Short Morocco Poems

Japanese noodle salad
A gingered coleslaw
french vegatable pistou
Morocco potato
Lemon casserole
A meat free
Feed !...

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There once was a short man from Morocco
Who suddenly found  himself caught in a Sirocco
He lay down to pray
And on his last day
Had himself a quick per-packed taco...

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.

                 like
          call my agent

              I'll be in
              Morocco
                  for
              a month

              or three
...

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turquoise, cobalt, azure doors, walls and stairways
Welcome to Chefchaouen
Blue pearl of Morocco
She has a rich history, varied cultures
visit her spice market and relish her colorful baskets...

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There is an old lady from Morocco,
Who cries whenever she smells tobacco,
She sued her neighbour,
Fined three weeks labour,
She sleeps with a lamp beside, called Jack-O.




June 1, 2022,
Howmanysyllables.com...

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Let’s use Majorelle blue, okay?
I nodded.
Knowing nothing of it.

Morocco botanical garden blue.
Named for Jaques Majorelle.
French painter.

Nuturerer of gardens for forty years.
Eighteen years after his death.
Yves St. Laurent and Pierre Berge’ restored it.
A glorious lively cobalt blue....

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I am honored to extend my personal creations each lovers of articles and thoughts and love letters that  pin up my blog, which I will start publishing the establishment of God's creations that I typed. 

Author: Omar Hachmi 
Age: 17 years 
City: Rachidia (Morocco) 
Level mode: the final year of the baccalaureate



Author : Omar Hachmi...

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A
dream
wondrous
mystical
drifting desert breeze
dancing veils of silk whisper grace 
a touch of the divine from the heart of Morocco
haunting music for the soul from ages reminiscent of distant enchanted worlds



Submitted on January 4, 2019 for contest WRITING CHALLENGE JANUARY 2019  FIBONACCI sponsored by DEAR HEART  -  RANKED 3RD...

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Listen to poem:

from ages reminiscent
of enchanted faraway worlds
an ethereal dream
wondrous and mystical
a drifting desert breeze
dancing veils of silk
whisper grace
a touch of the divine
from the heart of Morocco
its haunting music for the soul



AP: Honorable Mention 2020

Submitted on May 1, 2020 to contest STRAND NO.740 sponsored by BRIAN STRAND  -  RANKED 3RD...

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And swallow are of love
the silky horizons
hit by a wing
of pink flamingo.

And the weeds are with deep
roots,
drawn water
of secret wells.

Careless was the wind,
carried off in hollows
tenderly
all kind of visions of
color.

Now the time is of the sand,
crossed the life-giving river.
And blows only wind from
Sahara. 




*Translator bulgarian-english: Vessislava Savova
rarebird...

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Morocco say my Ameriscam passport
blue eyed, blond hair and a smile
I pass any doors no questions asked.

If need be I shove the French one
the address Lafayette avenue can I be more clear
of my intention of love thy neighbor the world is small.

The dog in tow, I left the cat behind as she doesn''t like to travel
the venture of explanation to look at a sunset from a different view
as tomorrow the sun will rise no matter what....

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Could have been
A beautiful meeting
Your strategic plans were puny
But mighty
Your sword was dull to the touch
But pricked my finger as I stroked it
Your lips seemed gentle and pristine
But, when I turned my back
I felt your bite
You tore my flesh 
Sometimes I feel a gentle breeze
Sometimes I long for the beauty of Morocco 
Craving the exotic ambience
I forget your deception
I forget my pain
I forget my tears
I forget you...

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my story in a thimble protecting me from the prick of the needle

the mother gave birth to an easy baby at noon in the sweltering heat of Morocco
the lively little girl became a teenager in the grey of Paris and lost her appeal
the young adult exiled in New York stayed invisible to the eyes of the world
in the prime of her life she became wild and had to climb back the ladder
mature she thrives and recaptures the creative child she was....

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Oh I really love my Chacos
That I like to rocko
And many people may think I’m wocko
But I also love my crocos

And in the winter when I wear my Chacos
I also wear my sockos
But when I get them in guaco
I have to wear my knockos

When I travel to Morocco
I wear my chacos
And in the streets that I walko
I eat some tacos

If you can believe, not everyone will gawko
Every time I wear my crocos
All they do to me is mocko
But them I can just blocko...

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what to do with the grand mother
just a picture to me in an heavy frame
I never met her
she died before I was born
emptying my life
I look at her and try to find myself
buried in morocco she hardly spoke french
her husband gone a year earlier
they wait for the next grave to be filled
and no luck as it will never happen
as disperse my mother the atheist made sure the missionary
from my father side visiting africa never to wear the cross
just memories in a box...

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