And in the shooting the bullets veered,
Plus involvement of a wasting grenade
That looked like it had been Russia-Made…
And in his hotel the four didn’t shrink,
When the strongest beverage was the drink…
Mr. Mole guessed he must do something, meanwhile
And not away image-saving time while.
Some men keep real cool at gunpoint
Having been swimming in the company of the military,
The nozzles of guns surveying in moments solitary:
Witnesses to soldiers dipping their fingers in wallets
For the purchase of that spitting out the bullets.
Some men keep grinning at gunpoint,
Because at them pistols have been pointed many times
And no ugly story followed the smiles;
It shall always be a nice evening story by firesides.
Some men choose to be absentminded at gunpoint,
When sure they are that the thing will happen
And already glimpse the bullet their brains open:
One’s best bet to start visualizing the after- life
forgetting everything including one’s wife.
Man can be cynical at gunpoint,
When fixated his mind is upon a notion
Whose abandonment would cost him a demotion
The watchword of unwavering Arabs
Between the Healthy and the On-Tabs .
But should any man be unmanned at gunpoint
Following a menacing loosening of the thing’s safety catch
Behind a door complete with a latch
A hang man’s look on the faces of the Gang
Thinking of nothing else but the loud bang.
In the seven hundreds, we traded salt
Arab and Berber traders
Were gold and ivory graders
Horses and tigers bartering came to a halt
Cloth, swords, and books traded for chocolate malt.
On caparisoned, filleted camels do they
Over the great, soft, tawny sands
Ride;
Unfurled flags and tribal standards flown amidst them,
In the very midst of them-
Of they, who astride great tan camels,
Seem rather scandent and saltant.
These are the irregular, well-armed cavalry of the
"Men In Ambush," for such is the literal translation of their
Nation's cognomen;
And on the sands of the undulant, granular, eminent
Near-Judean wilderness do they ride.
Photographing these from atop the vespertine-hued
Summit of a delivery truck from the nearby
Eminent, circumvallatory, hilly
And fortressed city;
From the very roof of an antiquated bread truck
(Though 'twas then very new by the standards of those bygone days)
Whose radiator is soon to vaporously explode
Amid the oppressive, anhydrous desert heat,
Photographs an American, hatted in the whitest
Of Panama hats, who is a correspondent reporting of wars.
The Arab cavalry ride for locales
Damascene, in order to pursue one's kingly wish
To renew the gardens Cordovan and long-vanished.
A pockmarked plane atop the wooden box
tilts as it dips in the Syrian void,
its hollow compartment lining the faults like
a silver ball which never rests but always
rolls, always weary those worrisome holes
that chisel the quarry to calcified clumps.
Six years spent fighting, flushing freedom
from his nepotistic keep, have rendered al-Assad
a face full of age, nights free of sleep,
and lucid dreams of an Arab Spring
flooding the fields his brother plowed.
There he stands, slaying the wakened womb
that would bury its own for stable graves, aware
there’s a million more marching outside his door.
5/25/17
Drogue, Rogue.
Arab beauty.
Special Heir.
Jump up-down.
Slice like an Arab Ninja.
What is the blade?
Sharp point with Arab Brittle.
Separate from the end.
Muller Tick-Tock.
Poison the Tyrant.
Bomb the Oppressors
And, swordplay.
The Arab Spring
Saddam Husain, Mubarak and soon Assad
will go… and we can be jubilant and call it
democracy and freedom.
But this does not include the Christians,
In Iraq there are hardly any left, in Egypt
they are under attack and when Assad falls
the Christian Arab will hounded, those who
are no able to escape…killed.
The rebels in Syria we now supply weaponry
to will, like they are doing in Egypt, be ready
to enforce their odious idea of Islam.
We, in the west must, if we are upright take
In the refuges and not let them fester in some
camps and fed by the Red Cross.
Give our Christian brothers a new spring, far
from the battlefield of hate and ignorance.
Five Arab Men
In the dead of night, asleep in my bed
Suddenly, upon a hill as bright as day
A vision before me, or am I misled
On this asphalt road,to the left, a tractor trailer stands
Waiting as if impatient
Cloisters, old fort on the right, playing of the bands
Down below, a city of black glass skyscrapers rise
As if by an artist hand, shooting into the sky
To stand beside this scene may not be wise
The front of the vehicle, watches over the city
And midway beside the machine, I stand
A lamb to the slaughter, do not pity
I must go, it is my destiny
Walk to cab of vehicle, five Arab sitting
As if waiting for a sign
Uneasy feeling taking hold of me
Hurry back some distance, still close
Step out , two men coming
Men look intensely in my direction
Overcome with fear, I stand my ground
Cannot see me, as a spirit in the night
Walk right through me, as if blind
Climb in vehicle, remove tarpaulin
A long-range ballistic missile, so unkind
Unhurried action, missile moves
Pointing to the sky
Must wake up, must not see what is yet to come
William Morrissey 6/5/01
From the white citadel on the hill
Subtle and suffused glory
The light of freedom fountains spill
In streets muddy and gory
And the rain of seeded clouds aloft
By torrent floods wet the land
Old roots are tumbled out, and no raft
Carries the stones that make the sand.
Obdurate mountains like empires gone
The street dancing tonight likr dawn
The stag watches the still trembling fawn
The winds bring fertile seeds to spawn
And I from afar smell spring afresh
The old climate for planting
And the cyclic reaping of the flesh
And flowers bloom for sniffing
Let nature plant and the hills shall want
Nothing for the free harvest
Of fall. O but beauty still grows scant
Among the gathering of pest
And the old eyes that read the blank stars
Tell by the moon the new change
Is only fireflies in crystal jars
The moon is sad, and so sadly strange.
Along Iran's alluvial fan,
spanned a virgin, untested
train
A scourging blight the tender,
fecund suckers did restrain
A heartier tulip bloomed on
Tunisia's arid plain
A docile wave the royal
Jasmine blight to stain
Transplanted in Egypt; a more
fertile strain
Leaching the arid soil, the
tyrannical oasis did drain
A hybrid sprouted on Libya's
fallow terrain
Fertilized by a torrential,
nitrous rain
To Oman's tepid steppes,
uncultivated varieties shrouded
fenced row and lane
Disparate pods releasing
incendiary seeds seeking an
aggregate gain
In Syria's suburban parks a
mutant variety skirted eminent
domain
With underground cisterns to
water it's hostile mane
In desolate Sudan, a floral
chalice did simulated hope
contain
Anon, pilfering hands it's
potting soil did obtain
Dormant aspirations lie in winter's fallow ground
Burgeoning freedom furrowed in shallow soil; sovereign elements do pound
Infertile seeds in barren hearths tightly wound
A cold wind from on high scourges each, desolate mound
A dreary drizzle from hovering, satin crowns seeps deep; hopes are drowned
Nutrients for spawning growth are leached; blighting tentacles surround
Ambition suppressed, inactive period of malaise doth abound
In due season, warming rays of light shine thawing frozen hearts
Incubating innate desire to fulfill individual destinies, from chained depth departs
In destitute minds, a burgeoning sprout of liberty starts
Branching forth into fertile souls, intestinal fiber imparts
Taking root, it spreads deep, penetrating shielded ramparts
A fragile frond from each wavering limb darts
Triumphing in tyrannous environment, a fruitful future charts
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