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Best Ablution Poems | Poetry

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Ablution by Kantor, Jeff
TOTAL ABLUTION by DEVNATH , BL
Ablution by HB, Bilal

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The Best Ablution Poems

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A Morning View


A day comes with a
morning dew,
For the words, less
to cope all few,
The breezy wave and
tweeting eyes,
Of rising sun, view
the Himalaya highs,
The trancing
eclipses and
faltering trees,
Held me there,
caught me freeze,
And the prevailing
dusky downy haze,
To falling cascade
of ivory rays,
Where I hied to let
it chase,
This beautiful
bounty widespread
haze,
I look & look, with
a glance and gaze,
With winking eyes
with hot cap,
I observed their
silent nap,
And whence the sun
rise and set,
Sparrow and humming
beak to get,
Food to survive and
maintain life,
And live on sharp
edgy curvy stemy
knife,
Above the grove and
in dense forest,
Where harmonious
peace dwells in the
nest,
Where leaves
levitate and birds
hove,
And oscillate with
desire, solidarity
in love,
A bird in this
hustle bustle,
Jingle jangle and
trilling rustle,
Are not base
generations, it’s
true so,
They rise through
reincarnation, and
grow,
Up to our believe
and reckon,
They are alive and
born,
I ask my conscience
where to hike,
Stood here and there
or by riding bike,
To feel the scent of
this rainy December,
Over my worries and
lethargy to
remember,
His never-ending
silence to end
daylight,
Made one statue,
stunned one bright,
And I put my towel
to have a shower,
This congeal water
pierces me by power,
Oh ablution is
enough for adequacy,
Count on, fend off
with sufficiency,
And when I walk on
flossy meadow,
The emerald tint
fell a shadow,
Upon my eyes to
sensory nerves,
Where the earth,
laid with several
curves,
The invigoration of
spirit rises up
more,
On rambling off and
on, this grassy
floor,
Over this belt with
buoying ways,
No alternate of this
land, O nays,
Where I felt about
flying upon,
Falling, right left,
up and down,
Then I move here and
there, up-to sun
height,
To meet buoyantly
this sunny light,
The sun with
magnetic warm and
beguile,
This morning with
candelabra wile,
Cause a man to wake
and woke,
Sing a flute while
sitting under an
oak,
How this mean, a
life less of
leisure,
Won’t you thrill
this grudgingly by
measure,
A world, an
embarrassment of
riches,
And a life with
plenty of beach’s.

Shahid Hussain
Chouhdry


Copyright © M. Shahid H. Chouhdry | Year Posted 2013


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My Pregnant Wife

In front of her body is a baggage counting through the months she pray the child kicks in its watery garage creating its own bond and wanting to play mama loves him, though to her, he is blind fertility prepares in ablution more great seeds in the hope of a rewind like blessing this full present ignition mall after mall for any baby bay to shop for the new entry with all dime preparing the road to open the way anything less is a maternal crime stress pricks the body like a little blade this great hope ensures it will not fade.


Copyright © Funom Makama | Year Posted 2016


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Success rains every morning

With the smiling Fajr to the East, I remember the clipping of toes from side to side with the solemn recitation of the Holy Quran. The imagination of Allah’s mercy boils in my heart, the fence of success glows the microphone loud our voices and increases our concentration.  
The canopy of congregation, the sound of Al-Fatha and the rolling of Aameen, erects the hope of building fence of success. The devil vows it arrows to decapitate the souls of humanity to fickle night. The sign of success suckles it breast each morning, my alarming clock cannot be ignored to ignorance. 
The flash of Fajr is a new beginning day; it builds gardens of gold to the circle of fallout. The Almighty defends me. From the hijacking of my soul to disavow the Fajr in the morning to epitomizes my forefather’s footsteps. 
The glory of ablution thrills me to trillions of hope; I regret all the days I dashed responsible to the failure of my soul for the past uncountable time inept to put my forehead down on the ground before my creator. I lament for those times I setback from purifying my soul to solid hope, no amount of regret is justifiable to the fable mistakes and the rogue that rocks my life to florescent beep.
I citadel glowing candles to win the wind on my knees as a base to the realization God is with me. The Praising of Allah on the knees erects my hope to kiss the sky lamp to bubble gown. I lament all the gowns of prayers I never wear as official duty upon my life.
I regret the poor accent of reciting the Holy Quran, and aura night I regret the sleep I slept as they were empty of prayers. The Mosque is the only place I must fight to defend five times a day, seven days a week and the rest of my life.


Copyright © Mohamed Manzur Bah | Year Posted 2017


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Reflections Of The Lake

          Reflections Of The Lake

Mirrored by a morning light
Rendered thoughts upon the water
Service of the bank reflects the day as cast
I study the smooth dark structures beneath the surface
Suspecting they are lonely stones gathered
Or aligned against me in that order
They wave back in rippled joy
Lending comfort to my solemn void
And barren trees about me
Simply swaying to the breeze of nature’s way
Birds dip in their ablution to the shore
Calm voices below the surface 
Glimmering colors, shapes of gliding fish, lake voices to be sure
That signal, come closer for the warmth
It’s time for things to change in the glare of sun’s impressions 
Hypnotic on my eyes window to the soul  
I turn at lakes command 
And roll right in
Undisturbed


Copyright © Earl Schumacker | Year Posted 2014


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Fifth Avenue Mad Man

I take the easy way out
Life's a luggage with knotted cords
And walking around with it is hard
I take the easy way out
From beckoning sorrows deferred
Pass lazy neon lights where others erred
I take the easy way out
Away from the half-nude scent of girls
Drowning in their disgust, vomitted pearls
I take the easy way out
Away from glasses winking with sweaty skin
Cold as ice, and bar stools staggering spin
I take the easy way out
Pass insiduous young men selling relief
At conspicuous grocers' door of grief
I take the easy way out
For I cannot be solved by a chemical solution
Gargling through my veins, it's no ablution
I take the easy way out
Not before a screaming car or in a dismal leap
The rope can do that while I sleep
I take the easy way out
And laugh, because I believe, at everything.


Copyright © David Smalling | Year Posted 2010


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City of Knowledge

The city of knowledge is burning
Crushed are all the houses of learning
Under the siege of the city of information and the city of ignorance
For the two have joined together to destroy gnosis
The gatekeeper has been stabbed in his head
The enemies and the traitors bloodied the rivers red
Decapitating the institutions 
Presenting misleading solutions
Leading the inhabitants to a seeming ablution
Only chastising them with their own desire

But the sands beneath the city are ever shifting
The knowledge the city bequeaths is spirit-lifting
And while blood has run down the beard of the gatekeeper
There are millions ready to avenge as the battle gets steeper
My weapon is a sheathed award
Precautionary dissimulation is my sword
I am protecting of the secret knowledge of my Lord
No burning fire has the strength to cut our cord
And as they break the hands of the crowd
And cut the tongues of the proud
Our heart remains the clairvoyant organ of might
This organ is a sealed book, hidden in the darkness of night
And divine light
Will extinguish the burning fires and quench our desires
As the new gatekeeper is put in place
Fully dismantling the hemorrhaging cities of ignorance and information
Inaugurating all in the gnostic station


Copyright © Bilal HB | Year Posted 2011


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TOTAL ABLUTION




                                            washing of body
                                       if done with dirty water
                                        there's no refreshment

                                            Total ablution
                                   means cleaning all kinds of dirt
                                       from  body mind heart 


Copyright © BL DEVNATH | Year Posted 2015


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DAIRY OF ALHAJI TANKO

Our decimation is no news no more,
And brothers swam the sands of the desert
For our heads - as tears became thicker than blood;
Hell has found its place amongst us.

The morning and night are against us.
They conspire with the bulb of the earth
To hunt us down while our shadow freely flee from us
In fear as we roam like potential corpses.
Yesterday, they came in hundreds in monstrous motors,
Squirting death's seeds at sighted souls - thereby planting
Murder on our lands; they performed ablution with our blood,
Took our daughters and drown our abode with streams of fire
In the gleeful watch of our protector above.
For how long will our peace be sodomized?
For how long will our death cease to appease you?
Are we cursed by you, or are you jealous
And threatened by our existence?

Who exhumed the peaceful hell?
Despaired hearts asked from paradise's hell,
Gnashing their teeth towards absconded fate.
I recall the serious-play of Russian roulette
Thrown at me in the theater of death,
Each rounds went off breaking my frozen blink.
My faith denied fate its fetish grin that day,
But my brothers calmly lost their heads
In silent supplication at terror's swag.
Today, I speak to you from a prisoner's lot;
Just before this bloody ground swallows me
In a mass grave interred amongst victims of brotherhood,
Know that i have painstakingly tried
To sieve water from fire
So as to extinguish hell for my children.


Copyright © Timothy-Paker Nwaorgu | Year Posted 2014


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A Wandering Boy with a Song in His Pocket - Part II

A Wandering Boy with a Song in His Pocket
Arabic Poem by: Salman Dawood Mohammed 
Translated into English by: 
Inaam Al-Hashimi (Gold_N_Silk)
===========================

(5)
Just like the wind 
I drive out loneliness of an empty bench for two... 
And, like a curfew, I mourn pedestrians’ noise;
And as a shirt hanging on a laundry line,
I drip down, with all my moisture, on the surface of your days
And curse the cloud standing in the queue of ablution.
Then, I hate 
Music,
The guards,
The law,
College students’ uniforms,
And astronauts;
And I dislike my life!




That all developed in the centennial commemoration of my wilting, 
Amidst an assembly of militias and tambourines
Endorsing the funeral procession of my lamps
In the alleys
Of your absence.
***
(6) deleted
****

 (7)
Housewives,
Hawkers,
The Ministry of love,
Tramps,
College youngsters,
Thieves,
Guests of No-Stars hotels,
Songs,
Traffic controllers,
Victims of the national anthem, 
Train drivers, 
Bin Laden,
Weather report announcers,
Gilgamesh,
Jurists,
Speech writers for the President,
Drunks,
And my mother,
All,
All shouted to my face:
“Don’t do it, O crazy! Or else you will die!”
But
O  Glory!
I did it
And...
I fell in love with you!
***

(8)
Rest assured 
After you, I wouldn’t be alone
A labyrinth is a home
And footsteps a family.
***

(9)
Your desertion, the deep rooted in wilting,
Is like a nail untouched by hammers;
Here it is, with its only sharp tooth, 
Signing the deeds of tears
On the body of waiting. 

Your painful desertion 
Has pulverized me
Sincerely...
Hence, I saluted the remaining ashes of my burning with you,
Then
I lay on my blood
On
The heart of sunset
And
I  ..... Died!
***

(10)
I loved you and went on
Just like a cloud skipping school.
I strewed my shirt buttons on your fields
And let down science class;
So my rain couldn’t be in a bottle anymore
And the road leading to you
Is no more a battle field 
Or a bird market;
But 
My soul is pouring down on you
And my hand
 Stands
..
..
An umbrella.
***

(11)
The teacher said: “Draw a human heart.” 
I laid a kiss on your palm,
And locked it in with the softness of your fingers.
The teacher is now in the recovery room
And I am
Accused
Of forgery.
****
Translated by: Em. Prof.    Inaam Al-Hashimi (Gold_N_Silk)
* Salman Dawood Mohammed. A poet from Iraq


Copyright © Inaam Al-Hashimi | Year Posted 2013


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HuMElity

The Lord has tore me down.
My knees lick the dirt;
spiraling, I crawl from a high trench
dug with a rodomontade mouth.
The rocks stacked in insolence are now rubble
and are lapped by kneeling blood.

Although I am made low
and my fingernails scratch the earth
kissing my knees, I hallow the Lord
with my head meekly raise and eyes in the sun,
for my mouth has been scoured by blooded mud
spilled for me to grovel thorough
that the ablution of His hands and robe may
silence my lips and tongue and teeth from insipid pretensions.


Copyright © Eric Specian | Year Posted 2016


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Genesis incorporation a litter ray tion

4 ablution 4 acclimatization 4 adulation 
4 benediction 4 biotransformation 4 blastulation 
4 concatenation 4 conception 4 configuration 
4 declaration 4 dictation 4 differentiation 
4 ejaculation 4 emancipation 4 ******** 
4 fascination 4 flagellation 4 flocculation
4 gastrulation 4 glamorization 4 glorification 
4 habituation 4 harmonization 4 homogenization 
4 implantation 4 impregnation 4 incubation 
4 jubilation 4 junction 4 juxtaposition 4 kation 
4 keratinization 4 k-ration 
4 labialization 4 libation 4 liquidation 
4 manifestation 4 menstruation 4 micro-encapsulation 
4 negotiation 4 notification 4 notion 
4 ovation 4 oviposition 4 ovulation 
4 parturition 4 penetration 4 perpetuation 
4 quadruplication 4 qualification 4 question 
4 reaction 4 repopulation4 reproduction 
4 sanctification 4 schematization 4 scintillation 
4 thermojunction 4 titillation 
4 underestimation 4 unification 4 union 
4 validation 4 valuation 4 vasocongestion 
4 weatherization 4 workstation 
4 zombification 4 zonation 


Copyright © matthew harris | Year Posted 2016


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A Wandering Boy with a Song in His Pocket

A Wandering Boy with a Song in His Pocket (Part I)
Arabic Poem by: Salman Dawood Mohammed 
Translated into English by: 
Inaam Al-Hashimi (Gold_N_Silk)
===========================

A blaze
Sticking out
Its tongue 
At firefighters
That’s what love is!
***

(2)
Do you remember my soul,
When I gathered the tweets
One feather at a time
So your cages wouldn’t suffer dreariness?

Do you remember my soul,
When I said to the god of the sea:
- I 'm the drowning man who disturbed your water
So that it wouldn’t accuse your sneaking away boats of falsehood?

Do you remember my soul,
When it raced my heart murmur
In the game of “Who Beats for You More”
Till my soul beat itself
 For no award..?!

Do you remember my soul,
When I exclaimed, at the time of dividing the estate: 
“I am a stork’s child
Descending down like a black child
From the chimney of your lofty home as a wound”
Just for the sake of resemblance
With black molasses
 Dissolved in the bitterness of your time!

I doubt that you remember,
As this unique ash is all that remains,
Of the ignition of my memory,
In the darkness of your oblivion;
So how 
Could the monsters of grief 
Not be mothers to me, 
When death is a father?
***

(3)
Once I enumerate my years 
A kiss...
After a kiss
On your fingers,
Your lips utter butterflies
And the sun becomes your mirror;
That’s how I love you and flare up
So that the others
Would not accuse me
Of …
Darkness...
***
(4)
Oh! Times and times I’ve I told you 
Waiting on harbor docks hurts me;
It piles the mobs of grief onto me 
 And forces me to burst
Like a tear gas bomb
For the pains to disperse successfully with tears
Leaving their banner behind:
A banner in the form of
A palm leaf pulled off of its tree...,
Oh! How eagerly, the hunger of hearths will be
 Flocking around the elegance of its dry corpse,
And the name will be, 
As usual:
Me.
***

(5)
Just like the wind 
I drive out loneliness of an empty bench for two... 
And, like a curfew, I mourn pedestrians’ noise;
And as a shirt hanging on a laundry line,
I drip down, with all my moisture, on the surface of your days
And curse the cloud standing in the queue of ablution.
Then, I hate 
Music,
The guards,
The law,
College students’ uniforms,
And astronauts;
And I dislike my life!

***
****
Translated by: Em. Prof.    Inaam Al-Hashimi (Gold_N_Silk)
* Salman Dawood Mohammed. A poet from Iraq
** Part II will follow
___________
See The text In Arabic with a Foreward at this link
http://www.alnoor.se/article.asp?id=217305


Copyright © Inaam Al-Hashimi | Year Posted 2013


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Paranoia Strikes Deep

I have dug this one out of the poetry attic; composed when a teen, hence the dated references. Fellow Soupers of my age-group (60 in a few weeks- Yikes!) might enjoy it:

Friend, watch out! They're talking.
Have you heard what they're talking about?
They're not talking about revolution
Nor of mystical ablution,
Not of meaningful discussions
Nor of drastic repercussions.
Not of drugs and their results
Nor of wars and satanic cults.
Not of full-blooded,Medal-studded,Octo-Olympians
Nor of the tragedy of fading Ethiopians.
Not of whether the weather will hold out.

Will I tell you what they're talking about?

They're not talking about extinction
Nor about energy diminution.
Not about the bludging bureaucracy
Nor of stifling plutocracy.
Not about student-Left activity
Nor of the signs of cultural declivity.
Not about aspects of phallic domination
Nor of real genuine insemination.
Not about who is sure and who in doubt.

Should I tell you who they're talking about?

They're not talking about  Nixonfrancocastroamin
Nor of that handydandy, non-returnable
Devastatingly non-biodegradable container
Their fingerfriedlickinchicken lunch was served in.
Not of astronautical penetrations
Nor of the psycho-sexual implications
Of the demise of Chairman Mao.
Not of matters affecting us right here and now!
Nor of suicide, VD, rape, fraud, famine and disease.
Not of all the things like these
Which make this world the wonderful place that it
Most certainly is (and
All divinely-ordained to wit!)

No! They're talking about subversion,
Of unabashed, unwashed perversion!
In short ( and I hear all this is true)
Those bastards are talking about ME & YOU!




Copyright © Arturus Australis | Year Posted 2013


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The Caliph's Son

Heading to a cauldron in the dry sea of sands
Far afield the Sahara shores devoid of life
With an array of dexterous army riding further North
Our horses neighs as honed swords beholds Amir al-Mu'mini's hands
Death on battlefield is an honourary worth
Even the treasures of war fuels this sweet strife 
To bring back silvers, gold, and pleasuring flesh
As a "Missing-Captured" for my already bloated chambers
And the crown will yield more cowries if Allah blesses
The throne, to rax few shells to the proselytes or sheik in the madrasas
Who barely tattles my fate but extols me greatly

The fogged dust on our tarsals censored vision in the brown mist
And the day mocked our sights
Yet we fought with fallen numbers till the sun left the east
To the west with blunt swords clanging defeat
While the crescent moon and rayed star decked the night
Our feral horses snorted as the numbers of our enemies diminishes
From thousands to hundreds and then tens till they are no more
Then rode us to the oasis under the night's eyes
The wind sang victorious song for us while we quench our thirst
Even when water taste like sand as we drink there was plenty to pour
In our jars for the next few day's ablution 

~
Our flintlock muskets hug straight at our back
As we rode our horses with our prisoners of war
Tied with our turbans to a caravan camel
Along with ostriches, ivories, kolanuts and salts
To a waiting parade while my horsemen brandished their swords 
It excited the maidens who peeped under a parasol
Their breast dangles like ripe mangos in a tree.
My father rode to me with his horsemen chanting the greatness of God
He was Clad in an ostrich's feather in his turban 
He embraced me and the trumpet went amok with melodious sounds
These I've always desired - a titular prince
Worthy of all admiration in the whole of the five emirates



Copyright © Timothy-Paker Nwaorgu | Year Posted 2014


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CONDEMNED DISCIPLES

We strive to live as though we’re in heaven –
a state of continuous joy and bliss –
complaining about news at eleven
that tells us about things that are amiss.
We don’t concern ourselves with others’ plights,
except through seasonal contribution.
We don’t want to be troubled by their fights;
we’ll wring our hands only in ablution.
And even the causes that we support
We back by giving our voice to a blog
or following, like a favorite sport,
convictions of our chosen demagogue.
Nothing on Earth can change the opinions
we hold onto like contented minions.


Copyright © James Ph. Kotsybar | Year Posted 2012


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Commentario

All week I watched them
Grotesque faces in the glare
Of stark red mayhem

Some false ablution
Not enough to cleanse us all
Self fails us again

Twitching on spikes
Smoked eyes dim blurring the cross
What purifies night?

What makes us like stars
When supernovas explode?
This fire's not enough.

All week hell stutters
Across white pages of pride
Mayhem stalks our dream.


Copyright © David Smalling | Year Posted 2012


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Contemplating Nietzsche

I from the shell game turned away
For if I did not
I should follow the mad man into decay
Should my hands dripping red 
With the guilt of sunset for the day
Or sunrise for the night
And come to the swaddling sea
And find
No ablution
For self growing from its husk
In all the manure I have created
I understood
How simple paradigm like a cross
Could challenge us
Challenge our worthiness of atonement
Did they lie
Or did he really
It is so upsetting to know the mad man's logic
How can God
Ever die
And what would be this existence then
I am not talking about my values
Rooted up
Like a fog and evaporated
Nihilism questions not only the truth of our dream
But the dream of our truth
And leave us with a silver-less rope 
So kicked the shell against the sand
And left it there to become
Something in a rich child's bucket at play
Something to build our castles
Until the waves level the sands again


Copyright © David Smalling | Year Posted 2010


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Wrong, wrong, WRONG

A butterfly becomes a pest.
A flower turns into weed.
A kind gesture turns into a test.
Every scratch tends to bleed...

Could this be fair?
As my story looks dark and desperate.
A surprising Typhoon, turning all hopes into despair.
My lifeless being equals less than moderate.
Destruction seems the only hope, I declare.
Beauty changes to death. The darkness I have to tolerate.

The Sun scorching too hot.
The wind makes everything fall in disarray.
Luck has ran out, its vitality to a stop.
Leaving me in dismay...

This drowning gesture has numb me of my senses.
Care and concern could not penetrate my skin.
My ears are impaired and my sight sees blackness.
My rigid tongue, dry from quenching nothing.
Odours of death and rots pulling me down as it enters.
Trapping me within the void and all is dimmed.

Anxiety keeps my breath bitter.
Doubts keep my inaction vigour.
Comfort. An elusive figure.
As the inner sound of ego gets fitter...

My Heart encapsulated in an iceberg too thick to cave.
My Mind straying, falling into an abyss of failures.
My Soul has embraced fear and been remotely brave.
Trapped in the walls of the pessimistic traitor.
Inadequate prayers to a losing faith.
As answers only shows an insidious behaviour.

None is right while I am false.
Wrong in the resolution of truth and hope.
Perhaps from the ablution of lost,
I will be right in the hopefulness of the rope...


Copyright © Fariq Yusoff | Year Posted 2015


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Poet Confessor

             I
You are far from a whisper;
surviving where echoes
fall between cracks in the floor,
where the pulse of phantom tangibles
beats only in your hands, loving
no more, no less, no one.

Witch doctors finger your spine,
and ignore your soul. Run 
from their sagacity, the lectures  
of apposition; take ink 
for internalized pain.

Your images and my next breath, 
collide, disappear into memory, 
leaving a concrete stain on the page.

           II

You sit there, slanted 
in a prayer-like pose, 
divining harsh penance 
for the innocent paper you hold; 
as if ink were holy water 
flushed through your veins, 
and your pen, an instrument 
of ablution for troubled days. 

Silent petitions, numbered in reams, 
beg to lift your mind from your knees.

           III

There are times I wish 
you had never picked up a pen, 
never wrote words that go deeper 
than the language of superficial friends 
who shop the glossy pages of magazines 
for caricatures to suit themselves in, 
who avoid passion to save their footwear. 
Those chums, who kiss the air and not your cheeks, 
are ones you can live without for weeks, 
and months and years. 

I wish you weren't a poet, whose thoughts I h(f)ear... 






Copyright © maggie flanaganwilkie | Year Posted 2005


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11 Eleven Types Of FACEBOOK Users Muslim Version PART TWO

Eight: The sinning
show-offs who love
to brag -
They’re sinners as
they have bad
intentions.
They post updates
and photos of their
wins,
And loads of albums
of their vacation.

Their bad motive is
to show to their
friends
That they have so
much wealth and
so-called feats -
They seek people’s
love, not Allah’s
pleasure -
They love to hurt
others to hide
they’re weak.

Nine: The
politicians… the
debaters…
Who go on FaceBook
to challenge others,
To fight for their
beliefs, to flaunt
their speech -
They oft log out
feeling proud yet
bothered.

Some of them indeed
have excellent
speech
And at the same
excel in sitting…
Hiding behind their
screens while they
complain
About lack of peace
while they do
nothing.

Ten: The ‘teachers’,
who enjoin what is
right;
They command good
deeds and forbid
what’s wrong -
They do so to
impress no one but
God
And so that Heaven
is where they’ll
belong.

Eleven: The
‘learners’, who seek
and share,
Who apply whatever
good thing they
learn.
They ensure that
what they do is but
good.
Great rewards from
Allah they live to
earn.

Advice from me now:
Always remember
That all deeds are
judged by their
intentions.
Even while on
FaceBook say your
du’as -
When it’s time to
pray, go do
ablution.

And when you are
greeted with the
salaam,
Always respond to
them for It’s their
right.
Apply good Muslim
manners wherever
You are – in real
life and even
online.

Don’t bully –in real
life, in FaceBook
too -
Treat all with
fairness, justice
and wisdom.
Know that life is a
gateway to Heaven
Or Hell. And God
tests each and
everyone.

May Allah Almighty
forgive us all
And guide us in our
lives each night and
day.
May Allah bless
those who share this
poem
And make Heaven
where they’ll
eternally stay.
Ameen.


Copyright © Mariam M. | Year Posted 2014


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

SING TO ME

SING TO ME

I can hear you singing to me 
I might stem the love of your fate
I can see you are dancing my way 
but the sand of time is slipping 
like a tornado is on it's move 
provoking fright from the light of day
But there you were to help me bear the weight
You are brilliant in establishing natures love
in my heart you shall always be
you set my spirit on ease
may the circle of love 
become apart of my life
become the ties that bond between us
where you renounce your clame
let us pray each and every day
in a ablution of the ancient 
where the warriors and dinosaurs roamed the lands
where history stands upon the sands of time
that play's around in the minds
that keeps the fangs of love in our hearts
to stay ever strong in faith
let this love never separated from us
I listen to the fire that burns on high
like a flame reaching deep inside our souls
you take my hands and we dance in a straight line
you would tell me 
Just let me touch your heart deep within
and you will hear my song playing all night long
I would look at him and I knew he is the one
I knew that one day we will part 
but he will always have my heart
this love we have between us will never die 
it makes me so glad I am alive
now these words shall be written in to song
that will keep play on .

Poetic Judy Emery


Copyright © Judy Emery | Year Posted 2017


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

Ablution

With my hands I shape a bowl
And pick up the water to cleanse my soul
It is oh so pure, oh so clear
And as I wash my face
I embrace a refreshment as if you were right here
In my living space

This water is the source of all things living
As I envision you beside me, giving
My dosage of happiness, sadness, and beauty
As if giving me that extra hand up is your duty

The water splashes into my eye
The eye that has seen the smile I can't deny
The water drips from my beard
As I remember your face, so revered
The water slips into the sink
As I sink and see you when I blink
With my eyes closed and my heart open, you are there
A most lovely affair

You are my ultimate friend
In a world where they are so few
One who can bend and transcend any lost happiness I have
Send my anger elsewhere and mend my heart aright
You are the water in my life
A water that extinguishes my flames and keep me tame
The liquid in which I came
We are the ones we can mutually look out for
And mutually adore


Copyright © Bilal HB | Year Posted 2010


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

OVER WITH HER WISH

Before my anchored Cinderella hem 
Her herbaceous gift on this solemn altar
Let a default oath resumes 
Our erotic sentence and union
Do not chuckle on, or any more of ******** 
Only let the seed sown yesterday die 
And pray not for its harvest
Before the sun heralds it to the moon
Be stiff, be still, be mute
And only be deaf to our love song.
If on a joyful moment dreams tells you of this fella,
Make an ablution and purge it out
Let its happy moment be like the cemetery
Never again ponder on it 
Kill the stump that may surface it
Silence the voice that may echo it.
O wondrous Cinderella, the princes hood epitome
How “this” charming gift wanders off my soul
How this goddess star gloomy unadmired 
O succulent testimony of your homely nature 
Sunk in the mire by this statement acts
Fondling and selling the ageless reward
Before the street and else before the careless sight.
Good bye


Copyright © atere isaac | Year Posted 2016


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

Pow Wow / CT. 2009 (revised)

The concrete and plastic, chrome domed
bricked up auditorIum rang
like a hollow bell,
a meager few red skins circle the stadium seats
like smoke from a mythical “peace” pipe
ragged, distilled, diluted, distraught, “dised”
A 21st century ablution of angst.

Round shoulders meet, sidelong glances;
old and young form for dances.

All semblance of nature betrayed 
by polyester tassels and cheap Crayola yarn fringe,
a sneakers and moccasins mix,
only the whistle-drum, and sage smoke sanctifies.
Circles form, crouching over polyurethane floors
silver hair, braids and hands harden; they bear,
bore the “dis” missive, disdain,
the balm of music eased all the pain.

Round shoulders meet, sidelong glances;
old and young form for dances.

The roof “dis” appears becomes the night sky
air vibrates with the heart thumping of stick on skin,
and so WE, the PEOPLE begin.
Chants warm the taunt throats of man;
a whistle trills the coyotes howl.
Heartbeat sings a drum song,
bowed and bent the circle dancers form.

Stomp, twirl, braids a whirl, winged dancers rattle and bell.
Mans peacock form no longer forlorn rises above the well.

Chant the tell tale heart,
the sorrow the joy, drum thumpers hatchets fall
on the neck of a starry night.
Drum and dance invite…..
scream,….soul song, smoke dream,
eyes daze in a reverent scheme.


Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2009


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

Tick tick tick tick flea

Tick, tick, tick tick flea
Said the sheep as she did her ablution
These pesky things get everywhere
Is there really no final solution
With just one haircut in the spring
Followed close, by our annual wash
We’re girls you know, it’s not the thing
How on earth can we ever be posh
If only we were human, we
Could bathe when we wanted, what bliss
We’d have bath time, spring, summer and autumn
But in winter we’d give it a miss

© John W Fenn  18-09-2009


Copyright © John W Fenn | Year Posted 2009