Best Sultans Poems
With a voice ornamented in ogled tension
you ask me,
like vulnerable flesh queries warm obsession,
Do you mean to love me this way...
on your mouth, a hold of hope I see
to you I say...
Does the sun choose to flare into sapphire atmosphere,
Does the moon decide who's eyes to enchant,
Does a rose ponder its tempt,
Does a man dare his heart relent,
Does a woman wonder whence came her allure and dare,
A heatwave of heartache's swelter swells over your soul
as the outcry of orgulous omens try to defy our survival,
blood drops fall lonesomely from the old body of a lark
a steeple bell broken by the thunder of sorrow in the dark,
gold found burning into rivulets reaching into graveyard rock,
you begin to weep
because the weight of worry waylays your wishes for our eternity,
I surround you with a love shield that shames the arrows of agony
kissing you softly deep,
then I tell you that fate is not our enemy,
don't you understand my Lady...
Sultans cannot buy or sell the feelings we share,
Emperors unable to enforce the silence of our hearts,
rivals are but ridiculous in attempt to dowse our flame,
Time be trite in march against the magic in our care,
the poetry of our purpose will not be censored by cynical marks,
emotions erratic in wrath will not wrest the roots from which our passion came -
J.A.B.
Is there anyone who knows me?
I am the secret that cannot be solved without living in it,
Even if there aren't many people who are unaware of me,
It is still hard to identify me.
Nightingles sung their songs in my language,
They fell in love with roses thanks to me,
And an avanchle from Taurus mountains fell into my heart,
But it cannot put out my fire.
There were sultans and kings,
Their destinies changed because of me,
I toopled them from their thrones,
I have unbelievable skills.
Wise people became uneducated because of me,
Wild people became nice ones thanks to me,
Selim * (ottoman king who is famous for being harsh) became tolerant because of me,
I am the one who spoils all the games.
I am the cause of fatal illnesses,
Even the most wise doctors couldn't find a cure to me,
Kerem burnt for Asli because of me (Kerem and Asli are like Romeo and Juliet in turkish literature)
I am the fire into which they threw prophet Abraham.
For my sake, the big mountains were pierced,
It was for Leila or Shirin (heroines like Juliet)
Farhad* made me strong ( a character like Romeo )
I am the strength, I am the power.
Rumi( famous persian philosopher) made his religious movements thanks to my chants,
Yunus (famous turkish philosopher) made people calm with my help,
But at the same time, some families were destroyed because of me,
I am the goodness, I am the evil and I am from God.
Prophet Mohammed was created for me,
All the blessings were for me,
I am the sweet talk of wise people,
I am the brightness on the faces of all prophets.
I have noone, no friends, no enemies,
I am invisable, no objects, no pictures,
I am easy to say, I just have one syllable,
I am located in a place they call 'heart',
My name is LOVE.
Poet : Cemal Safi
Edward Snowden
When Edward Snowden* snowed in,
no one thought it a sin,
save the snooping sultans who froze.
When on the run or cubby-holed, for friends, he had only woes.
11 jul 13, Clerihew
* Eddy is a former NSA systems analyst who recently leaked details of U.S and British top secret mass surveillance programs.
Of
splendid
thrones of
gold
Of
treasures
manifold
Of Sultans
and Shahs
Of Emirs
and Rajahs
Of
jewelled
caskets
or lavish
banquets
Of
sparkling
crowns
and
flowing
gowns
Of kings
and queens
Rulers and
emperors
Of their
subservient
stewards
and
obedient
butlers
Or the
servile
knaves
and
stalwart
squires
Of the
peons and
minions
pages and
pavilions
Of castles
and palaces
of
abounding
gold and
silver
in
ostentatious
regal
splendour
Ah the
fanning
maids in
waiting
Yet to me
one thing
worth
more
noticing
The poet
minstrels
who came
to sing
from afar
for the
queen and
king
For I'd
rather be a
poet for
kings
so to my
tunes
swayed
the
kingdom
than I be
the king
of mere
subjects
and be filled with regal
boredom!
So I could join ranks of
troubadours
and sing for the king
some folklores
For words are the heart of imagination
Inviting to poetic fascination.
(form Troubadour) Ars poetica
"Roll on tonight my mates are coming round
For a few cold beers and some rocking sounds
Time is drawing near, as I hear a knock at the door
Blimey! at this time of the night, a vacuum salesmen stands before"
"Hey pal make it quick, I have a party to host
Tell me your pitch, now disappear your a ghost
The best place for them is in the lunar craters
Sucking on Listerine soaked tissues, singing, "see you later alligator"
"Another knock on the door, and I'm pleasantly surprised
All my intended buddies on my doorstep, the parties arrived
For a night of drifting, ending with earache and pain
Entering wormholes of insomnia, no pain no gain"
"Our party is going to be like a cool Rock 'n' Roll gig
Beers flowing a plenty, this ain't no highland jig
We start with Frank Zappa and The Mothers of Invention
Best friends and myself, our schooldays convention"
"This is no wine and dine as Dire Straits play
The "Sultans of Swing" sounds excellent any day
Next we play Deep Purple, listening to Jon Lord's Hammond sounds
Music is our medicine in six speaker surround"
"In between sounds to the kitchen we head
Tid-bits and more beers to keep our gig well fed
We sample some Grunge Metal listening to Nuclear Waste
But once again Classic Rocks rules, as Grunge is not our taste"
"For the next couple of ours it's like The Monsters of Rock
AC/DC and UFO, the Rock never stops
We air guitar to "Whole Lotta Rosie"
Wearing spandex boxer shorts, one of us drumming like Cozy"
"We all awake in the morning, some with sore heads
But it was never a night that we were ever going to dread
It was a bunch of guys who met whilst at school
Who released their friendly energy, like fools but really cool"
"Tom, I never knew you, but I thank Catie for this
Writing this poem, just fills me with bliss
I know you will be busy, but if you happen to look down
Give our convention a shout, join our Rock n Roll clowns"
My tribute to Mr Tom Bell, so many people spoke about him.
Reading what they said, I only wish I knew him.
What is Today
Shall be History tomorrow
All that comes
Shall ultimately Go.
Who was born
When was born
Where was born
What he did
How he did
When did he do
Where did he do
All shall be recorded
In books of history
Historians some
Could be contemporary
And many shall write
Later on.
One will write
Some have'nt written
Before
Others will rest their accounts
On past tellers
Value adding it
Some will say
Milton was blind
Others will say
He was only myopic!
Many agree
Shakespear was British
Yet a few still doubt
He was an Arab Sheikh!
Some will pen down
Horrors of War,
Rule by Kings and Queens,
Tyrants, Dictators, Sultans
And Saints and Prophets,
The stories of their Rise and Fall
But them never having seen 'em all themselves
But they will insist
Such and such never happened
Or
If happened but not that way
The way of the other Historians
History, some say
Is a Bundle of Lies
But I will say
History is a turning Wheel
Which keeps rotating
Eternally
From one point to another
In Space and Time
Without a dwell
Some might be alive to see
It Turning Right
But later Generations
Using the art of Semantics,
Critical Thinking, Logic
And the magic of Imagination
Will blow their Own Horn
And Declare
That it turns Left.
If I Were An Elephant
I am a part of a faceless nation.
I am the poachers' whore.
Because of this genocide for trinkets...
I soon will be no more.
Then...
I was a warrior in many battles...
An instrument of war...
A tower with soldiers on my back;
The odds were mine to score!
I was once with Alexander the Great,
Also with Hannibal...
Great Sultans loved me and knew me as brave,
Deemed more than animal.
Now...
I am trapped in snares and let starve to death;
I am shot--SHOT with guns;
My water-holes are laced with cyanide...
Then the poacher comes.
I am still alive when the axing begins...
Too weak to move...or try...
They CHOP...and WHACK...my face away for tusks...
I feel each GOUGE...and cry...
And so these tusks that were my protection
Have now become my doom.
The loss of a species, just for trinkets...
Elephant...nom de plume.
©deborah burch
12/11/2016
There was an old man name of Moe
who had trouble just saying hello,
he was so fearfully shy
and would quite frequently cry,
when consulted he always said "No!"
Pherica Schmerica
Bank of America,
sultans of currency,
captains of greed.
Scourge of the ne'er-do-well,
denominational,
you mortgage your lifestyle
and they hold the deed.
A student who always got A's
never got nothin' but praise,
so when he dropped to a C
he declared, "Woe is me!
I hope that it's merely a phase!"
There was an old man name of Moe
who had trouble just saying hello,
he was so fearfully shy
and would quite frequently cry,
when consulted he always said "No!"
*******
Pherica Schmerica
Bank of America,
sultans of currency,
captains of greed.
Scourge of the ne'er-do-well,
denominational,
you mortgage your lifestyle
and they hold the deed.
******
A student who always got A's,
he never got nothin' but praise,
when he dropped to a C
he declared, "Woe is me!
I hope that it's merely a phase!"
Night and day night n day now eating his bread and slops
a quiet demented dreaming dreams of sea and soft skies
But how big the seas of thought run still in the captain's sleep
Pacific now ship cabin of sleep rocked to the sea beat in his ears
Over what blue whaled waves does he sail in a rainbow hail of flying-fishes
he can still see the ocean from his bed where he now lies
Dreaming still of clashing cymbals an eastern sumptuous court
Sultans with voices fiercer than any visiting modern preacher
Lying he there now till the sky goes out and the sea stops
He hears distinctly insistent over the slow-speaking sea
The voices of time blown up to me
A blank canvas
an empty stage
darkness in the primordial
vacuum of stars and space
a jug not yet filled
a reed flute hallow
yearning for the paint
yearning for the actors
yearning for the light
yearning for the water
yearning for the lips, breath
We assembled that night
one by one sat in a circle
forming a ring of unity
white, brown
light, dark skin
diverse background
diverse personalities
in the end-human
in the end-friends
brothers
The smoke swirls, leaps
from out mouths, colliding
and spinning, a spider
web of escaping essence
listening to the music of the
past, our ears leaping and
taking in the goodness.
Out comes the poetry
words of the past
Whitman, Lawerence, Gibran
Rumi-our hearts leap
with the joy of such
wisdom.
"Oh Captain, my Captain"
"God is born"
"On Pain"
"Gardens of Soul"
Flowers in the garden
we all are in a row
taking in the sunshine
rain and natural nutrition
from the earth
from the cosmos
from the Soul
from each other
Sultans upon ottomans
we recline, seeing what
no other pack can see
expressions rising and
falling, the wave of
imagination we glide
like the birds on a
journey along
the Way, guiding and
learning from each other
We kick up the dust
and go beyond the clouds
beyond reason and
heights, the sky breaking
down, its doors letting
down its guard, for us.
We are spinning with
all the protons and
electrons, whirling and
spinning with all
of the cosmos as
our playground. Finally
we all return to our
couches and chairs, the
time and hookah our
reminder of reality
packing up, we the
Caravan
The Sage of Wisdom
The Latin King of Knowledge
The Doctor of the Soul
The Romantic Seeker
The One who always had a Poet in him
We all experienced our own
Sema, our own level
of pure ecstasy, learning
and loving each other
Inspiration of infinity
We will all meet again
The canvas is painted
the stage has been set
the jug is brimming
and the reed flute is
crying.
But not for sadness
or pure separation
NO
it is singing for the
bond of friendship
Sheiks and Sultans kingdom's revolt
Citizens ire and fervour a shocking jolt
Unleashing coffers, promising change they molt
While cleansing their streets with rifle and Colt
Western pots fizzle and stew
Chafing but swallowing the spicy brew
Heartburn follows; the potion they slowly chew
The side effects their sensitive systems do rue
From way down in "Bama"
Stirring echoes of Big Mama
A thunderous storm that brewed from the Deep South
Each word could be felt when it left her mouth
With her immense presence, showmanship, and confidence
She would capture the hearts and minds of her audience
She stood tall, shoulder to shoulder amongst the sultans of Blues
She didn't have to put on airs 'cause she stood comfortably in her shoes
A woman, a beautiful black woman oozing with creativity and soul
In her kitchen, she took lemons and made pitcher after pitcher of sweet lemonade that she always served cold
Oh, Big Mama you brought that good medicine to the soul when you sang
You bellowed melodies that reached up and tugged on heartstrangs
Oh, Big Mama I see ya' cookin' with your horn, too
Blowin', just blowin' so beautifully as only a few can do
You were so good that some felt a need to copy you and steal your money
Shameful shadowy expressions of a "Hound Dog" depraved music industry
Never to be replicated or duplicated
One of one, you were, but still, you're often imitated
From way down in "Bama"
Stirring echoes of Big Mama
Reality is seeping into my fantasy and,
It’s turning my once golden dreams into a dusk road,
Paved by sultans and kings filled with woe.
They smile as their silvery tongues,
Slithers on the edge of their hollowed promises
“Dare I say let the weeping angels bleed,
And achieve their dreams of conquering the heavens.
Dare I say let the weeping angels bleed,
And unfasten their soul and their chained wings.”
Dare I say, dare I say,
The flames for triumph has been lit,
On top the emerald apple.
Dare I kiss?
Dare I bite?
And shatter these hollowed promises,
And scatter it upon their dusk road.
Dare I say yes?
Yes.
“Dare I say let the weeping angels bleed,
And achieve their dreams of conquering the heavens.
Dare I say let the weeping angels bleed,
And unfasten their soul and their chained wings.”
Dare I say?
Let the weeping angels bleed,
And open their eyes to reality.
Pherica Schmerica
Bank of America,
sultans of currency,
captains of greed.
Scourge of the ne'er-do-well,
denominational,
you mortgage your lifestyle
and they hold the deed.
******
A student who always got A's,
he never got nothin' but praise,
when he dropped to a C
he declared, "Woe is me!
I hope that it's merely a phase!"