Best Imam Poems
All you need is one word,
Erase just one word
from the minds of the people,
Rout out just one idea, one concept,
Eliminate 'Religion' from
the dictionary of mankind--
Man's stupendous and
gravest faux pas!
And, you'll see peace,
happiness, brotherhood;
There won't then be any infidels,
No gentiles, no heathens,
No pagans, no idol worshipers;
No racism, no hatred, no jihad,
No crusades, no inquisition,
No persecution, no repercussion.
No church, no mosque,
No temple, no synagogue,
No holy scriptures,
No words of God,
No places of pilgrimage,
No holy sites, no holy icons;
There won't be a pope or a priest,
Nor any saint or a swami,
No mullah, no imam,
No pundit or any rabbi.
No one to dupe you,
No one to lure you,
No Satan, no sin,
No guilty conscience,
No need for confession
No need for salvation;
And, what the hell,
There won't be any hell!
"I Can't Breathe" contest by Cyndi MacMillan
Categories:
imam, religion,
Form:
Free verse
They spied me in the sky, dropping bombs of love
on Ferguson, and bitchy women's rooms; and rednecks'
shooting range was next, the blooded boxing glove.
They spotted me in Tel-aviv and also in Tehran, collecting
Jewish kisses for the Iranian Imam.
They toasted me in the family courts, breaking hearts
I quickly soothed, and at their breakfast;Klu Klux Klan,
I spread their toast with jam.
They gifted me with patted back in Auschwitz and
Guantanamo, compassion was my hand; while Isis
and Seal Team 6, provided me a marching band.
They lauded me with accolades, the bankers and the poor,
while serial killers and the FBI, shot my name into the sky,
like Gotham on the screen.
And now I rest my head this night, beneath the troubled moon,
for tomorrow I go partying, with venerable, Ban-Ki-moon
Categories:
imam, humor, peace,
Form:
Free verse
If i have ever hurt anyone in any way I'm sorry, cause I learned in the last two days that everybody has something wrong in their lives everybody has troubles in some way and one word u say could hurt them badly ... And one good thing u say could make their day so everybody I'm sorry if I ever hurt u in anyway.. And I hope everyone has a good day. No one deserves to be treated how u treat people, we all have feelings... And we all have made mistakes, and we all have issues but that's no reason to treat someone like u do Imam pray u get a heart and learn what you are doing is wrong. And I hope u stop. You say u hate drama? But girl u r drama! Just saying so from now on I am going to be me, I'm going to be myself not who everyone else wants me to be... (: cause being someone your not isn't right u shouldn't have to change for anyone..
Categories:
imam, art, forgiveness, friendship, life,
Form:
Narrative
Bike to Work day: escorting the funeral of Marine Albrak Omar
Loch David Crane
Patriot Guard Riders
September 2009
No more classes now that I've been fired!
Patriotism is my job: I’m retired.
The Patriot Guard rides almost every day
to bring a flapping flag line on display.
We ride to work with combustion and chrome
to bring the bodies of our brave troops home.
In a strange twist for love of our country
This Arab Albrak was a volunteer
who gave America his youthful years
to make Iraqui people finally free.
He gave his life: I give my afternoon
remembering our heroes at high noon.
Packed in ice, he came home to his Mom;
his body was prepared by an Imam.
Categories:
imam, america, death, funeral, hero,
Form:
Sonnet
The Ruba’iyat of Créteil Lake – Part Twenty-Six
Soon all the rooms at trysting hotel were for years booked through
By pilgrims from Mindanao and Minangkabau to Timbuktu
Saudi princes bought the hotels at Carrefour de Pompadour
Kings of Malaysia with retinues planned long séjours
Sea Anne-Anne’s “broken news” chartered all the sailing club’s boats
The Mayor sacked the Accounts Chief for failing to raise the rates
Sea Be-As put out feelers to buy the Pompiers de Paris
All-Cheese-Seas-Roar made a secret pact with the mosque’s prelates
All-Lions-Fun-Press opened offices at the Préfecture’s terrace
Bee-Bee-Sea late as usual wanted a Royal Palace
So they got the Queen to confer Lordship on the Président
Beings-Port set about organizing annual matches face to fa ce
Between Robo-Cops and the Darling Dears clad in chadors
On one condition: they all fought it out in the lake outdoors
Just then His Holiness with his yea-sayers strode out for air
When boom-voiced Commandant pounced on them with Robo-Cop jaws:
“Pray! Esteemed Prophet’s Emissary! Lend me thy sovereign ear!
Habeas corpus ad subjiciendum this writ makes clear
Miscreant Tent Maker’s son Omar doth s’installe à demeure… »
« STOP ! » ordained the Imam, « I must forthwith lead the dohr prayer !”
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2014
Categories:
imam, allegory,
Form:
Rubaiyat
From ashes
she rises,
absolving
cleansing,
face, hands, feet.
Four months,
Ten days,
She mourns.
She weeps.
She clothes herself now
in an adornment of white
bowing privately,
praying fervently,
as bitter fumes
of acetone
seep beneath the door.
Her source is god.
Her destination is god.
She pleads with god now
for peace
As men mix and pour
A holocaust
Just outside her door.
Her sisters wail.
They bathe her lifeless arms
And shroud her
as Iris Albicans-
Exotic,
Fragile,
Pure.
The imam, he stands,
Praying silently
As men convey her
towards Mecca.
From ashes to ashes
And dust to dust.
From ashes to ashes
And dust to dust.
Categories:
imam, allah, brother, daughter, death,
Form:
Free verse
I care for you
I care for you ...
... 'cause you are,
'cause you are beautiful,
'cause you are holy,
'cause your voice is like water murmoring,
'cause your touch is soft as velvet,
'cause your glance is heavenly,
'cause your heart is God-fearing and shy,
'cause you love given the chance (to love),
'cause you are free like a poppy (flower).
... so simple,
so misterious,
the greatest art.
No more, no less,
I care for you ...
Rad te imam ...
... ker si,
ker si lepa,
ker si sveta,
ker je tvoj glas kot šum voda,
ker je tvoj dotik nežen kot žamet,
ker je tvoj pogled Božanski,
ker si podoba Boga Najvišjega,
ker je tvoje srce Bogabojece in sramežljivo,
ker ljubiš kot ti je dano,
ker si svobodna kakor makov cvet.
... kako preprosto,
kako skrivnostno,
najvecja umetnost.
Nic vec nic manj,
rad te imam ...
© Matjaz Grcar
Categories:
imam, beautiful, blessing, faith, i
Form:
Ballade
WHAT DO WE DO...?
What do we do...?
When Tantalizer is no longer tantalizing
When Captain cook is no longer Captain at cooking
When Mr. Biggs has suddenly become big for nothing
When Mr. Banwil no longer have the will for satisfying
What do we do...?
When the holy matrimony has become arena of agony
When Uncle John is no longer John by behaviour
But now Young John producing wickedly
When Aunty Sukura had become Mhiz Skushi
Seriously What do we do...?
When Daddy Pastor and Chief Imam now tells us who to vote for
Not minding our own option and perception
What do we do about Uncle Smart meant to teach our sisters and daughters C.R.S
But has suddenly turned them to lab of durex
What do we do...?
When the only means to distinction
In our respective higher institution
Is to adopt the way of prostitution
What do we do...?
When Mr Drummer boy no longer drum to worship God
But to impress the likes of Florence, Juliet, Sandra, Bukola and Ruth
Just to have another wonderful session in the other room
What do we do...?
When inside meat pie resides no meat
When inside egg roll rolls no egg
When inside the sachet resides no pure water
What do we do...?
What do we do I know not of
Or do you?
Categories:
imam, africa, sad,
Form:
Rhyme
All alone my father use to ride
On the long lonely streets
That runs through cane fields’
While we are warm under our sheets
My father was very hard working
And he always had a smile to show
Even when he had a lot of pressure
He would never let any one know
He use to work in the railways
He was an operator of a train
When the government shut it down
Then he was jobless for while again
He would work his garden everyday
Can still see him with a cutlass in his hand
He was the best person I ever know
He was the perfect gentleman
My father never drinks or smokes
Never heard him say a bad word
And he never once complain
Although he was carrying a heavy load
And no matter how sick he was
He never misses a day of fasting
And everyday would go to the mosque
Even if it had storm and rain
Then he got a job in Voss government school
That still is on gasparilo junctions
Up till today they all remembers him
And says he was the perfect gentle man
Every year he had 3 nights of prayers
Starts on Friday and use to end on Sunday
Had Muslim, Hindu and Christian speakers
With food and desserts to eat and take away
Every night he would sit on the table
Learning to read Arabic from the Quran
And in the local mosque in usine
They all wanted him to be the imam
But my father recommends some one else
He admired and is a better public lecturer
So sailor boy becomes the imam
And he become the mosque treasurer
A post he holds for over 35 years
He was a man of such great character
He match contributions with his money
When he got sick it had $40 thousand extra
And all my father brothers and sisters
They all lead by example to show
So that their children and grandchildren
Have the right footsteps to follow
And from mayaro beach Manzanilla
To Marabella gopauls land
Though out the whole of Trinidad
he was known as the perfect gentleman
Categories:
imam, father, father, work, father,
Form:
Light Verse
The Ruba’iyat of Créteil Lake – Part Twenty-Eight
Other media meanwhile busy with who’s sleeping with whom
Relying on New-Sweep and Thyme to make loud front-page zoom
Mainly of those who leapfrog into top power palaces
On whether de Beauvoirs or transvestites be given more room
Dohr took dire toll on the High Prelate’s laboured vocal chords
And just as the Chief pow-wowed with advisors and legal boards
So did His Holiness with a delegation come from afar
The results as well as can be expected turned out: Discord!
The wily Franquist woman counselor slammed the Chief’s car door
And bee-lined the barred gates of the trysting hotel’s portico
The Chief sent Commandant in hot pursuit of bent-backed woman
Scarf drawn over pockmarked scalp limpet-mouthed suction sore
As the dohr throngful of the Faithful streamed out queues formed for asr
The Commandant waylaid the Imam come out for some air:
“…ad subjiciendum… Omar…Tent Maker’s prodigal heir…”
“Means thou Umar ibn Al-KHattap…Exalted Caliph Sire?”
Non-plussed the Commandant looked hard at Writ in his thick hands:
“Your Holiness! Be it thy pleasure to peruse these commands!”
One yea-sayer read aloud: “Oooo..maaaar ibn al-Khaaayyaaaamm…”
“Who? Must be that drunken half-Turk by rich widows favour finds!”
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2014
Categories:
imam, allegory,
Form:
Rubaiyat
Infiltrating Trump's embargo
An Imam reached Mar-a-Lago
But his Call to Prayer
Just floated on air
The Trumps worship at Wells Fargo
Categories:
imam, political, prayer, religion,
Form:
Limerick
Death dies herself and does not damage
Those who advance ahead underailed,
Following the prints of the wise pioneers
Whom He imparts the secrets of wisdom.
At downward dive heart beats thumpingly,
And aches as one feels on an oscillating swing
With long ropes when moves to and fro
Between two extremes with hissing moves,
Fearing lest one should crash to fragments.
I landed upon the world underworld,
Before the sunrise, in the moment of morn,
And roved about the too simple mosque
With open lawn and low boundary walls.
Entering through the gateless entrance,
I sat on the ground, gazed at the outer setting.
A slight afar flowed and winding river,
The lush green bushes stooped along,
The banks and brims of the serpentine track.
One by one then entered natives of the land,
Taking seats they sat in the rows straight
On the unwrapped mats made of palm leaves,
They all gathered for the prayers of morn,
And sat I in the end as my merit allowed.
Then one prominent, in the dress simple,
With a piece of white cloth wrapped around
His head, neither tall nor short,
With round sanguine face and grizzled beard
Of moderate length,
Abased in front of all to lead the prayers.
Recitation of verses imbued the heart,
With serene pure pleasure.
Then hands were raised for more blessings,
Before the crowed dispersed, a man squatted left,
Told me the name and place the Imam belonged to,
“Departed He centuries ago yet is known well,
A winding river flows beside His shrine,
Though often it surges to the brims spilling,
Yet causes no rumpus, passes in serene hush.”
A desire then emerged to esteem the adorable,
By kissing the feet of reverend dervish,
But declined He the act of caressing the feet.
Categories:
imam, dedication, faith, mystery, space,
Form:
Blank verse
I gift to you this world my child
Alas its’ troubles I can’t tame
Others efforts I have reviled
On judgement day I’ll face the same.
I’ve seen the mosque where people weep
At times Christs’ church rocked to the core
and God’s chosen placed in trenches deep
Watched peace and love hijacked for war.
Cowards choose to say they’ve failed
So do not accept mans’ violent bent
Hate speech is bloodshed thinly veiled
Unity a gift from heaven sent.
When imam, priest or rabbi call
Hear love not hate to heal us all.
Categories:
imam, christian, hope, islamic, jewish,
Form:
Sonnet
May there always be a God/dess for you
a Messiah with you
a Kalki in you
a Maitreya of you
a Twelfth Imam as you.
May there always be a living God/dess
who sees Our best communicating Self through your eyes,
who hears Their most beautiful song in your ears,
who smells Our most transporting fragrant presence
as outside/inside We/Me.
May you always breathe
and beat your heart
with and as,
in and for,
our divine Earth GaianGod;
some ReCreative CoBecoming with a higher
and healthier
pay scale
than the Tooth Fairy,
or an Empty Trump UnLawSuit
against full-deck GaianAce through GodKing
extended family values.
Categories:
imam, blessing, children, earth, health,
Form:
Political Verse
The Ruba’iyat of Créteil Lake – Part Thirty-Two
Late afternoon. Doldrums. The waters stood still. Was She asleep?
Lady Lake then drew her petticoat up to scratch Her shins deep.
At Embryo Islet the siesta-bound birds stirred and squawked.
Did matters of Form and Faith plague only minds of men who weep?
By the spindle Mairie tower wobbled the defiant Sea Anne-Anne fleet:
Galapago Rani of Pharoah’s Independence Square feat
Set course for Pubic Isle with her staunch camera women
But the sail stood limp while Lady Lake puffed Her exhausts down feet
Undaunted she threw rustic baguette crumbs to lasso swan cob
Then to cleave becalmed waters she enticed the cob lob by lob:
Austro-Hungarian Empire looked forward to Waterloo –
Glides and jerks moored her boat on Pubic Isle to ensure her job
From the port-holes of the Préfecture’s seaside ship liner shape
Keenly-trained eyes watched her moves with great approval for her shape:
Chief of Staff thought out loud if she could pose questions for their lot
The wooden bridge to mosque meadow looked saggingly out of shape
Yet again the Commandant strove to clear his throat Writ in hands:
“O! Wise and Learned Mullah! Would’st Thou keep Faith in these here lands!
The dire day wanes fast while this Writ stays unclosed hard and fast…”
“STOP!” cried the Imam. “Maghreb calls! I must hence to avoid bandhs!”
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2014
Categories:
imam, allegory,
Form:
Rubaiyat