Smooth moves
rivers perform
with intuitive flow.
Even when storms cause them to churn,
their God bequeathed responses are right on.
Not so, emotions in my heart,
besieging my faith's hold.
My needs pursue
smooth flows.
Yes, I have called you callous
Garish and imperious
An inconvenient glare
Cracking apart the shadows of my sleep
The insistent inconsistency
Of the besieging and retreating heat
In your smoke stained fingers
Your blistering love peeling
My patience, my humor and
The back of my neck
Yet also, I have watched
My windows grow more golden
In the bask of your benevolence
Pouring your glory into
Precisely trimmed squares
On my kitchen floor
Your manes of wheaten hills
Crowning the coming harvest
With luxurious grain
So I will forgive
Your sultry swagger
Your stifling autocracy
As these dog days close in
For you are also
The best excuse
For ice cream
8/12/23
albino
bread
catches
tanning
rays
gentle
warmth
embraces
hot
hotter
besieging
heat
smoke
pollutes
kitchen
air
vitality
incinerated
no
bread
only
char
Suppose we ran it by a friendly Martian
(I’d say “by Martial”, but he wouldn’t be gentle).
You crave Armani, Hugo Boss, Versacci and
that Hilfiger who’s naff, naff. Are you mental?
This myth of exclusivity’s juvenile
(I’d offer “Juvenal”, but you’d refuse).
They’re mass-produced, ubiquitous, stock-piled,
your Sarah Jessica Parkas, Jimmy Shoes.
The Martian, then. We wrap ourselves in rags
to ward off cold, conceal the family jewels,
but put a brand name on those skirts and bags,
you’ll cough up ten times more. “You bloody fools!”
Apartheid is an evil thing, agreed?
South Africa once practised it. You struck.
You staked out embassies, until the blacks were freed.
Embargoes, sanctions, boycotts – oh, such pluck!
But none of you’s besieging Tel Aviv.
Our Martian’s wondering what the difference is.
Ramallah’s raped without a by-your-leave,
but you’re at Burghley, knocking back bucks fizz.
Perhaps we can’t extinguish all life’s fires.
Perhaps compassion tires, and needs its pauses.
Or is there just a chance that it transpires,
there’s such a thing we’ll call “designer causes”?
Ol’ brazen Brenda, battlin’ biography,
Banters bewildered brave boatmen at sea,
Brushstrokes besieging her beleaguered brain,
Broadsided by fiction now baking insane;
Balanced between both broken and brilliant,
Buried by sorrow, bereft not resilient,
A ballyhooed author, back in the day,
‘Fore Brian betrothed her then drowned near the bay;
Basking bereavement, believing though more,
Books barely bound newly found in the store,
‘Betaken, Broad Beauty’, Brenda’s new write,
Beveled bare bitterness abruptly bright;
Barreled, brought breathless by Bernie, beloved,
A character boating where dead Brian shoved,
As buckets with bottoms knowing no end,
Begging attention did Brenda’s mind bend;
Blended for sanity, befuddled realities
Born when begins a life without boundaries,
Betterment bellows because Brenda’s words,
Boxed-up betrayal beneath binding boards.
9/18/2016
A Wonder without an Identity
A poem by : Abdel latif Moubarak … Egypt
Translate by : Fawzy Al-Shalabi
A Wonder without an Identity
And the secret remains in your eyes a pearl
Expressing…everything which wasn't
So granted the heart a skater
And when the nights are narrowed us to live
Besieging us bundles of love sometimes
Trait of a thing… we aware …and touch
Lives in vibrations of the lightening
A wonder without an identity
In the silence was the nectar
And sneakily blaspheming in the pulse was the fire
Holding light of the hope
Playing surviving melody
Explosion crown of the polluted sadness
In blood…with the tears
And still a pleasure there in your eyes
A fertile nursery…the salvage
To the failures of a catastrophe touch
Sensing you in my blood
Crevices of freshened emotions
To land of such a plant
From the pain of the crowd
An existence
Decanting the sense state
From dispersion of the memory
comment if ya can,
He slammed the door,
With a great loud thud.
To prevent the dark evil thoughts,
Just lurking behind the door,
From getting hold of his mind.
He slammed the door,
With all his might,
For in this dark evil hour,
No one was there,
To help his falling citadel.
He slammed the door,
A door to his heart,
To shut out the dark evil despair,
Lurking just out of reach,
Besieging his soul.
He slammed the door,
And wished to see the night sky,
For in this dark evil time,
Only the beautiful shooting stars,
Could light up his dust-coated soul.
Imagine ships glissading into harbour,
their masts scraping the sky, sails aloft,
billowy, like great bird wings fluttering.
Captains navigate their ships into port,
return voyages that crossed the seven seas,
riding the waves, north and south, east and west
from Jamaica to London to Timbuktu,
ship holds filled with bananas, sugar, rum
and molasses from sunny far-off lands.
Wives awaiting husbands’ safe return home,
pacing the widows walk, reading letters
sent months ago, hint of hardships and
menaces at sea that fuels anxiety:
imaginations run wild, spiralling –
fierce brigands besieging vessels at sea;
sudden squalls threaten ships, tossed to and fro,
waves like a leviathan, thrashes and roils,
wrecks run aground, pummelled by pounding surf.
Walking past a mini soaked mattress; an empty baby stroller..
By it's side; abandoned this site she seems an open walkway his
Buildings and bricks less her awning; wondering, while their yard dogs
Barking once more wagging tails lonely a greeting calling out; the moon parting
Gray passing clouds left lingering; knowing how I love to kiss their dawn ?
Mothers with infants; an old man coughs; a young lady high on drugs
Looking for another mark yet settling for his blanket; her supreme court
Justice, untangling time's hair ? Leave it to Beaver, hopping up the White House
Stairs mass hysteria their latest gallop poll; besieging Molieric phantasms caught this
Camera of rewound mode with beautiful Ms. Monroe, applying rococo lotion about
Suffragette's nine inch nails ? Spotted off jingoisms European coast; his lochness narwhal....
Shedding her muumuu open waters flagship tourist a filibuster fiesta ? Apocrypha, in session.
Buccaneers of love
In the love legends
Not resembling the angels
But they are prophets of the hearts
Their revelation
The true love
The endless love
The renewed love
Appreciating love
Living for the love
Dying for the love
Buccaneers of love
Prophets of the hearts
Their souls are innocent
Swimming in the sky
To rain their dreams
And they are swimming
In space of the longing
To rain the hope
Buccaneers of love
Prophets of the hearts
Under hearts angles
They are shadowing
And they are sucking
The wine nectar
From lips of lovers
Not robbing the shyness
And not assassinating tears
Not hurting the feelings
Buccaneers of love
Prophets of the hearts
A toast of the evening
A toast of the morning
Adoring the evening
Adoring the morning
Coloring the seashores
With affections
Besieging the hearts
With feelings
Besieging the eyes
With beauty
Buccaneers of love
Prophets of the hearts
Waiting for the night
To feel with the warmth of chests
When the lips melt
And the bodies burn
For beginning love
Buccaneers of love
Prophets of the hearts.........
You and I
Drifters across the sands of the eye
And in our being we carry
This salt of life like bungled cloth
Too tattered for a sail of dream
And neither give two hells
If the early morning rain will dissolve first
Life in a puddle drained to its sea
Or the sandy castle of the eye
Besieging me.
Day's wind blows carelessly
And you and I
Concerned carelessly
Tremble with undisclosed anxiety
Victims and voyagers forging through
The early morning rain
My rain comes early before I planted
I had nothing to grow anyhow
It is too barren
Where love blows dry as dust
And if it comes
The early morning rain still dissolves all trust
And tears make solution
To neither wind nor sea
The wind is a drifter just like us
Make no coffee for me
With grains of early morning rain
Early Morning Rain
Unceasingly there is evil and malice in this world,
Waiting for the perfect chance to betray and corrupt.
Even in golden days, when all dwell in happiness and light
Will there be denizens of the night and of deep dark places
Where light is shunned and hope goes to suffer a torturous demise.
But as long as evil broods and waits in contempt of all,
So will there be champions of good and pioneers of virtue,
Seeking out the cruel shadows of the night and besieging their foul strongholds.
For in the days of darkness when hope has failed all,
And dread lords stand tall and pool their might
To spoil the land with filth and decay,
So will stand bastions of valor who defend the helpless,
And maintain unflagging morals in the face of wrath and despair.
Seriously…
Frequently verse free of rhyme and meter
Articulates mental images upon a page.
A poetic expression from the heart
Unified by tangential emotions,
Thoughts openly, freely uttered…
A progression of complexities
The essence of a poet’s soul opened.
His fundamental nature shared, fully.
Presented for perception.
Unified, cohesively fused.
Offered from one mind to another.
Virtuously given without expectations.
Beautiful boundless poetry, besieging.
Free from the confinements of rules.
The soul, alive; multifaceted and elegant
Tacitly living; shared openly.
Enthusiastically scrolled upon the page.
Silently.
Dunnotar, protector of Scotland's honors,
how crippled you have become
but for Cromwell's rage and purpose.
Give the governor's lady your papers,
for all is not lost in your courts!
Through besieging forces
she will smuggle them out
in a place no gentleman dare search.
And your treasure is safe in her keeping,
until the crown of oppression is crushed
and the Viscountess assumes her duty
reviving your former glory;
resurrecting your rightful status
as you have done for Scotland,
preserving what has no price.
Molten rings of fire,
Encrusted spikes of hate.
Devil-haunted liar,
You'll pay at any rate.
Deceiving, horrid monster,
Crumbling burnt-out rain.
All the tales will cost her,
Never mind the pain.
Living the dying acid heat,
Crushing the putrid dove.
The smoldering heart will never beat,
If you toss away the love.
Crippled hope and crippled sin,
Entwined by that wicked lie.
Your shame besieging morbid grin,
As you watch the poor girl cry.
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