"burqa" poems
It’s not a surprise.
It’s terrible but
it’s not a surprise.
Shooting, screaming, scattering, shattering,
it’s not a surprise.
I imagine but don’t understand.
White person mental illness,
illness…
Illness,
it’s called.
He was a poor, lonely, old man whose dog just died,
so he decided
to shoot up a crowd,
and **** and hurt hundreds of people.
Because of his illness.
But just listen.
Listen.
Listen:
you’re calling him ill but he’s really just mad.
There is no kindness in him if he can go **** all those people
and not even blink.
He may have offered you a handkerchief
when you were crying,
but then he goes off and kills,
and kills,
and kills,
and the kindness in him is warped, destroyed -
lost
the second he decides to
shoot,
shoot,
shoot.
Terrorists we fear -
walking down the street with a burqa draped over.
Terrorists we fear -
flying as second class citizens because of our terror.
Terrorists we fear -
speaking in a language we don’t understand.
They’re not the terrorists we should fear.
If the white terrorist is ill, then the US is plagued.
One
after another,
after another
**** us, and we still do nothing.
Nothing.
NOTHING.
We go around the world “fixing” and “helping”,
ruining lives and terrorizing,
because that’s what we are: terrorists.
Terrorists.
Terrorists.
We want to fix the world? We can’t even help ourselves.
We the people are broken.
Who’s gonna fix us?
Dec 21, 2017
Dec 21, 2017 at 6:40 AM UTC
piercing the veil of her tears
a burqa
the secret of her smile
hidden
the yellow of the sun growing
in her eyes of night
in search of
her black sun
blindness
busted being her dream
dreaming about something busted
her soul
and her watch
for icy dreams
penetrating the eye of mind
a talking blindness
yellowing her secret
growing
in flames
happiness
as a smiling sun
or flaming curves
gestures imitating curve words
flamboyant gestures
folks
flaming talk
piercing the veil of her tears
August 21, 2013
Aug 20, 2013
Aug 20, 2013 at 10:23 PM UTC
Vibrant antebellum
In the city streets saturates the air
And pulls the attention of children
From the gutters everywhere
Aftermath, aftershock, after the end
Syndrome X inside a plastic cup
Bellicose cries from bleeding sores of media
Shrouded with burqa shadows as a necessary anesthesia
Where is the city and where is the state?
Invisible numbers counted with ink stained thumbs
Delicate piano sound, pale girl fingers
The scent of your fatigue still lingers
I’ve seen many beautiful things
One day, I’ll remember what they are
But for now their faces are stretched like plastic bags
Bound to tear at the bottom and eventually sag
Apr 30, 2011
Apr 30, 2011 at 7:24 PM UTC
and then we were us,
with ten fingers,
equal toes, two kidneys
and our souls,
so blessed and tan
from their sojourn
through eternity.
but you may not recognize "me,"
from underneath my burqa, my crinoline,
my mantilla,
my zoot suit or naval uniform.
my hair shorn-sheep-short,
or be it 10-foot-Marie-Antoinette-tall,
there, still, do I lie,
where once we passed, there again I will be,
and with hushed whispers will my lips part,
as they have for generations,
"how have you been? I missed you."
Dec 26, 2010
Dec 26, 2010 at 11:22 PM UTC
I could tell whoopers and get you in trouble
or take a lover and run off to Europe, Asia or
Africa where you, mom and gold digger can't find me.
Got some nibbles on the net when I placed an ad
seeking someone to take me away from this
miserable existence I call my no fairy tale life.
I could travel incognito and wear a Burqa in a far
off place where you can't come unless you leave
***** at home wearing shorts up to her parts
that are half covered by tight and short teenager
clothes she still wears to keep you from looking
at all the ladies on facebook you still friend and
chat with behind her back. That would make your
gold digging ****** if she knew what you did
when she wasn't logged to facebook. She thinks she
got you tied to her for eternity and for ever more.
Look at me and mom evil ***** He was mom's and
now you think he's yours. I'm glad I'm 18 and can
live where ever I want. I found a way to get out of the
country when I get my passport I ordered in a few
weeks. It will be bye bye dad, ***** and baby
sibling I dad never told me about forever. BUT,
I think I will miss my mother even if she is
dumb and believed her life was a fairy tale
then she found out dad the freaking loser was
cheating.
Dec 5, 2013
Dec 5, 2013 at 8:34 AM UTC
The Muslim woman is perhaps
the most enticing female on the planet
with her hijab (head covering)
her burqa (outer garment enveloping most of her body)
her niqa (total veil)
Such strict apparel floods our mind with curiosity and fantasies about what is so hidden
Hence the covered Muslim woman is a reenactment of every woman's beauty, power and numinosity
a veiled vision that inscribes itself across our mind
and inescapably through our libido
Mar 11, 2017
Mar 11, 2017 at 4:49 PM UTC
He lingered on in the cold,
her voice to his ear;
saving him
from the frostbite of a lonely earth.
All on her own,
all on that phone,
he heard her soft and
held out to reach her
against the bitter cough
of nature’s cold.
His heart his mind it
beats of it,
thinks of it;
them.
And therefore it,
because of it;
he speaks to sleep then.
Feb 22, 2015
Feb 22, 2015 at 4:25 AM UTC
He touched her
This random stranger
His rough hands slid up her bare thigh
He wandered higher causing his desire to amplify
She gasped and shuddered
His words making her feel more revolted
She pushed and she ran
Picking her burqa up with her hand
They turned and the spoke
All these women who saw everything as a joke
"She deserved it" one said
For what she was wearing proved just that.
Jun 14, 2018
Jun 14, 2018 at 12:26 PM UTC
Strange spells wafted
through the marketplace,
a mixture of sweat,
manure & spices,
it was too weird.
The shopkeepers seemed edgy,
their black eyes darted
around like water bugs
driving hovercrafts.
A baker sold
outdated batteries
& fixed junk cars.
There were jars
of unknown
foodstuffs
behind the counter.
I wasn't buying ****
just looking around
without making sounds,
Jesus, it was rough.
Bootleg DVD's
were piled sky high
at many of the shops,
along with the Pop CD's.
A burqa'd woman crouched
in an alleyway.
I'm still not sure
what she was doing,
but it didn't look right.
I swear to God,
I'd have never visited this
bizarre bizaar
if it wasn't for this fight,
the war on terror.
Aug 21, 2014
Aug 21, 2014 at 10:08 PM UTC
*concerning an article in the sunday times, titled baited, 13 - 16 year old girls, a mix of cyberbullying, revenge **** & creepshots... ah... here comes lady burqa, to set the standard of civilised behaviour... now... i can't agree that islamophobia exists... but sure-shit i can testify to a burqa-phobia... hell! i can even attest to a niqab-phobia, and to be honest... that, that is a reasonable phobia... let's use the proper terms, please! anyway... regarding this baiting... oh man, these ***** ought to have known better, as those taking the selfies... why? because i'm starting to think that people take more photographs, than actually blink with their eyes... whatever happened to the mirror?*
some people strive for ambitious lives,
head over heels types,
the ones in microcosmos of
their own ***
me? i, just, want, my, life,
to represent, the lazy consistency
of a sunday...
for my life to be as busy as...
sunday traffic;
it's not a self-doubt that's plaguing me,
i'm not an automaton yet,
but with that i wonder:
if they have all the hormones and
chemical compounds excavated
to represent love, which ones are
the ones to represent doubt?
doubt? oh, those minor "panic-attacks",
the fun bits of being alive
living inside the dynamism
of uncertainity...
i was ambitious once - now?
well, i know i stop enjoying
fiendish sudoku puzzles, and rest
my case on the difficult tier...
there's no point striving:
if you don't enjoy it -
as harsh as it might sound -
poetry will always speak to me in
the tongue of impromptu -
with eyes of lightning flashes -
as long as it remains in this state -
i'll be content -
i can't imagine a novel,
the tedium of it, the constipation -
the rewriting, the 2 to 3 years -
with the only merit attached to a novel
is solely based on how long
it took to be written...
constipated / frustrated
novelists, i can image...
on the other hand...
it's quiet easy to imagine ******
snowflake poets too.
Aug 6, 2017
Aug 6, 2017 at 12:32 PM UTC
Her scarf's trying to catch the bus, but goody two shoes don't lose her chance, she runs to catch up, and the lady with the burqa that looks like it's trying to get to work before her catches up too.
The wind should be blue, it feels like blue on my skin when it gets in underneath my vest.
I think that the wind is some sort of a test to sort the weak from the strong as it blows me along.
I'm strong, but the longer the wind blows the more I get weak, I try to play hide and seek,
it finds me, I'm like a wind magnet and caught in its dragnet I bowl down the street.
The colour of wind should be blue and when I saw blue I'd stay indoors, comfy and warm
close to you.
Feb 8, 2016
Feb 8, 2016 at 5:29 AM UTC
Courage wears a pleated mini skirt
Red tights and Mary Janes
Gold shadow in the corner of her eye
Courage wears a **** bra
Three shades darker from two weeks worth of sweat
A silken ivory blouse, first two—
No— first three buttons undone
Scrubs
Courage wears overalls
Rolled at the ankles
A nose ring
Butterfly clip and an old locket
Courage wears men’s boxers on a female body
Dr. Marten’s with the chunky soles
Carabiner on the (right) belt loop
And her grandfather’s leather belt
Courage wears gold hoops and a silver watch
White after Labor Day and off-white on her wedding day
A lab coat in the morning, a breast pump at lunch, and a little black dress later tonight
Courage wears a uniform
Hand-me-downs and Goodwill sneakers
Cheap lingerie and slutty stilettos
An orange jumpsuit
Camouflage
Courage wears a binder to church
A burqa to school
Box braids in the office
Courage wears the pants
Wears the shoe when it fits
Wears her heart on her sleeve
Wears pain like a badge of honor
Courage wears a kitten heel
Even when it goes out of style
Apr 15, 2025
Apr 15, 2025 at 10:59 PM UTC
The Islamisation of the world
Birds began falling from the sky, first a few but then
millions of birds fell dead to the ground one had to take
cover for not being killed by the mass of feathered deaths.
The sky was poisoned by our underarm sprays and other
stuff we used to cover our natural human scent, days of
silence but not for long, insects had no enemy bred fast
and we slithered ankle deep in bird droppings.
Summer, not a pleasure everyone sat indoors feeding
canary birds while swarms of insects clouded the sun.
a burqa that covered the whole body was the solution,
aftershave lotion and perfumes were forbidden and there
were aroma patrols walked around the neighbourhood
50 lashes and six months jail for anyone who wore the slightest
a whiff of perfume; and overnight we became Muslims.
Apr 21, 2016
Apr 21, 2016 at 5:36 AM UTC
Like anyone else, she dreamed high
But what could she do with herself chained.
She hoped someone, would see he cry
But under the veil who knew she pained
Jan 31, 2019
Jan 31, 2019 at 12:18 AM UTC
Vendrá como ladrón, la palabra confiesa
Cuando la novia diga ven, cuidado . . .
No tomes lo santo por el pecado
Pensando con la segunda cabeza.
San Juan la vio bajar con delicadeza
La musa de apariencia turca
Enjoyada, velada en trasparente burqa
Para inspirar la segunda cabeza.
Manoseando realeza:
De los cielos viene tu gran sultana
Aunque ella parece mexicana
El alma floja, la turca tiesa
Contemplando extrema belleza:
A cada cabezón su gigantona
Para cambiarla en la llorona . . .
Ahora tú piensas con la segunda cabeza.
A las domésticas la limpieza
Tentándonos en sus uniformes.
A ellas: escribir cuneiformes.
A ti: leer con la segunda cabeza.
Lo que las chicas tienen sí cura la pereza
Meneando, cumbiando el bugalú.
Nos fascinan; affecta el espíritu:
El hombre piadoso y recto tropieza.
Muchacho filósofo en tu pieza:
La novia se prepara para su prometido.
No seas burro, no seas entumido . . .
Quita del huerto toda la maleza.
Medítelo duro con tu segunda cabeza.
Apr 26, 2023
Apr 26, 2023 at 4:11 PM UTC