Best Moorish Poems
12 BARS
Twelve brazen bars, one frozen lock!
Confined, sublime, an ancient Roc
endures inside a barren cage,
her catacomb in sundown sage.
Of former days there is no trace
except displays of fallen grace –
Twelve dreams, abiding in her place,
are free, inhabit yawning space:
12 DREAMS
... of wings unfurled, and seething eyes
that dredge the depths of dawning skies,
divining clouds that cling below,
once ice, dissolved in morning’s glow;
... of clutching winds that carry free
above an anguished leaden sea,
dispersing dust of distant stars
midst chunks of chain in slave bazaars;
... of swooping to a silent shore
to perch beside the ocean’s roar,
at last to feel the sobbing breeze
message the leaves of rooted trees;
... of stalking strays and twilight tramps
within the fog of lighthouse lamps
that blink forlorn through caldron nights
in search of shades of errant Kites;
... of darkling vast deserted lands,
with shadowed stones on windswept sands,
where ghosts of Moorish maidens lost
disgorge faint groans in mourning frost;
... of blotting out the bloated moon
while feathers beat a banshee tune
and glimmers dance and prance aglow
upon a pearly pale plateau;
... of tasting cool torrential rains,
beyond the realm of binding reins,
and sipping freedom they exude
in quiet drops of solitude;
... of vanquishing a galley crew
aboard a ship of midnight dew,
beneath the pierce of seagulls' screams
that mock the strands of scarlet streams;
... of sating once an aching craw
with tearing beak, with ripping claw,
and echoed by an eldritch screech
while feasting on abandoned beach;
... of restive thoughts and weary wings
that drift on haze in smoky rings,
obscured within the opal shroud
of her resemblance in the crowd;
... of croaking caws in broken rhyme
in winter woe, in summer clime,
while building nests of sundown sage
beyond outside a barren cage.
Iberia, you took my breath away
with fiery gypsy spirit and romance;
with ancient Moorish history and grace;
with everything there is of you to see;
to hear and smell; to feel inside my soul.
Diversity lives splendidly in you!
The ancient cultures beckoned me to you
when, like the Romans, lured from far away,
I came to you and gave to you my soul,
partaking of your passion and romance.
I’d read of you in school and had to see!
How glad I was to come and know your grace.
A mosque in Cordoba reveals your grace,
but I would learn there is much more of you. . .
Cathedrals dressed in gold I was to see.
From palace walls, in awe I’d walk away
to find nearby - in gypsy caves - romance
in music. . . as Flamenco filled my soul!
With passion’s beat resounding in my soul,
I toured Seville, where ladies rode with grace
on horses with their toreadors! Romance
is in the air at Spanish fairs. And you
can make it hard for one to turn away
from all the magic offered there to see.
In northern parts of you, I was to see
The Pyrenees, whose beauty touched my soul,
quaint villages with mountain goats! Away
I went southeast then, greeted by more grace.
Along your coast, I saw a side of you
I grew to love, Valencia’s romance!
And in Madrid, I found my own romance,
a handsome Spaniard. Never would I see
his face again because, in leaving you,
I left him and a small part of my soul.
So much I’d not yet seen of all your grace,
but destiny was calling me away. . .
I yearn to feel romance inside my soul;
breathe history and see again your grace.
Enchanted land, you are so far away!
May 4, 2010 Now used for Thvia Shetley's Foreign Travel Contest
In mid-June's heat, we wait inside the bus,
and everyone has said their last goodbyes.
The Moorish boy I’ve come to know is sad.
He says he knows I never will return.
The bus pulls out (his face just fades away).
We pass through streets that now seem not the same
as those that we first rode down when we came
here six short months ago. It seemed so strange!
Madrid, my first impression of you was
how everything seemed dingy and so grey.
But staying here, I found your treasures, and
enjoyed your many charms that I unearthed.
I’ve walked among your people, tasted foods:
paella, soups and pastries and much more.
I’ve visited Retiro Park, seen art
in sculptures on your streets and in museums.
I’ve visited your shops, your restaurants
where dancers of flamenco hypnotize,
your ring for fighting bulls, your theaters;
your streets seem now familiar, almost sweet!
The group I came with, now like family,
chat happily about their going home.
But I alone am missing you, Madrid,
before I even board that giant bird.
Iberia, I long to breathe you in
as long ago I did. . . and then exhale
sangria nights with lace against my skin!
Sweet temptress draped in beauty, you unveil
Flamenco’s soul, exhuming history -
impressions left by ancients on your face -
from Roman glory’s remnants by the sea
to Moorish structures’ arcs of ageless grace.
Oh, how could I retreat with more to learn,
to make no sacrifice, nor question why
I had to keep my plans and not return
to your broad plains beneath Castilian sky?
Time stole my youth; I can’t go back again.
You could have been my home, belovèd Spain.
Feb 6, 2020
for John Hamilton's "Your Best Sonnet 2020" contest
(my best one that was not at least a previous winner in one of your own sonnet contests this year, John.)
Inspiration from Frederic Edwin Church's
painting, The Arabian Desert
~
I press along this arid wasteland
thirsting for your eyes
beneath a mirage of low stars,
my airbrushes stroked in Arabia;
the cauldroned copper dunes
and your moorish fragrance
Become an oasis for this parched mouth--
the sinous dust blowing legends
murmuring Bedouin rites unsaid;
and through embers of a gas light
my imaginings weave in hynotic threads...
Syrian desert touched by midnight
as pores recall my ancient prurient cravings,
I memorize mules roaming by
yet this grandeur leaves me
distraught... for time rushes to steal
a filament of one torrid journey
it's end I cannot defy-- the lavish
fondling on needled sandunes,
I tell you, my rabid body alights
moist in flamed tincture of moonshine,
radiant as an orange gold portrait,
fog swiveling tumbling on scattered weeds--
airy tunes wriggling this jeweled belly
with smoky flavor penetrating my camisole,
where a migrant gull whistles the grit
of an impassioned night...
Alone, as finger-strokes deepen,
the concave blast of reveries
and winds carry your breath
sweet and damp upon my neck;
while one tiny cactus pierces my skin
oiled...watercolored
with faint longing.
Where could you be tonight, Sinatra?
Love and Marriage
Love and Marriage
A chant I heard reverberate
As far away as the length of the waves
I rode indisposed
When I was bound
To a remote island
Named Buyukada
The permanent content of what you mean
Transcends me the moment I kiss your lips
And I know that meaning is produced
Only in an unexpectedly rambunctious union
Succinctly, I dissect everything
Looking for generic terms I left
Back somewhere in Kadikoy
At nine o’clock sharp near the theater
Where I heard a beautiful young voice
Lamenting Istanbul in operatic tempos
Barbarossa Hayreddin Pasha
Fatih Sultan Mehmet
Jalal al-Din Rumi
All proceeded towards Istanbul again
Alas! Nothing remains the same
Everything is only revisited once again
Even the empty sunflower fields of Kutahya
Detach yourself, postmodern Kerouac,
From the vicissitudes of a stuporous life
Isolate yourself from mundane places
Where nothing transcends the ephemeral
I know that I will meet a deadline
Just because life manifests itself
Unintentionally in those experiences I weave
I thought my days could end
On a ship to Prince’s Island bound
Alas, a Russian girl took me aside
To recount her Icelandic memories
To a dismembered Moorish heart
The last sigh of the Moor, King Boabdil,
As he flees the triumphant Ferdinand,
Echoes round slopes of a mist-shrouded hill.
He looks back for the last time at the land
That he once ruled. `Weep as a woman will,’
His mother jeers behind her jewelled hand,
`For what you would not defend as a man!’
He stares northwards as long as he can,
Marvelling at the distant snow-capped hills
Gently cradling the Alhambra’s walls,
Its towers, placid ponds, and sparkling rills,
Treasuring them. Later, when he recalls
This scene, he deems its loss the worst of ills
That ever befell him, and, saddened, falls
To yearning for water from those mountains
And the Generalife’s dancing fountains.
A tale as romantic as any told -
This Moorish palace of earthly pleasure,
Its red stone, now mellowed to pink and gold,
Is a wonder of the world to treasure.
Like Boabdil, I want to hoard and hold
Its magical light, and, for good measure,
The sound of Granada’s gurgling streams
In my mind to recall in pleasant dreams.
"Westward, further out ..."
Dusk washes over you
warm like honey
saltry and sweet
immersed in amber tones of
apricot alerts and rose
swirling unfurling peonies
the blooming silent dancing clouds
rush over white horses
crashing against
bracken green emeralds
the depths open
and unfathomable,
who can read the eyes of
an unexplored ocean,
the shallows
slide under your feet,
you turn your face up to the Sun and smile,
you feel like you’re bathing in Manuka,
it’s moorish and incurably medicinal,
the salt spray chasing northwards
up along bare legs mid thigh
on another shore
the uncertain sure calls,
the stories are a legion
in multitude of treasures
like beached shells whispering
to ears that are not listening;
you think of wading out further
where the turning back is harder,
the song calls you evocatively
further westward like a drug
you’d gladly holster star shot
drinking life in like a last shot
like a burning addiction,
your world is sliding strong
tide-drifted under your feet,
flesh and bone trying to bed
the undertow and its
neverending mystery
dragging you further out
westward
incomplete
complete
(LadyLabyrinth / 2023)
Cro mag non man was a birth of a nation
Crete led the way for civilized creation
The Etruscans became the first Mediterranean power
Indo Europeans Settled Europe as others cower
The Aryans in India established a civilization
The Nile valley would be dominated by Egyptians
Chorus
We've once again taken history’s place
To show again we are the face
Our past is forbidden , the truth is hidden
We've once again taken history’s place
300 Spartans showed what there courage could do
Alexander The Greats strength was unmatched by few
Rome led 1000 years of prosperity before the decline
The Visigoths chased the Huns back over the European line
7 crusades led by a Christians to stem Islam
Ferdinand and Isabella condemned the Moorish harm
chorus
Everyone feared the fury of the pagan vikings of the north
Napoleon Bonaparte would bring military genius forth
The British empire would colonize every land
William Wallace bravely fought for the freedom of Scotland
The Teutonic knights helped spread across Europe Christianity
The 30 years of Christian wars brought nothing but insanity
Chorus
Expansion of discovery could never be touched
The United states would rise and the British would be crushed
The south would rebel for liberty and freedom
The British would slice the throat of the Ottoman kingdom
The first brothers war was thought to be the final stand
The Afrikaners fought relentless for the right of there land
chorus
The Bolshevik revolution brought a new plague into the world
The Germans brought a new hope as the banners were unfurled
All of Europe would unite under the waffen for it's European identity
The Marxist hippie movement brought moral hygiene to it's knees
Now it's the today and we have to keeping fighting for a new tomorrow
We must secure our destiny and keep having our history grow
chorus(2)
Massed crowds of all creeds jostle to enter
Inside cool air and dim light calms the soul
Eyes gaze around this spiritual centre
Built form and faith symbols create a whole
In the greatest mosque squats the Christian place
Two toned stacked arches on columns in line
Iconic forms give an opulent face
Geometric shapes in a complex design
Religion with social is the Muslims’ way
Sahn, zullah and mihrab lead one to prayer
And then Christian gospel no social say
High alter dominance makes one aware
Caliphate, Gothic and Baroque do converge
Yet these two faiths so close will never merge
The Flamenco Dancer and The Bull
The acoustics of your snuffle
is an absolution
of a descending staccato
in an E chord.
Behold, my lancing third,
an urgency to trick you
with my jalapeño-colored capote,
to mask the stains of your blood
as it oozes, while I thrust
these Romani banderillas
in your neck.
Tease me with impulsive pretence
of your Berber-like invincibility,
while I magnify
your monotonous habits,
triggering the sequel
with the mutiny of these senses
in a most soulful manner.
Beware, my gitano-inspired estoque,
hidden and within a rhythmic beat cycle
in sync with a Moorish chant,
while my arms obliquely stretched
plunging to your bosom,
as I dare to move my hips
in a sultry fashion, to anchor it
in your Andalusian-unceasing being,
Oh! My Iberian-bred tragedy,
consummating my tableau
with your immortal inexistence.
Custard in trifle is not bull-shark infested
Despite popular myth, ah but so easily tested
Pour jelly and sherry, sponge biscuit for bedding
Add fruits of the tropics from trees that are shedding
A dash of Madeira from slopes that face seaward
Leave time for the setting to go for the re-ward.
One helping was fine, but the stuff is so moorish
A second was taken, to refuse would be boorish
One last he insisted and scraped deep in the bowl
The taste was so good, so rounded so whole
How handsome this man how sweet and so charming
His culinary skill so easily disarming.
Now sharks there arose but friendly and warming
Gliding in gently amongst emotions now swarming
Snapping at reason and senses befuddled
Gorging on morals abandoned for cuddles
Sated at last they’re off to deep water
You high and dry and right for the slaughter.
With hot blood for transport you’re off to horizons afar
Where paradise beckons, soft sands, a singing guitar
You feel the shift in momentum, as ebb turns to flow
The deepening water as the bottom starts to go
Death in small measure as you feel the world sway
But buoyant and floating you end off your day.
Alas morning has come, big fish bites need healing
He’s gone from the pillow, you stare at the ceiling
You remember the point of your will power draining
When second helpings were taken, your appetites straining
And now silly sayings from childhood ingested
Return for the taunt - sometimes custard IS shark infested.
Achmed made a marvellous find
as he walked inside the Bazaar,
all kinds of mysterious treasures
deposited from near and far:
A Heart of purest Gold
nestled inside a wooden chest,
some cobwebs clung to the side
yet it still shone its very best.
did he sense a slight beating
as he held it in his hand?
was there still some life left
in this golden heart so grand?
A bright glint caught his eye
and, reaching, he saw a gem -
was it a small Sapphire Eye
adorning a Moorish hem?
did it give him a quick wink
to catch his concentration?
could it really be living?
or, was it his imagination?
Before he could be sure,
he saw what looked like a Nose
carved out of finest Ivory,
what history would it disclose?
and then, it seemed to snuffle
as if it were enduring a cold;
dare he touch this strange thing?
was Achmed really all that bold?
The shopkeeper tapped his shoulder
and asked if he liked what he saw -
he turned around, and fell to the ground
of his Moroccan bedroom floor.
It was all a weird, delirious dream
Achmed dreamt that hot night,
and, standing at the lattice window
he stared at the soft moonlight
Shining on the open Sea,
wistfully heaving a huge sigh,
was it more than his imagination?
was it more than met the eye?
Neck pulsating, close shave shines over whiskers
Stiff collar pressure, raced anticipation simmers
Key twist intrigue spurs engine's orange rage
Needle throws redline on wide torque gauge
Jaw rigid, fingers grip cockpit lethal leather wheel
G-force grabs chest, insolent beast thrusts surreal
Monster inflamed incredulously adheres to tar
Salivating lion's ravenous rumble has zero par
Ripping up bitumen, sardonic responsive tyres rivet
Road shred's exhausted under rocket fume exhibit
Airtight capsule, caramel cow hide hugs tamer
Eardrums hum, a hundred mile Hyundai shamer
Brawny tawny gold, hot bonnet chrome flashdance
Purrs her melting eclair aerodynamic performance
Pride's pilot elevated by moorish horizon hunts
Hungry headlights still prey with stealthy stunts
30th July 2022
Written for Contest: Joy
Sponsor: Regina McIntosh
Father Serra's choicest mission.
Late restored to prime condition.
Architecture's Moorish fashion.
Catenary
high roof, tower Spanish vision.
Awesome very.