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Libyan Poem
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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 | Year Posted 2011
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Libyan Poem
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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
everywhere.
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 | Year Posted 2011
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Libyan Poem
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allied jets litter
civilian shields cover ground
loyal thugs forage
Copyright © Stephen Parker | Year Posted 2011
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Libyan Poem
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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
Libyan
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 | Year Posted 2013
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Libyan Poem
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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 | Year Posted 2012
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Libyan Poem
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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 | Year Posted 2014
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Libyan Poem
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To my rivers of thinking needles in my heart to the haters’ smile goes to the cake love, I cannot stop lamenting to lemonade. My comrades they were sealed in plastics bags to pontiff to the sponge looks in the sea bed.
The African continent doesn’t need mortuary to embalm their dead bodies to embroidery on the man’s face to tragedy from the escape of poverty. Wars and famine cripple people to the Libyan coast
My eyes cannot stop crying from crystal pain to the hope of smelling the Italian air to a restaurants kitchens and chewing sausages with aching teeth to the smile of trees. I cannot stop to rap from the rapture of megawatts to millions of liters of water in the stomachs of my African brothers in the Mediterranean Sea.
The tastes of salt from their shrouds to toxic urge from irresponsible government to the peril journey to genius hope to share the shepherd candles to candlelight. I march to machinate ugly face in the mirror, hopping to see beautiful faces like butterflies in the morning kissing on the flowers that carry the most attracting iodine.
I exculpate them from drawing in my rivers of thinking to river Nile, the magic captivates and castigates the caption in the newspapers where thousands souls perish in the sea. Just because they want to collect the snow to blizzard reply from Europeans soils to swell face, he smiles billions messages to moms and dads which arrow bitter feeling and triggering parents to parenthood.
And you prepare your sons cravats in their caskets in your hearts to hypertension jokes, still European countries imaginations tattooed on their faces full of ambitious able body men to ambiguity. He sees life is useless to usher group of tourists to termites and maggots to faded bones in the graves yards to gravity, still you fail to feel how dangerous is the tides with bear feet from East Africa to Eritrea through the desert.
The flash of light from Somalia isn’t enough to absorb lesson to lessen the pain on your mother’s faces for the ingratitude of religious denomination. I blame you for the blabbermouths to unattainable achievements through the sea to the seeds by the shipwreck.
I mourned you by the mansion to stop marketing the evil to devilish disdain to the night watch. The money that attracted you to action isn’t black in color that colonizes your mind to egocentric hope to affidavit of oath in the name of national pride.
Copyright © Mohamed Manzur Bah | Year Posted 2017
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Libyan Poem
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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
whose
WEAPON
SYSTEMS
FAILED
were killed in the same brutal manner of
pushing a button to incinerate them,
as NATO so
mindlessly
dropped bombs on a
residential building in tripoli
yesterday,
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
dead
for
decades,
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
libyans
who the west is so obviously
“aiding”
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 | Year Posted 2011
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