Best Amin Poems
Salamat po, Ka Eduardo,
Sa inyo pong pagmamahal;
Inaakay n’yo ang tao
Patungo sa bayang banal.
Kahit mapagod, mapuyat
Ay hindi n’yo alintana;
Ang mahalaga'y matupad
Ang tungkulin n’yo sa Ama.
Ang Iglesia’y tinitipon
Sa lahat halos ng dako;
Panganib ay sinusuong,
Iniikot itong mundo.
Dama ng mga pinili
Ang inyo pong pagsasakit;
Kami‘y hindi masasawi,
Kaligtasa’y makakamit.
Walang iba pang hangarin
Kundi para sa Iglesia;
Nagtagumpay ang mithiin
Sa inyo pong pangunguna.
Sa inyong pangangasiwa,
Puso po ang nangungusap;
Kami ay di nagsasawa,
Pagsamba ay laging hanap.
Pasasakop kaming lubos
Sa Lider Pangkalahatan;
Kami na mga tinubos,
Pagsunod ay di iiwan.
Tutuparin ang tungkulin,
Totoo hanggang sa wakas;
Tatapusin ang takbuhin,
Pag-asa namin ay wagas.
Kayo po ay aming mahal,
Habang kami’y may hininga;
Ang inyo pong pangangaral
Sa amin ay mahalaga.
Dalangin namin sa Diyos,
Patnubayan kayong lagi;
Sa biyaya ay mapuspos,
Kalusuga’y manatili.
Ang Diyos ay pinupuri,
Kami’y Iglesia Ni Cristo;
At nagagalak po kami,
Salamat po, Ka Eduardo.
*written for Verlena's Contest "EBONICS, Let's Do Some Slang"
SHAWTY,
Yir' boy fin' ta' told ya' bout some lessons in what the Man call Ebonics.
Cus' I gots' this!
Like the young fellow named Carmello on the New York Knicks,
and girrrrrl I got mo' slang in my verse than the words of them nerds
down at Hooked On Phon-ics
I TRIED TA' TOLD YA"LL...
I keeps my flows tight,
Fam ,
cus word is bond like James
and I ain't talkin' Rick James, RIIIGHT!
Ya' see, round cheer,
between Normandy and Western,
what we call this is a little "Twennie Twin Twin"
but round the way,
where you stay,
they just may call this a "Sinny Sin Sin!"
Yo, hold up baby girl...
Lemme ax you suh-um...
Who you be with?
cus Shawty, how you look,
is off the hook,
and Boo-Boo you is suh-um I can see me with with!
Yo Yo Yo! Wait! Hold up girrrl! Where you goin'?
'Sup honey child,
You know my favorite basketball player used to be Yao Ming!
Ya-Mean?
Get it Yao Ming?
Yaa-Mean!?!-----(crickets chirp-ing fir' certain)
Lady Queen, come on back to me!
Yo, my jokes may be stupid, but they clean,
B'sides, I coulda' been' said something idiotic like Idi Amin,
Yaa-Mean?
And the homey don't even play no basketball, ya dig?
Yes YESHall! ...
Better put that ON SOMETHIN'!
And you KNOW THIS!----(awww heck naw, Shawty dipped...)
Melamin
Arwenamin
Amin naa lle nai
Amin naa tualle
Mela en coiamin
Vanimle sila tiri
Tenna tulre
Quel kaima
Amin mela lle
My love,
My lady.
I am yours to command,
I am your servant.
Love of my life,
Your beauty shines bright.
Until tomorrow,
Sleep well,
I love you.
THE PHARAOHS
by
JOHN M. ARRIBAS
It wasn’t the Pharaohs that ruled the Nile
It was the priests that sanctioned their style
As long as the Pharaoh kept playing ball
The priests insured that he’d never fall
To make him acceptable to poor and unshod
They elevated his position to a living god
Scams have existed for thousands of years
They prey on ones greed and mortal fears
People have been duped by the glib tongue
Like Lenin, Amin, Castro and Mao-Tse-Tung
Cultures are swayed by the gifted speaker
Obscuring the facts from the reality seeker
Elections are stolen with factual distortions
Twisting the truth into diametric contortions
Demagogues and tyrants have little to fear
They just say what the masses want to hear
Independent thought can be a risky proposition
A word in the wrong setting can send you to prison
That kind of oppression can’t happen here
We’re a democracy with nothing to fear
They follow the polls ,the trends are clear
Our leaders will say what we want to hear
America, so vast and the land of the free
Brazil, carnivals and beach beauties
Canada, untouched, with the mighty Niagara Falls
Denmark, with the mermaid, luring sailors with her call
Egypt, under Cleopatra, and her historical power
France, so romantic with its Eiffel Tower
Germany, the perpetrators, of the Holocaust
Haiti, sadly, counting her lost
Italy, with its architecture, like the Trevi fountain in Rome
Japan, and its little Bonsai trees, so very much at home
Kenya, on safari in her national parks
Lebanon, a country, full of political sparks
Malta, so brave, its why they won the George Cross
New Zealand, and the Maoris, their culture to never be lost
Oman, the Sultanate, lies beside the Arabian Sea
Portugal, a golfing Mecca, as i stand on the very first tee
Qatar, an Arab emirate in the Middle East
Romania, Nadia Comaneci and her Olympic gymnast feats
Sweden, the home of Abba, and their wonderful pop songs
Turkey, has Istanbul, where two continents get along
Uganda, in Africa, where Idi Amin ruled
Vietnam, where nineteen year old soldiers were schooled
Wake Island, a most beautiful coral atoll
Xanadu, because i ran out of countries to call
Yemen, a Republic, to the south of the Red Sea
Zimbabwe, with Mugabe, a country ruined by he
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/the-world.php
Was not every one a child?
Joy to their mother and father
And growing up as a kid
With wonder and laughter
Then they go to school
Playing games having fun
And become a voice for others
When they don’t have one
Then some give hope to the people
Giving speeches from their tower
Then commits inhumane atrocities
When they get the taste of power
Today the worlds are full of hate
An evil that has no end
While many starves to death
For war money are spend
Men like Adolph Hitler, Robert Mugabe
George bush Jr, tony Blair, ayatollah Khomeini
Kim jong ll, idi amin, Benjamin Netanyahu
Just to name a few criminals of humanity
Pol pot murders millions in Cambodia
And the world close their eyes
The unspeakable crimes in Rwanda
Where over 500.000 people dies
I guess if the country had oil
They would have been alive today
But if you are poor nation
The United Nations looks the other way
Some kill in the name of religion
Some kills to steal your land
Some are kill by drones for just
Attending a wedding function
Hundreds of innocent are killed
By drones that they can’t see
But they are just collateral damage
But not those at Benghazi
North Korea says we have
weapons of destruction's right here
But they went to search in Iraq
Kill millions but find it nowhere
The evils of war will continue
Many more bad days still to past
More war criminals to be born
And be children playing on the grass
Many choose to cover their eyes
If it doesn't affect them, they don’t care
So while sit here writing this poem
I can’t help it but shed a tear
Tinataningan nang kumunoy ng oras
Sinusubok kung hanggang saan ang antas,
Minsa'y nahahapo ang katawang lupa
Subalit puso'y pigil…ayaw madapa.
Denidelubyo sa paghihintay sa'yo,
Nasasaksak minsan sa may gawing puso
Amin kong dinar'ma sampo nito mahal,
'Di na bali pagkat pag-ibig ay bukal.
Ito'y walang saklaw ng pagmamalaki;
‘Wag ituring na pansar'ling pagtatangi
Winiwika lang itong naging hantungan
Sa pag-irog ko na pakikipaglaban.
Mahal lahat na yata'y halos dinaig,
Muntik nang binigay sa'yo ang daigdig,
Sana'y sawing bugna'y ‘di sa'kin mauwi
At ang pag-iro'y tuluyang manatili.
Giliw taos-puso't sadya kitang nais,
Kailangan ka't ‘di 'to pagmamalabis.
Karangalan ko'ng kita'y hihintayin
Hanggang sa huling buhay nitong damdamin.
Manhattan hi-rise nestles
a yawning head-in-the-clouds woman
ready for another consumptive day.
Shod in Choo's, coifed in beige
arising from a long slender nape,
she leaves her nest
after a wave to Amin, her Bichon Frise.
Down-to-the-lobby sashay,
swinging a Gucci full of plastic,
belies an air of loneliness
as she walks to a waiting limousine.
Always caged, the smile is frozen
beneath a botoxed brow.
And the point of it all?
Well, for this life ...
there isn't one.
Uncle Roo
I forgot to celebrate your 89TH
Birthday but as you turn 90
May be i will
Some how for the some reasons
You know it
Gaddafi Is dead
'king of kings'
who died like a mole in a hole
Was he buried in the sea or space?
Wise one i believe you know
Amin Is dead dead
'The king of Scotland'
Fell from his monarchy
Butcher of black
Far from black is buried
Mubutu Sese seko dead dead dead
'The leopard king
In the jungles of Zaire
Buried like a fox
Rests in peace?
Like Charles Taylor
The deer of Africa
Breathed and went breathless
In the cage
He shies away always
Now Mandela sleeps
The true son of Africa
Not a king but a son
Our Mandela
Our Tata
Is gone
Son who wasn't a king
A son you become a father
Mandela stands even when he sleeps
Sons stand Kings fall
My Mugabe
Will you stand or fall?
Roy retelling a story of his so-journey
to the land of splendor the land of light
there our Roy stated his case and found favor
amina thanks giving prayers offered in good time
would soon offer comfort and solace to our Roy
Roy claims them heavenly creatures
said to him.. if ever you are to evade the trap
of disease, poverty and the lack of essential then
you to become a worshiper of money and materialism
banainganya mfano hela... its the worship of money
Roy the first to embrace the light declared
never ever will i worship money or materialism
Mola who is the supreme creator Roy now worships
our Roy suffers no need or want.. MOLA nakupenda sana..
an intonation to Roy's love for the supreme creator... amin
lewis k nyaga
Perhaps being something of a contrarian and historian
I like to spend Sunday mornings playing American Top Forty reruns on the oldies station
because I enjoy the songs and stories related to me by Kemal Amin Kasem
Also known as Casey Kasem in his weekly broadcasts
He researches and answers questions I suspect nobody really asked.
Why in the biblical land down under
would anyone on this earth even wonder,
then spend so much as a minute to write a letter, and then spend a stamp to ask so they know,
“Which sibling Dutch trio has been on the Top Forty for the most weeks in a row?”
Who cares?
According to Casey, Brenda in Oregon cares.
I’m completely certain he’s lying, and I dare call shenanigans on that. Everyone knows she never cared; I declare it a fact that she’s not even a real person except on the air.
But I do enjoy the stories, and I don’t fault him for making up reasons to tell them to everyone,
such as an imaginary prompt from Brenda in Oregon
It is, after all, far less awkward that way,
And I can certainly relate,
For I, too, have a lot to say, and sadly nobody pauses to ask me about what I think or know
But that doesn’t stop me from contemplating responses to give if anyone ever asks, even if they probably won’t.
He is proof that I, too, may get someone to listen to me
Even if the audience is sometimes simply imaginary.
If I believe in the oddly curious, albeit made-up Brenda in Oregon as a beleaguered velveteen rabbit,
A reason to keep telling stories churned up from my weird inquiring habits
Maybe, like his, my mind’s audience will make itself real
maybe one day someone will care what I think and feel.
Even if he’s not here anymore I strive, as reminded in reruns each week, that no matter where we are from and who we are,
We must keep our feet on the ground and keep reaching for the stars, and hope nobody cares we’re all a little bit of a liar.
Watch out for that ideology
Bad effects on your psychology
It bleeds into our sociology
‘Til we hate one another’s biology
Let’s make a pact
To get our facts together
Have no ideology
Whatsoever
Hitler and Stalin and Mao and Amin –
Terminating angels of some fantastic machine
Marx and Weber and Keynes and Rand
Raised a fist of thought in hand
But Peter and Paul and the whole Roman Church
Didn’t wanna leave anyone in the lurch
Ho Chi Minh shoved me on a Mekong barge
Meanwhile, the Castros were living large
Let’s make a pact
To get our facts together
Have no ideology
Whatsoever
Apostles, ideologues, acolytes –
Whatever gets you thru the glassy night
The world is your battleground and you must fight
Just watch for the mines under your short sights
Turn around and the
Sky opens its mouth.
You were sent to us.
This is a book will never be
shun by human.
We’ve got you surrounded.
Bliss and furious.
Sky and death.
Sky and blood.
Perfection and pain.
We are yours when you
Believe you’re devouring us.
It's rather that you eat us
Than to leave us barely,
For anyone you eat is in
Paradise.
We are yours with
our mouths closed.
Instruments of your rhyme.
We do not differentiate.
We jump through the
Hoop of the sky happying
because of your shimmering.
We are space and
We are surface.
We are rough raw till your
Existence come to us.
The sky has a body
That walks. That works is
Our tremendous and
Homaged revered
Messenger that I can't mimic
his name owing-to of coyness.
Oh! My light and my initial
Oh! My conclusion, Please don't
Feel wrath if I call your names.
Let me call them;
You are ''al-Amin''
You are ''al-Mustapha''
You are ''al-Habeeb''
You are ''as-Shaheed''
You are ''al-Bashir''
You are ''al-Kareem''
You are ''al-Muzammil''
You everything,
We were created because of you.
We were created just to
Extinguish your lovers and haters.
The path was been covered in blood,
Till the time you were delivered
And come with your great book.
Please Qur'an, support me
When it's call out for general
Assembly.
How Much Vengeance Is Enough?
By Mark D. Stucky
How much bloody carnage and rubble
is required to atone for sins of a few?
How many eyes must be gouged
to extract desired justice?
If wronged, is exchanging one eye enough?
What about two eyes for one? Or ten for one?
Is twenty enough?
How about a hundred?
Such revenge might feel like justice,
but it fuels hate’s endless cycle.
Can we exit this interlocked sequence
of oppression and reflexive violence?
Can we struggle toward implementing
a radical, restorative, improbable alternative?
Remember what a crucified carpenter taught
about loving enemies and turning cheeks?
Do such ideals seem impossibly wrong
when gushing anger from our wounds?
Yet, as he stretched on splintery beams
no carpenter would willingly build,
he said, while gushing blood for all our sins,
“Forgive them for they know not what they do.”
(See also my related poems “Your Order for Peace on Earth,” “Hate Vacuuming,” and “Weapons of Wonder.”)
(Cropped image is by Amin Moshrefi on Unsplash.com.)
Assaya,
lay your holy hands upon me, enfold my shame within your robes.
Invoke the presence of the Mother, solicit those who shine in gold.
Lift up your eyes and look upon me, for I renew under their gaze.
Your tears are medicine for mortals , they flush dis-ease from twisted veins.
Infuse my soul with lights of violet, and place the rose within my heart.
Utter words unto your angels to light the star above my crown.
Have them kiss my faith with feathers, transmute the fog that has me blind.
Have them weave a bed of sweetgrass, where scented dreams suffuse the veils.
Anoint my brow with sacred wisdom, wash my hair in perfumed oils.
Lead my will towards deep surrender, help me forgo all earthly spoils.
Fan the threefold flame within me, so higher essence may descend.
Teach me of balance and of wholeness, for I am bride and I am groom.
Intone the sacred notes of ages, vibrations pure and free of flaws.
Bless me with sight that pierces falseness and with forgiveness for my wrongs.
Amin.
Pippa Gray