THE END OF ISLAM
On the bay beach at Belyounech
Just east of Tangier
From the old whaling Station
You can see Algeciras and Gibraltar
And there on the beach look up
And see the Rif of the Atlas
With beyond them ten thousand miles
Of Sahara sand and muezzins on minarets.
The northern horizon exudes
The smells of hot-dogs
And the sounds of Pink Floyd.
The south shore on the beach
Is the end of Islam.
Categories:
muezzins, imagery, metaphor,
Form: Imagism
The wind is too frail to carry across oceans
the echoes of distant bells,
too wayward to traverse the wild plains
to deliver wolves’ howls
and the hoots of owls,
too headstrong not to tussle with the storms
it passes, and thus lose its cargo
of muezzins’ calls and mermaids’ coos.
Jungles are jumbled with passages from rooftop
saxophonists’ solos,
valleys brim with the arias
it spirited away from piazzas,
and dropped heedless along the way.
The perfumes of rare books and hidden brooks
are lost too,
as are the aromas of faraway bazaars,
stranded on city streets,
harassed by exhaust fumes.
Snowflakes languishing in deserts,
petals flailing in glaciers,
the vibrations from a hundred fandangos,
the thunder of a million migrating hooves,
all were by the wind misplaced before
they could be deposited through my window.
To find them, I must travel forth.
Categories:
muezzins, city, earth, international, journey,
Form: Free verse
Clawed clouds descend upon us!
Like Adam so Eve.
Naked we wait…
What gods we are?
As for creation, we End.
In his image, we conceive.
Forests of masonry stand tall,
Chariots of death we ride,
What gods we are?
From the wells of Hell, we drink.
As the elixir of life sings…
Like muezzins leading prayers of the prophet.
True fountain of youth Indeed,
Youth marked by the crucifix?
Youth marked by the crescent Moon and Star?
In the garden of lost dreams, they lay.
Like martyrs of yesterday!
INRI…
DOB-DOD, MAN-BB!
True products of ignorance.
TIC! TOC! TIC! TOC!
Chronographs of death,
Counting as dreams are conceived!
What gods we are?
As dreams oxidize in our ignorance.
Categories:
muezzins, age, allusion, anger, beautiful,
Form: Free verse
Whit'll ye dae when the Muslims come
If they bring thur minarets,mosques and imams
An' ower the city sound the muezzins' prayer alarms
An' they mak great play o' daein' Ramadan
An' profit frae sellin liquor they themselves ban
Glesga,whit'll ye dae?
Whit'll ye dae when the Muslims come
If they wrap thur wummin in niqab and burqa
An' insist oan usin' the courts Sharia
An' don't let ye mak jokes aboot the prophet
An' tell ye ,if ye dae,ye'd better come aff it
Glesga,whit'll ye dae?
Whit'll ye dae when the Muslims come
If they chant"Allahu Akbar" wi' thur guns in thur fists
An' blaw thumsels up wi' thur suicide vests
An' aw this efter shootin' hunners ae us
An' blamin' the West fur aw ae the fuss
Haw Glesga,whit'll ye dae?
Categories:
muezzins, satire,
Form: Rhyme
In a bright, hot blue bath of air
The waning day's thick mantle spreads.
Palms rear their green, effulgent heads;
Muezzins call the flocks to prayer.
The sun, in this mid-eastern place,
Is round, and dusty gold, and strange.
If I knew methods to exchange
This place for glimpses of your face,
I'd trade exile in dry Afghanistan
For freedom in a tamer land.
Categories:
muezzins, love, romance, sad, war,
Form: Rhyme