Long Bedouins Poems
Long Bedouins Poems. Below are the most popular long Bedouins by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Bedouins poems by poem length and keyword.
Sire she's been sighted
two miles south of Sinai,
our sentinels say she has brought a river,
her baggage train stretches into the ancient sands,
the envoys of her retinue spoke of marvelous gifts,
beasts and creatures of the Orient
gems that glitter like the eyes of children
summer baskets of gold bullion
and satchels of spice from Siam,
our men said they could smell the barrels of balsam Sire...
To travel with such unmistakable wealth
the Queen must have brought a war machine along,
have desert brigands been spotted near the route...
No my King, no raider encampments have been observed,
just the regular rabble and agape villagers,
it's been confirmed that her associates
are passing to the people pouches of cinnamon...
I don't trust the Egyptians,
they may try to incite the Bedouins to foolhardy thievery,
our Nation's honor demands
that not even the dust of the devil's danger
deign to dry upon the clothes of her most distant servants,
if the House of Zion can secure a partnership
with the trading powerhouse of Sheba
our supremacy over the Babylonians will be indomitable...
I pledge my life, and that of my family's
to her caravan's safety Sire...
So mote it be General,
your loyalty is my blessing,
may it be as strong as the staff of Moses,
dispatch 333 of the Lion's Legion
to reinforce the Queen's guard
and send a circuit of 15 water wagons...
What does a Queen dream of
in the calm desert nights...
I dream of roses melting
into snake bitten hearts,
I've dreamt of citadels broken
by the grips of greed,
I've seen a child walking out of a tomb,
what does a King dream of
in the shadow of paradise...
I dream of thorned stars,
the division of labor and wages,
of priests and Judges
whom wish to rule quietly without blame...
Do you know what thrilled me the most
about the Court reception...
Tell me, my cinnamon Queen...
The seduction of your Servants' silence
as I entered your meticulous throne room...
I understood their awe,
you moved so gracefully,
your body like an ancient lust
your face a flame of royalty...
I think I fell in love with your eyes,
there is something rough about you Solomon,
but your eyes and lips
relay a sweet mercy to me...
Mercy is never free Veronica...
I will pay the price...
We will pay the love cost together...
J.A.B.
(alternately known as the Doubting Thomas Crown
Taj Mahal Cupid Affair)
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Fortunate (for me) thee bona fide "FAKE" Cupid
(aka Decoy Donald Duck
and side kickstarter Jay Rad,
colluded donning one alias,
which (former and latter)
amounted tube bing disguised incognito
as the cingular "Ivan Ha Bea Robber Baron),"
while same above placed
their System Of A Down on high alert
whereby, they unwittingly, fortunately,
and accidentally discerned disquieting "noise"
i.e. static electronic crackling
purportedly from nemesis, asper sans above
whereby broadcasters colluded
confusingly, congruously, and convincingly
as thee infamous digital (duplicity)
faux "Big Mac" Trump.
The chalkboard scratching, hair sprayed bouffant,
and knuckle crackling
appeared tubby the handiwork cleverly disguised
(as tinpot dictator antics of Moscow's version,
sans Putin on the ritz),
which decrypted garble (a fluke) as iterated above
strongly emanating via polygamous,
prestigious, and pseudonymous
pull no punches ploy
innocently convincing feigned
duo code named "Ashley Madison and Bert"
disclosing (when uncovered),
a heartless conspiracy in concert
with Sesame Street studded lesser known Muppets
pretending tubby oil tycoon Bedouins
intent to fleece "sensitive"
top secret military defense contracts,
which Russian motley crue ace double agents
intended this act of espionage thence sabotage
feted as a Black Sabbath Lupercalia feint
not for the faint hearted clubby fete
where Cupid given free rule of the roost
allowing, enabling and proffering
Cyrillic chattering Cherubim
hook cooked United States "figurative goose"
lock, stock and barrel, which stratagem
captured president unawares
and did significantly boost
Eastern Bloc reconnaissance (on par
with the Philadelphia Eagles
winning 2018 Super Bowl LII
which surprise clenching championship
wrought frenzied hoopla, gala, and bacchanalia
where barenaked ladies
cavorted nsync with beastie boys,
whence City of Brotherly love hoopla found
nearly every man, woman and child soused
(analogous to each person garnering
an early Sainted Patrick's pot of gold.
Rainbow coloured camouflage
The rainbow whispered “look at me I am a cameo in abused disguise”.
"You are a beautiful mean to an end, a pot of gold awaiting where you
touch the horizon, elusive no doubt but tangible in dreams and in wishes”.
‘Faruq’ true to his name, the one who distinguishes truth from all falsehood,
vowed to ‘Nahla’, or the drink of water, to be with her forever come rain
or shine, when the Bedouins halted for their wedding under thorn’s holy arbor.
“There will be moist earth under the sacred tree”, promised the shaman,
drank potions from ‘Ausaj’, danced, convulsed and exulted as everyone gathered
under the ‘Sdir’ tree with the promise of sustenance and children from heaven.
It was a monkey’s wedding, glistening sun combined with sprinkles of drizzle,
but the rainbow forgot that camels and goats don’t mix with mischief-makers,
imported from modern changes of climate, greed, power and destruction.
“I have been camouflaged, misconstrued, disenfranchised, seven beautiful colours exuding disaster”. “No, you have your rightful place under the skies, warmongering nations ignore you, they exploit the fruits of the desert, relish oil of demise”.
Ear-piercing storms erupted and lightening ensued with full thunderous wrath and
the tree of life got splintered and divided, ancient reality was crushed under modern delusion.
‘Faruq’ and ‘Nahla’ could not believe that their short marriage was over, they joined their ancestors, struck by the rainbow, who had masked the power of drowning waters, looked helplessly on.
Meanwhile tanks, constructed and draped in seven deadly sins, kept their tracks
in the quick sand of glory, deceit and rape of the planet, full,evil steam ahead.
“I feel so guilty”, uttered the rainbow, “I could not display my true colours”, but the wind and the Gods replied “Not your fault, do not take the blame, when gold turns to tar”.
The End of Time
The passing time in a stillness of passage
Blown soft with wanting
Furlongs in the corridors of sighs
Are dreams of mine
Left unsleeping
Repeating the hail of trumpeted cries
Another time
Touched by the paraded flowers
Of promises
To pick the blooms
My hands seem destined
And tender the bouquet of my wishes
For my lover
To choose
My life in time
Was sure to reach this conclusion
Its stark years
To roll out searching
Uncompromised
The rhetoric of my defenses
Breached in my heart
So easily
Once unknown
This naked
Time
Gathers me full
To the orchestral passions
Of its thumping timpani
Flaunted in my ears
With violin string dexterity
Brings forth a timely tempo 1812th crescendo all its own
Crashing, spraying, spume
Of literary hurricanes
Practiced demonstratively
With unspoken lips
And un-tasted words
Lay floundering in the assemblages
Drip unexpressed
On pitiful poetry
These Bedouins in my soul
Left me to map a desert
Beyond describing
This time I could have
Imagined more
But the traces of ancient floods
Flashed rumble in their predicted courses
And overcame my statutory right
To resist
Battered at me with Peony lids
And sort finally to leave me here
Floating
Feathered drifting
In a smile
The last time this is
And occasion risen fated
Has me trapped
That fortunes bubble wrapped
Would dare to pry from me
The ultimatum of hope
And if I myself, should dare to believe
In the end of the time
Without love
If you have never felt the lure of the desert,
you cannot understand why people like me
prefer to be surrounded by sandy dunes.
An inexplicable lure, that acts like a drug.....
Until I was kidnapped by four senile Bedouins.
There was nothing senile about their guns.
Courteously I was led into their tent
built near a small oasis. I was fed, sort of.
And then the entertainment began.
From behind the curtains, someone strummed
a melody of eastern music, eerie and mysterious,
but still unpleasant to my ears.
Two men performed a sword dance.
Then a lovely female dancer took the stage.
In the dim light, the air was smoky with hookahs,
she stood in the middle of the tent,
The music climbed slowly in a crescendo,
her dance matched the rhythm, slow to fast.
I wonder why she did not interest me.
I was more concerned about the weapons
Aimed idly at me. Someone handed me a drink,
like nectar. I drank and drank and drank.
The end came, abruptly.
I woke up groggily,
and was sent to the nearest town.
The senile Bedouin smiled:
"The desert has its beauty, my friend.
But be careful. You can get lost."
Still, the lure of the desert will always beckon.
The Gays of India
In India gay people can´t get married and that is sad for those who think
a ring on a finger is enough to utter love and loyalty. Liberal as I´m I ought
to sign letters an express my outrage against the Indian government,
but my heart is not in this battle of hysterical expression of democracy.
There many inequalities, say, the plight of the Palestinians and now
the dilemma of Negev Bedouins who soon will find themselves flattened
by this juggernaut of harsh, unthinking quest for security and land; it
will not stop, pause or think of a peaceful alternative. How to stop this blitz,
this amoral action before it destroys both perpetrators and victims
in an orgy of bloodletting. Then there is Syria, this intractable problem
this can cast us into a catastrophic null point when someone will use
nuclear weapon they profess not to have, in the name of feverish existential
survival. So the gays of India can´t for now get married, what can I say?
Carry on fighting for your right, but do not fall into the trap to think the rest
of the world thinks your problem is of outmost importance.
The roaches keep launching attacks
then scurrying back into Satan's dirty crack
covering their backs with the children of Gaza.
Launch then hide- launch then hide
when they lose ground,
they call for a ceasefire.
Understand, there can never be peace
when these hell hounds are unleashed.
Nobody in this three ringed regime
mentions the hostages anymore
nobody remembers October 7
or September 11
let alone the holocaust.
Short term memory problems
for those with long term limits.
Nobody dares to put the bullseye on Iran
who has the real blood on their hands.
Billions of U.S. dollars fund the attacks of these ogres
whose soul do they own....asking for a friend.
Lay waste to the Persian oilfields
parch their treasure chests
maybe then peace can prevail
then the Bedouins of heaven
and the children of Christ can rest.
I think we're heading down
the plutonium throat of Armageddon.
In this world of circular,
Some animals born peculiar,
Camels carrying a big load in particular,
In this world of circular,Camels a wonder,
In a plural families of jungles,lion is the ruler,
Camels in deserts in singular and the only ruler,
Camels walk in deserts on the backs Bedouins,
Mating sitting,no food,no water for days in wake proceedings,
The hump like a lump jumping over the skin,
Long feet to keep head up and to kick dust and kin,
The widen paws avoiding,sinking deep the feet on riding base,
The Y shaped camel's meat,milk and skin for people to amaze,
The feces not wet still hot to make fire is the truth refuse not,
"Camel milk and urine proper for nursing" foresaid the last prophet,
In research,the camel milk and urine,thick and syrup like a medicine,
A cure for long searching and a Nobel waiting cancer,is divine!
The Herder
Words are racing by as a yacht making blue water white.
Should I now think in nautical terms, say, a bad seascape
painting of crested waves, which looks like clotted cream?
When I’m thinking of sheep that feed on sun yellow grass
on a field dotted with olive trees? Bedouins unlike cowboys
feel no disgrace looking after them. Biblical peace, that is
before walls were erected and common land absorbed in
the name of nationhood. I know naught, land has changed
hands for thousands of years and will do so again, but I pity
the olive tree it takes a long time bearing fruit, when it does
the walls will be used as building stuff for modest homes.
Peace will be restored, but not forever humanity is, even if
it talks about it, not made for peacefulness. The man with
the biggest flock of sheep will always want more land.
Most of us know more now than we did before when news
was simpler such as the Soviet Union bad- and Mao in China
swam across the river I have just been reading about Sinai
a place I thought consisted of sand, goats and Bedouins on
white horses, but there has been a slow war there going
back a long time. We didn’t and were not told that Islam has
many aspects and sects – just like us- and there is fighting
amongst them, usually about power and money, religions is
the glue that binds together the rest. The young Muslims in
Europe, who go to fight for IS they are fooled into believing
they fight for a cause and the will be dispensed of when no
longer needed. In Sunnis eye, they are foreigners.
We live in paralysed world we don’t which way to sway do
let us follow the money whoever is in power.