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Best Syrian Poems

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Poems are below...

New Syrian Poems

Don't stop! The most popular and best Syrian poems are below this new poems list.

Syrian Dreams of the Arab Spring by Garcia, Phillip
Syrian Civil War by Mystry, Midnight
A Syrian Christmas by Olson, Richard
Syrian Refugee, To mumma by Elmer, Georgie
Syrian Orphan by Olson, Richard
Syrian Refugees by Bates, Jim
The Last Syrian Blood by Smith, Shaniki
The Syrian Children by Flannery, Vincent
To The Syrian Child by Nforche, Gerald
The Syrian Devil by vaso, arthur

View all new Syrian Poems

The Best Syrian Poems

Details | Syrian Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Line in the Sand

Obama drew his mighty line in the sand
Dare ye not to cross me

Assad replied in kind
Gassing thousands and laughing

A little Syrian boy has drowned
Siblings to weak to cross that mighty line

Salvation was the evasive dream
Father shall never escape the nightmares

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2015

Details | Syrian Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Why I Am Voting Trump

Why am I voting Trump this time?
I am voting for Trump BECAUSE
he didn't start the deadly wars in
Libya and Syria, nor did he support
the brutal invasion and occupation of Iraq.

I am voting for Trump BECAUSE
he does not believe that under our
Constitution every Sunni Muslim around
the world is automatically guaranteed
an unimpeded entry into America.

I am voting for Trump BECAUSE
he does not support ISIS, Al-Nusra,
the Free Syrian Army, and all the
other terrorist groups in Syria with
money, weapons, or by bombing from
the air the Syrian government forces.

I am voting for Trump BECAUSE
under President Trump, the U.S. Air Force will
never be used as ISIS's aviation—let alone
threaten to shoot down Russian warplanes
in an insane no-fly zone over war-torn Syria.

I am voting for Trump BECAUSE
I don't want to die in a nuclear
war with Russia and China provoked
by the deranged Cold Warrior hawks
in Washington, D.C., who're seeking to
dominate every other country in the world.

I am voting for Trump BECAUSE
he will never cancel a presidential 
election his opponent has just won, 
claiming that Russia has supposedly
hacked and manipulated the popular vote.

Finally, I am voting for Trump BECAUSE
he has pledged not to be the first to
use nuclear weapons or overthrow foreign
governments during his rule—a pledge that
no other American politician has ever made.

Copyright © Ross Vassilev | Year Posted 2016

Details | Syrian Poem | Create an image from this poem.

I am a Child- Poem written for Restore a Child Organization

I am a child
Like the one you tuck in bed
The one you kiss on the head
The one who gets loved instead
The one who is so well fed
I am a child

I am a child
Like the one who gives you joy
Your pretty girl and fine boy
The one who gets every toy
The one who none dares annoy
I am a child

I am a child
With no home to call my own
The cold reaching to my bone
Hunger pangs, all that I’ve known
In tattered clothes, I have grown
I am a child

I am a child
The pavement my only bed
Dreaming of a piece of bread
With a small heart full of dread
My life hanging from a thread
I am a child

I am a child
With no gifts beneath the tree
With no hope to be set free
Wanting like YOUR child to be
Why, oh, why, can’t you love ME?

I am a child
I am YOUR child
I am GOD’s child
Remember me this Christmas….

Eileen Manassian Ghali

I'm privileged that Norma Nashid, founder of Restore a Child, has asked me to be an ambassador for the organization to help raise awareness of the plight of less fortunate children around the world. She asked me to write a poem for their newsletter, and I am sharing her FB post regarding it here with you.

(The poem below was written by Eileen Manassian Ghali, a professor of English at Middle East University in Beirut, Lebanon. She dedicated her poem this Christmas to Restore a Child. Her mother, Angel Dikran Manassian was my favorite teacher and my first teacher in school. Now I get the honor of enjoying the beautiful writing of her daughter, Eileen.--Norma Nashed)

If you are interested in finding out more about this humanitarian organization, please look them up on FB. I will be writing an article soon to highlight the plight of Syrian Refugee children in Lebanon. I hope my Mama would be proud of me!

http://ymlp.com/zMiueR (latest newsletter)

My poem will be published in the next edition

Copyright © Eileen Manassian | Year Posted 2013

Details | Syrian Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Syrian Refugees

I'm watching a programme on telly About the Syrian refugees Men and women and children Humanity brought to its knees I'm watching the desperate faces The terror and hunger and fear They're facing their ultimate nightmare And me? Well I'm just sitting here And saying 'Isn't it awful' 'Something needs to be done' Whilst searching the TV listings And planning my evening of fun Then I happen upon the BBC news Cameron wringing his hands on my screen Saying Syria is a priority Then slips into a black limousine Then Hollande, and Angela Merkel Echo the prime minister's views And tell us how hard they are working Another soundbite for the news Then shoot off to their heads of state dinner Which will go on well into the night While in the camps the tears will continue No dinner for those folks tonight At the meeting, an idea from Turkey Amongst the platitudes and the kind words The plan that they're putting forward Is to drop lots of bombs on the Kurds I flick channels and happen on Tony Blair Offering the world a solution I really can't listen to that grinning clown Spouting his verbal pollution He's jabbering on about Islam Trying to give us the wisdom we lack And hoping the world has forgotten What Bush and him did in Iraq Perhaps he's just a bit jealous That he's not allowed to the feast After finding Saddam's nuclear weapons! A doggy bag surely at least. While another mother loses her children More slaughter and mayhem we see And imagine the arms manufacturers And dealers, jumping with glee As they make another few billions And probably a few billions more Then they'll hide all their dirty old dollars In their financial laundry offshore And the politicians turn a blind eye And I'm sure that they won't be divulging How some of them came by their fat bank accounts And why their back pockets are bulging But then.......success I hear on the news The EU says all is not black They've solved the refugee crisis. When they get here.........we're sending them back. Job done, EU movers and shakers So sorry for doubting your cause You've sorted the Syrian problem Give yourselves a big round of applause © Ron James 05/04/2016

Copyright © Jim Bates | Year Posted 2016

Details | Syrian Poem | Create an image from this poem.

A Theatre of the Absurd

Theatre of the Absurd

Like an actor in a theatre of the absurd,
there stepped onto the stage a horrid clown,
an ego-maniac who makes his own staff clap for him
and who fast is bringing a nation down.

With just one month in office he’s done enough
that in another country could get himself kicked out.
Why some applaud him heartily I can’t comprehend!
Of the fact that he’s a liar, there can be no doubt!

A man who screwed so many with his own businesses
is now in charge of US! How can this be?
Admitting that he pays no taxes, yet we have to do it?
He puts the rich above us all. Why can’t people see?

He claims that more than any other president, he’s been
on the cover of Times, and eleven is his number.
Nixon’s number is at fifty-five. Does Donald think
we are in his movie plot I think called Dumb and Dumber?

Tweeting boasts from a phone that’s not even secure.
For higher ratings for “Apprentice” he asks that people pray.
Speaking to a nation about black history month,
he seemed to think Frederick Douglass is alive today!

He tweets how thousands of Syrian refugees
were (by Obama) let inside our nation.
In reality, two-thousand had got in.
His only talent is exaggeration!

He claims that the crowd for his inauguration
was the largest ever. Oh REALLY?
The picture that he tweeted of the big event
was dated the day AFTER actually!

Hanging up on leaders. That’s so presidential.
Calling people names, like Rosie is so fat,
Mexicans are rapists and “some, I assume, are good . . .”
At least he’s just a president and not some diplomat!

He uses words for women, like “a piece of ass.”
I’m appalled women voted for that pig at all.
And the big stupidity that many voted for
is his huge ambition to build a freaking wall.

He thinks Mexico will pay? It will bite us in the butt!
Their tunnels still will run beneath the ground.
Keeping even citizens from returning to their homes
and fighting court decisions. Is this leader even sound?

His tweets concerning terrorists in Paris at the Louvre
turns out it was a MALL named Louvre and some Egyptian guy!
He blames the airports’ chaos, brought on by his ban,
on Delta’s bad computers. Another Trumpy lie.

In some White House position called “public engagement”
he put a foul-mouthed woman from his Apprentice show
Three alumni of Goldman Sacks. That is all we need!
Sara Palin cried cronyism. For once, SHE’s in the know!

The list of his absurdities go on and on and on.
Comedians should be having a heyday!
However, it’s MY country and I feel quite concerned.
Sure wish that crazy clown would go away.

This theatre of the absurd will run indefinitely
until the audience can stand no more.
Stand up and boo, people; throw apples at his head.
His acting sucks; kick his butt out the “stage right” door!

Written Feb. 10, 2017

Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2017

Details | Syrian Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Foreign Legion Stoush

In Syria we fought the French in 1941...
Foreign Legion and the Vichy French an 8 week war was won...
After battle with the slaughter, many bodies where they lay...
Don checked them as he oughta , found a gauntlet  golden hey...
Oh it glistened with its set stones of red and shiny blue...
And Don's mates began to wonder could they get it off him too...
A frog sniper from a tower was a shooting us today ...
So we killed him with a Bren gun to his girlfriend's dismay..
Don went and checked the tower dragged down a Moslem priest...
Caught him by his whiskers now, just a holy man at least ...
The girl was still a wailing and cursing at Dons feet...
 as she kissed and held her lover, Don came down the street...
Don then the pin released...
So the gauntlet dropped beside her ...
He couldn't help her with her grief...
The gauntlet wanted neither...
Safer with her was the gauntlet gold...
She snavelled it so quick...   (grabbed)
On the priest still the whisker hold....
His blood she still did lick?....

Don got this souviner on the battlefield amongst the dead, some might have killed him to
get it...
Aussies including Don Johnson 2/25th Btn. (As he told me) .Fought the French Foreign ,
Vichy French and Syrian Arab people for 8 weeks in 1941. People from the Indian Army and
the Poms were there too at the finish......Don Johnson .....At this place Don and George
Gibson saw where a young woman and child had been killed by the same bayonet stroke .
George pointed to the cross around her neck and said to Don the little ju ju didn't save her?
Don said the Arabs were selling fresh meat in the street covered with flies to other Arabs
and the flies were still having a party on the many dead, so they held guns on the Arabs
and made them bury the dead which were being ignored

Copyright © DON JOHNSON | Year Posted 2011

Details | Syrian Poem | Create an image from this poem.

What Kind of People Are We

What Kind of People Are We

In a Shakespearean sense of tragedy and doubt the well-used
“To Be or Not To Be” from Hamlet is not the question I shall
discuss in this narrative. Rather, I shall consider a few things
concerning the current Middle Eastern and European migrant
situation that has riveted the attention of the countries in those
regions as well as the rest of the world. And it’s my opportunity
to reflect on some of the things that have occurred (and are still
occurring right now), that I find quite troubling and morally 
offensive to me as concerned person and citizen.

As a writer and poet, and as a moral human being, I can say
that I was truly shocked at the sight of an innocent, young Syrian 
refugee boy named “Aylan Kurdi,” who had drowned and was lying 
face down on a Turkish beach near a resort with his head turned
slightly on its right side, as the ebb and flow of the salted waves
pushed and pulled on his little body. A real tragedy for sure that
might have been prevented, if humane, responsible, and responsive
migrant immigration policies had been in place so his father
would not have been compelled to put his wife and both of his 
sons—who all drowned together—on that fateful boat at the very
mercy of ruthless and evil human traffic smugglers.

The horrendous scenes played over and over on the 24-hour news 
cycle of the migrants and their innocent children from Syria, Iraq, 
Turkey, Afghanistan, and other countries being treated like cattle
(or even less than cattle), and indiscriminately pushed around and
tear-gassed by unfriendly and unwelcoming jack-booted Hungarian 
Rendorség (Police) were certainly most shocking and disgustingly 
revulsive by both their malicious tenor and insidious intent. The
actions also of some right-wing Hungarian demonstrators hurling
loud and abusive comments at the refugees was also quite tragic
and disturbing. I found the actions of the Hungarian Police under
the direction of Prime Minister Viktor Orban to be similarly
reminiscent of the actions of Hitler’s Gestapo and Sturmabteilung
or the SA Troops after 1933 in Nazi Germany. Shame on them!
Shame on them! This is the same old tired bigotry and stupidity
on display today.

Despite these despicable actions of the Hungarian Police and many 
of Mr. Orban’s governmental officials, a number of Hungarian
citizens still showed their kindness and humanity in helping the
migrants at various junctures on the autobahn as they trekked
toward the Austrian border in route ultimately to Germany. This
caught my obvious attention as well.

For me, the “so-what?” here turns ultimately upon the following
philosophical and human question: “What Kind of People Are We?”
The migrant problem as we know is largely the result of the massive
displacement of people that has occurred (and is still occurring) in
in the war-torn countries in the Middle East and in certain areas of
Southeast Asia. This tragedy is one of many of our world’s current
and future 21st-century challenges. How each of us as “concerned 
citizens,” in consonance with the policies and actions of the various
governments in the countries we each live under, will certainly
play a role in reflecting in the end the kind of people we really are. 

For me, the nationalistic actions of the right-wing parties and
extremists, in many countries (including the United States) and 
particularly now in Europe, provide no real solution at all, and 
become a convenient excuse for many people to forsake their
conscience and basic humanity—and to stick their heads in the 
sand like a bunch of frightful ostriches lost in the reveries of
their hate and prejudice, and disgraceful cowardice! There can
be no apology and justification for this ever! This type of
behavior is a deep-seated cancer ever-lurking in the genes of 
our human society and in mankind’s soul—awaiting its chance
to metastasize and reek its horrible destruction upon its victims.  

The point I’m driving at is this: The current responsible actions
of a number of world leaders, to particularly highlight those of
the European Union, appear to be taking several of the right steps 
in helping these refugee migrants and their families undergoing
this terrible strife forced upon them by the tyranny of war and the
resultant poverty and dislocation. Being stupid, hateful, and clearly
prejudiced as some people and certain governmental leaders are in
our global community today is not the answer and it never will be!

To people who really do care about this ongoing migrant tragedy,
it’s time to rally and act in support of local, regional, and worldwide
efforts to help these migrant people and their families so afflicted
by poverty, disease, war, injury, death, and territorial displacement. 

For me, I desire to make my voice heard loud and clear as a writer,
poet, and concerned world citizen on this matter and in my own
most humble way. Keep in mind that many of us are descendants
of families who at one time or another were migrants from other
countries escaping the whip and lash of cruel dictators and their
terrible regimes masquerading as legitimate governments of the

In my estimation, the kind of people we should be or aspire to be
are those who relish the winds of freedom, the certainty of justice,
the spirit of friendship, the values of fairness and fair play, the
magnificence of humanity, the desire for cultural diversity and
inclusion, and the love of our fellow man under the very eyes
of God Himself. 

What kind of people are we? With this, I rest my case. 

Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved,
September 11, 2015 (Narrative)

Copyright © Gary Bateman | Year Posted 2015

Details | Syrian Poem | Create an image from this poem.

The Syrian Devil

Children lie dying
Punished for waking up one more day
In unbearable heat, in a dirty war
They have no Generals
To defend them
From the evils of men
They have no advocates for peace
All the gods seem to be sleeping
As so many infants weep, into deathly silence
They exist no more
Good men take no action
As evil men fight for more blood
We must stand up to the horrors
And give breath to those too weak to stand
We must march on in honor and face the faceless
Who wish harm to all with good will
Sadness created by Assad
For many a year
Infants give only love
Can we not promise them?

Shoofakboukra = We will see you tomorrow
Marhaba = God is Love

Inspired not only by recent events, but by interviews with people who at the time were children playing with unexploded phosphorus bombs dropped by the Syrian regime in Lebanon.

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2013

Details | Syrian Poem | Create an image from this poem.


Islam Burning

In deep purple flame
Stapled to the cross
While the peasants yell below
Demon demon demon
Black flags rise
Hearts fail to beat
Humanity has lost this score
The axe swings in the air
Freedom at last
From Islam’s beasts
My head tumbles into the dust
I am now an icon of the history I so loved
I am Khalid al-Asaad
Your humble servant of antiquity

Aug 19, 2015
In memory of Khalid al-Assad murdered by Islamic cowards.

Islamic State militants beheaded a renowned antiquities scholar in the ancient Syrian city of Palmyra and hung his mutilated body on a column in a main square of the historic site because he apparently refused to reveal where valuable artefacts had been moved for safekeeping.

According to Syrian state news agency Sana and the UK-based Syrian Observatory for Human Rights, Asaad was beheaded in front of dozens of people on Tuesday in a square outside the town’s museum. His body was then taken to Palmyra’s archaeological site and hung from one of the Roman columns.

“Al-Asaad was a treasure for Syria and the world,” his son-in-law, Khalil Hariri, told the Associated Press. “Why did they kill him? Their systematic campaign seeks to take us back into pre-history. But they will not succeed.”

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2015

Details | Syrian Poem | Create an image from this poem.


“Well we shall have to do our best and 'keep on smiling'” said Dumpty to the Owl, who he was worried could possibly get into a' flap' after all it had heard. “Yes it never helps to despair” opinioned the Owl stolidly. “ I have one thing to say to you dear egg, the reason I did give my name when you asked earlier, was not because I was being rude 'as such' its not protocol amongst the older species of ornithology  'specially Owls (to just give out our names) you see I have existed a long time now, and certainly in the circles I've lived in my name was not common knowledge, now I know you have been around a good few years yourself, 1643 I believe you came into being, however I was for a short time and I will stress it was a short time, observer/companion Owl to a young ruler in the Yuan province in China 1400/1402.  Oh they asked me to return to advise them” ruminated the Owl almost to itself; “but you cannot really teach humans, they have been responsible for the complete extinction of whole species let alone wars amongst themselves, they are just so susceptible to pride for a start”  the Owl said “and furthermore I find there is all too often a 'good reason' for having a war..! Oh there is always some ogre' either that or (they have to be ugly you see) or there has to be some other 'according to the' Instigator of war. Now where was I? Oh yes some other unreedeeming feature about them, they never mention 'to the general public' that this person or indeed persons is (probably fabulously wealthy) you know the times I have seen 'these brave knights' dash right past the villagers who are beating up the 'ogre' straight past beautiful sobbing damsels, I have seen them rush straight to the door of the treasure room though.. smash it down, lower the chest of gold down by rope, then ride off into the sunset, with nary a by your leave whilst the damsel and villagers are left to repair all the damage... cases like that always struck me odd, anyway, so you see I am quite a bit older than you. Also were I to just give out my name, it could be said by you or (others) should you pass on my name, that you or they, knew so and so, and that they said such and such, and so on and so forth.' (not saying that you would dear egg) but I hope you can see my reasons??” “Well yes” said Dumpty quietly, the Owls eyes seemed to  travel up and down him, “Look I have observed that you were not on the whole a 'bad egg' Dumpty, the bird continued on, whilst you were alive and I can see you are facing challenges on how to relate to people at this present time, moreover you have been most kind to myself and the feline, therefore I will disclose to you my name it is derived from the Bubo-Bubo line of Syrian Owls; we are of the greater Owl variety, and are still populous in the world owing to our life values, I don't know if you have heard of the place? There was once a world famous man who came from there name of Abraham. There are still numerous descendants of his in the region today! Anyway you may call me Bubo for short if you so wish.”
©Joe Maverick 18-3-2014

Copyright © Joe Maverick | Year Posted 2014

Details | Syrian Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Syrian Refugee, To mumma

Mumma please find a new home for me,
Somewhere like Syria before, where I was extremely happy,
I know there were bombs going off permanently,
And I understand it was only safe to flee.

They took away everything from us, 
Including lives, schools, homes and trust. 
I don’t understand why we were caught in the fuss, 
And now our lives have been made to accordingly adjust. 

I miss how easy my life was before, 
My mind never knew of this disastrous thing called war.
But those memories are something I have to ignore,
As they spark my eyes to weep and pour.

Now hear us children, hear our song,
What did we ever do that was so wrong, 
We’ve tried our hardest in school all year long, 
Why do we have to act so strong?

I didn't like being scared, 
But I was lucky to have a soldier like you that cared, 
I know we were caught off guard and unprepared, 
But now we need help to get our lives repaired. 

I know before we could survive on our own, 
We could buy our own bread and our stomachs never moaned. 
We've been left with nothing since we became part of the dropping zone, 
I wish we could've been just left alone. 

I know we've exceeded our shop credits, 
And this outcome has made you feel purely pathetic, 
But Mumma we know its not your fault and its something you cant edit, 
I would do anything to help you forget it.

I know you feel guilty asking anyone for aid, 
Stop being proud because it will take my pain away,
All we've got to live in are these tents which are frayed, 
One day you can repay all this kindness, one day you'll have your job back, the one where you got paid. 

The one I feel for is my little sister, 
She's disabled and because of the lack of medical help her skins starting to blister, 
I keep holding her close, to hug and kiss her,
because soon I know I'm going to really really miss her. 

Mumma I know you wish you could do more for the little one, 
But your my super hero, you sheltered us from the guns, 
Not everyones been so lucky since this war has begun,
I know thats why you feel like they’ve already won. 

I hear you cry yourself to sleep
But I can’t help to watch and peep.

We’ll always be stood by you, 
You don’t have to hide your pain like you do. 

Don’t blame yourself mum, 
Because of you, look how far we’ve come! 
See what our family has managed to escape from, 
I only wish now our pain could be numbed.

Mumma remember you are my super hero
You’ve won this war infinity to zero!

Copyright © Georgie Elmer | Year Posted 2016

Details | Syrian Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Getting Lost in Peace

Getting Lost in Peace

When a man loses his bearings
In a land of riches and honey
He sometimes loses sight of life’s tribulations
Spoiled to the core he wonders what the heck for?
Why should he care of the dying and oppressed
Surely he made not this mess?
Let them starve and be slaughtered
Not like any of them are his daughters

Politicians have lost all their backbones
Afraid to stand up for what is right
There is no enemy
If you are an ostrich with a long neck
The world may indeed be dark
Yet peaceful with your head buried down deep
Keep our soldiers here, we all say
Let those slobs and aliens all weep
Leaders today want your vote
Let the others all drown in their old tipsy boats

We have saved the world a million times or two
Giving cash to ease our conscience and feeling goody two shoes
When the weak and meek are raped and slaughtered
Who with a heart would not send a soldier or twelve?
If you live in another county, guess what? You’re in hell
We save our own, but we won’t save you
We don’t like war you see, for us is about peace not humanity

Notes 1) Being against saving people from the horrors of oppression and torture, be it a regime or terrorists well is like saying I am against doctors and heart surgery.

Notes 2) No matter how flat is a pancake, it always has two sides.

Note 3) I do not know anyone with a sane mind that is for war. Certainly not any General or soldier that has seen the horrors of war. Today, we often confuse interventions, or saving literally complete communities from slaughter based on race, religion or tribal affiliations, as going to war. I have these words for you, Grow UP! Enemies? Again grow up, there is pure evil out there, ISIS is a prime example. If you have any doubts as to my words, and of course when you lift your head from the sand, go and visit some regions, and tell those people to their faces, you can stop it, but well you don’t want too. 

My heart goes out to the Yazidis who quite frankly are almost wiped out as a people. Also The Syrian people gassed to death with sarin gas want to thank you all for being against war, they are so happy you stood by and said , oh my that’s terrible. 

In Western nations, politicians do nothing more than reflect your views, if you do not like them, maybe look in the mirror. I do not mean each individual view but the majority, and when the majority does not care? Well you can connect the dots. If however, one disagrees with that statement, I will tell you some good news! You have the freedom to go out and run for office yourself and make a difference. Before you laugh at the statement, remember you need to get off the couch first. 

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2015

Details | Syrian Poem | Create an image from this poem.


Mired in the worst humanitarian crisis 
Syrian refugees seek shelter from ISIS
Cries are heard throughout our nations 
Governors set up SWAT Team Stations

"Why put us in danger?" the signs reflect
People ravished in lines with little effect
No matter how torn nor hungry ye be
Ye shall not live in the Home of the Free!

For now they all wait seeking shelter and food
Their tomorrow depends on America's Mood!


Copyright © Judy Konos | Year Posted 2015

Details | Syrian Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Tainted Love

Oh Donald
Kiss me
Is valentines
You know I am ok
And ok and ok

We are both men
My love and devotion is true
You will build a wall
And keep out the jew, the arab, and the indian too

You will make sure the blacks are put in place
This is what’s best for the human race
Keep those Mexicans in their southern slums
Make sure their employment adds up to none

Protect me from the Muslims
Save me from the evil Steve Jobs
That Syrian was so iBad iBad iBad and all
He terrorized Bill Gates, but that’s about all

I know people hate you
Those tainted souls
Wanting love and unity
Shame on those goals!!!

I love you Donald
My Donald Duck
The quack of my heart
Tearing us all apart

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2017

Details | Syrian Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Why France

France gave America the Statue of Liberty,
In 1865, from Edouard de Laboulaya, his act;
It begot Joan of Arc who insisted that,
Nationality bet religion as a matter of fact.

The Free French were renown in WW II, 
For an innate determination which alit,
The will of those sinking around them,
For the democratic heart that was split.

It produced Thomas Piketty with his book Capital,
Which called for a global tax of all richer states,
To redistribute income for egalitarianism,
For freedom and for the poverty liberation straits.
The death of Jihadi John set it all off,
As he was the symbol of the Islamic State,
Most definitely and without reservations,
He was the one with the credal slate. 

But France today has an interventionist policy,
In Syria, and is the most vocal nation of all,
Insisting that President Assad needs to go,
To enable free democracy to stand tall.

In 2010 Qatar, an Arab state with oil and gas,
Won the bid to host the 2022 FIFA World Cup;
When a UK government employee questioned this,
In November 2014, he caused a very real hiccup.

France was said to have validated Qatar,
To chief Sepp Blatter who was eventually removed;
I can’t dismiss that Qatar would have reciprocated,
With gifts of money for the French to be proved.

With some of Qatar’s money, flowing and free,
France would’ve strengthened its foreign policy,
Doubled its presence in Syria, or even tripled it,
With the USA and others following likewise - oui.

So the French people’s ability to fight ISIS,
Is important to Syrian Islamists who are fully aware,
That the size of an army determines its success,
Thus Qatar’s allegiances are ISILs concern to beware.

Copyright © Rhoda Monihan | Year Posted 2015

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New Year- New Bomb Blast

     On December 7, 2013 a bomb blast killed former Lebanese Minister, Mohammad Chatah and several others. Less than an hour ago, another bomb blast took place in the Dahieh area in Beirut. My husband is away....my daughter is out at a friend's house, and I'm sick to my stomach of not knowing......where is safe, where can we go? This is the latest Post on FB by a student of mine showing a picture of the explosion. "New Year....New Bomb." 

     I'm tired of this. I'm tired of the rest of the world turning a blind eye. I'm tired of feeling guilty because I'm in my nice warm house and there are Syrian refugees living in tents. There are little children dying of the cold. I'm tired of hearing of the blood of martyrs being spilled. I'm tired of hoping and wishing for peace for this country and knowing....it will NEVER be. I'm tired.

    I'm tired of reliving fear. Tired of worrying about the safety of my brother who lives in the downtown area where all the political figures have their mansions. I'm tired of hearing him talking about some embedded glass shard working its way out of the skin of his face...even now. He and his wife were injured in the bomb blast that killed Prime Minister Rafic Hariri years ago, scarring their faces for life.

I'M TIRED OF THIS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!


Eileen M Ghali

Copyright © Eileen Manassian | Year Posted 2014

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Putin rides Russia’s pride
Cheers ring nation wide
Swept along by the tide
No matter, Putin’s stride

Putin derides all global calls
Jeering at the soft flung balls
High on the home-pep of it all
Playing pride before he falls

Before today Putin was creaking
Students raised aside his speaking
Syrian brokering coated his ceiling
Olympic grandeur won a believing

The party swings high on the pep
Unseeing past the next high step
Boozed out to the dawning inept
Recessions pill awaits there, swept 

Putin cynically prides pop calls 
Crimean homing serving the all
But the gain will pain, come the fall
Come the reality of Putin’s new wall 

It’s swallowing will cost his people
Harpooned by his Bolshevik needle
Freedoms put-on by the Putin spiteful
And recession bites like a razer-ball

Putin’s pride, his hoodwinking call
Subterfuge designed for his win all
Knowing oppression awaits cat calls
When pride bites deep... before the fall

Copyright © Dennis Broe-Ward | Year Posted 2014

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the escape

The Escape 
A man coming home from work saw a shadow like a figure leaning against 
an olive tree it was Death, polishing his hoof and sharpening his scythe.
The man said no, not me I`m too young to be harvested he then took a plane 
to Madrid in Spain where got employment in lawyer`s office. 
At the first day, he knocking on the door death sat in the chair and said; 
from now on you are my helper. Go back home and dispose of your parents their 
time has come, greatly disturbed the man took a plane home and death stood 
leaning against an olive tree a shadow on a sunny autumnal day. In the house, 
his parents said crying the had just buried their son, they didn't see or heard him, 
and the man knew that henceforward he was Death`s little helper.

This story is based on a Syrian story of a man riding from Damascus across 
the desert in the night to Baghdad to avoid death but a drone picked him up
thought the horse was a jeep and fired off a rocket, the man had to walk, to 
Baghdad, but without water and dates he died of thirst and hunger 

Copyright © jan oskar hansen | Year Posted 2016

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The Syrian Spy

Invisible ink flows
Into the night ghosts go
The cedars bleed once more

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2013

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The Cat Man of Aleppo

The Cat Man of Aleppo As wrath of war surrounds this special man He, driver of an ambulance, remains To help his wounded townsmen heal and live, These victims of the Syrian civil war. The shelling dealt by forces pro-Assad Made masses quickly flee from streets and homes To hills or mountains many miles away Compelled to leave their household cats behind. Now on their own left to survive, this man, When not attending wounded friends, would then Become a savior to these orphaned pets Enrich their lives in such a giving way. “Cat man of Aleppo” became his name He took the time to care for them each day. The money from his savings purchased meat For cats that gathered near his home to feast. One-hundred fifty plus became his charge For many months, he did this wondrous deed. Good news in midst of tragic world events “Man shares his heart with cats and humankind.” © Sandra M. Haight 2014 All Rights Reserved ~1st Place~ Contest: The Good News Paper Sponsor: Mystic Rose Judged 11/17/2014 True story my poem was based on an article published September 26, 2014 on many Internet news sites and YouTube

Copyright © Sandra Haight | Year Posted 2014

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Arab Spring

From Tripoli to Cairo
I saw the intifada leftover
After Tunisia and Yemen
Like a dam broken
After it had sucked life from dry sand
Morocco, Kuwait, Djibouti and Oman
I heard birds singing at the cliff
Falsetto dawn
In the rift valley of religion
And water pouring from each sweat
Flood the root of the poisoned tree
Not Regina
Not Phoenix dactylifera
Not if the honey killed the bee.

Some have fallen
Shaken by the protest of the wind
Some stay uneasy 
For it is the season of orchestrated discontent
I see nothing to applause
Except that stability 
And the availability of corn
Are rare in democracy there.
For culture is soil and climate
That every root begins with
And nothing strange may grow
In a rich soil's barren love.
Heroes there and villains 
Have ridden sand forever
They do no swim this mediation well
Spring rain brings flash floods
And then vulture upon vulture
Circling the corner of the eye.

Too bad the spring
Shook the blossoms off in breeze
I smell the empty branches
The resin bleeding in the new night
Hot summer's dead piled up
Against a Syrian wall.
I pray for the autumn worm
And the bones winter white
My sajada is Mecca strewn
And in my head the adhaan
The adhaan, an intoxicated bell
Calls me out of grief.

Copyright © L'nass Shango | Year Posted 2012

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Talitha Cumi Rise

' Talitha Cu'mi - - - Rise ! ... '

        (Tal' i-tha cu' mi)
(An Ancient Arabic/Syrian Phrase)

(Mark 5: 41 / John 5: 28, 29 / John 6: 39 /  John 10: 3-15, 27 / John 11: 23-27)

'Talitha Cumi ... Rise!'
Said The One Who Can Save All Lives
Talitha Cumi ... Rise!
Death's Cut Will Not Be Your Knife
-- Talitha Cumi ... Rise! --

Talitha Cumi ... Rise!
From Your Bed & Your Good-Byes
Talitha Cumi ... Rise!
Hear My Voice & Recognize
-- Talitha Cumi ... Rise!

'Rise! From Upon Your Bed
Greet The Brightest Day Instead
Greet The Blessings On Your Head
The Blood of Life For You I Bled
-- Talitha Cumi ... Rise!' --

'Talitha Cumi ... Rise!'
Said My Beloved Lord Jesus Christ
'I Covered You In My Sacrifice
and You Praised Our GOD For That Price
-- Talitha Cumi ... Rise!' --

'Little One - Open Your Eyes
Loved Ones - Dry Your Eyes
'Cause Resurrection Ain't No Lie
Wake Up! ... and Walk Eternal Life!'

Tal i-tha cu' mi  ... Rise!

         Written & Copyrighted ©:  9/26/2013 
                  by:  MoonBee Canady

Examples of a Resurrection:  The Spring Season, Butterflies from Cocoons, 
A Buried Seed, A Healed Skin-Cut, A Revived Heart (and) A Human Being
(and the song above is how I felt after my Lumpectomy Surgery) Oh yeah!


Copyright © MoonBee Canady | Year Posted 2013

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Politics: The Grimm Reaper

"Political power grows out of the barrel
of a gun" - Mao Zedong.

North Korea has nuclear;
current regime's fear
of falling out is clear.

China, Philippines, Japan,
and Taiwan all claim possession
of South China sea -
China claims it owns the sea
because it has the name China
on it.

Syrian warfare is like venom
of different animals mixed
together in a dark blender;
you can't tell who's ISIS, al-qaeda,
Hizbollah, Iranian agents,
Syrian rebels or Regime Forces.

A North Korean sub is missing in the sea;
no one knows what's next....

Russia and United States have differences
on how Syrian War should be handled.

Myriads of Syrian refugees cry at the gates
of Europe;
like Mary and Joseph in the Inn,
there's a few people letting them in.

Dalai Lama still cries for freedom
for the Tibetans.

Corruption still eats away economies
in African counties and national cakes.

Donald Trump wants an America
with no immigrants-
I think he's saying goodbye
to globalisation.

Boko Haram want to create a Caliphate
empire across West Africa.

Politics, the Grimm Reaper,
is here and listening!

Copyright © Teddy Kimathi | Year Posted 2016

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female migrant

The Female Migrant
A customs official found a suitcase with a forgotten
Syrian refugee lady in it, he took her home blew life 
into her and he was no longer alone. 
Bought her sexy underwear skirt and blouse and
a bicycle pump and no longer did he bother going out 
drinking beer with his fellow officers.
A perfect little refugee she was so undemanding 
and silent not for her to turn her back complaining
of a headache and other female ailments. 
After wild night they had done it five times, she had
she had shrunk a morning there was a tear somewhere 
in her vulva, that could not be repaired or glued.
With manly logic, he blamed the refugees swamping his
country living off the fat of the land doing nothing and 
thus, a love story ended on the scrap heap of humanity.

Copyright © jan oskar hansen | Year Posted 2016

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Nice To Meet You

I had heard of Black-
From highly learned 
And, a twiggy oily 
I have always 
City-women walk in 
Wear stylish and 
talk in style,
A Cow-boy shall 
always commend!
But I have 
somewhere read,
An Indian American 
poet to his
Syrian wife wrote
An unknown love 
Blaming her of 
dating once
A Muslim friend.
Therefore ere we 
may walk together 
any more,
Tell me, for instance!
Have you visited 
that saint’s shrine?
There, near your 
The fort’s on the 
Rocky Mount;
Climbed those 
hundred-fifty stony 
Many many times, in 
that sweet nonage
With grandma.
And nowadays on 
almost all Sundays
In the evenings, with 
my mom.

Ah! Ah!
Then you must have
 Fed the wild-
pigeons’ flock, corn;
Helped the lame, 
blind beggars with 
coins, and rice;
In the festivals’ 
Served the waking 
from the far villages 
in country,
Fried in ghee, the 
And in Samovar—

Yes, my dear Yes!
I have, I have, I 

Copyright © fayaz bhat | Year Posted 2014