"commemorates" poems
Allah created the universe
With plenty of beauties
And entities
Eid being a marvel
In His creation.
Its a jubilee a jamboree
Islam golden moments.
Laughter smiles joy
Foods delicacies cuisines
Visits greetings hugs
All in this finicky day
Commemorates agitation
In our islamic entity.
Its surely a jubilee.
Eid a cheerful day
Eid be the morning star
The star that shines,
That shines in a shiny
Shining cloud
Dont you admire this?
Dont you?
I suppose it to be a jamboree.
Eid is here
Embracing do not fear
Eid is a pearl
In the shells of oyster
Rise up and liberate
Jump and hail
'Eid Mubarak'
Eid indeed a regal day
All this is ours
Ours for the taking
Ours for the loving
Ours for adorning
Amid our pride and passion
We shall slogan ourselves
'Eid Mubarak'
Eid a sheen,
Deactivate all forms of sins
Attained in all sorts of scenes
Satisfaction let it be seen
I admit that we do all sheen,
Caution we be keen.
A jamboree I incarnate.
Eid an endeavour
Allah put up this favour
Exquisite and dainty forever
This majestic day never shover
Blessings absolutely covers
Its a jubilee a jamboree
Islam sparkling moments.
Jul 5, 2016
Jul 5, 2016 at 8:31 AM UTC
I've called this ghost town home for far too long.
Spent my nights drinking with the dead.
Each sip cementing their existence in my head.
Listlessly taking shot after shot.
Whiskey,
the water of life,
commemorates the spirit of the deceased.
One
for those who passed away in peace.
Two
for those taken prematurely.
Toast number three shall be a farewell to me
but I am not ready to no longer
be.
You see,
if I were to dream eternally
and sink deeper down the fiery well,
those infamous nine levels of hell,
I would forge fresh footprints through the ash covered ground.
Walking with boots of compressed gunpowder,
the trail I leave behind is always primed to catch up with me and
spark the time bomb I walk with.
The seconds
tick
tick
tick
away.
The clock is always heading toward zero.
I tried to be a hero for many,
yet couldn't save myself.
My desires put upon a shelf.
A self inflicted penance handed down from the only one
I was foolish enough to call
god.
I am too far gone to be saved.
Grave stones mark the decay of my hopes and dreams.
The etchings on each marble tablet will eventually fade away.
The soil I am to be buried in must be overturned if anything is
to grow where I could not.
Mother nature always finds a way to nurture even the worst of her children.
Like any good matriarch, she refuses to accept anything less than her child's full potential.
Even in death.
Though I refused nourishment and love,
mother earth still holds me close.
Embraces me in a final attempt to squeeze the last drops of good which
were buried deep and thought to be dried long ago.
Ignoring her guidance, I've lived as if I would never end up six feet.
Deep were my thoughts,
dangerous my actions.
Though I lived as if I couldn't be defeated,
my first true test comes as I fight for control of my soul.
Angels and devils are now my judges,
each making their case for my demise.
The scales of destiny weigh my past actions.
The outcome holding my future.
So I'll fill my glass one final time,
and toast to those who left before me.
I'm coming home.
Mar 21, 2014
Mar 21, 2014 at 10:01 PM UTC
A small Bronze plaque commemorates
the fate of Chaffee, Grissom and White:
Near half a century has passed
since their final, fatal night.
Ad Astra per Aspera-
a rough road to the Stars.
We do well to remember that
as we make our try for Mars.
The fire was horrific
and death, though quick, was cruel:
Like heretics of an earlier age
they served as human fuel.
Engineers by radio
could hear their muffled cries.
Thick black smoke drove back
the men who made a rescue try.
Poorly insulated wires
had given off a spark.
pure oxygen has fed the flames
on that distant night so dark
Ad Astra per Aspera
a proud epitaph for them:
Apollo’s sons who heard his call
to search the skies again.
Jan 30, 2012
Jan 30, 2012 at 7:52 AM UTC
Brave men run toward the flames
when others turn and flee.
Without such courage all is lost,
there could be no victory.
From fire Station Number Seven
the men of Prescott heard the call.
"Go and set a fire break
near the town known as Yarnall.
It was a race against the clock.
Their team of twenty vied
to wall off the drought fueled flames
before a whole town died.
A stroke of lightening set the blaze
that would consume them all.
With the county suffering a drought,
the trees were tinder dry.
when wicked Western winds whipped up
the Granite Hotshots died.
In the town of Prescott, Arizona
in fire station number seven
A stained glass window commemorates
men who died deserving heaven.
Brave men run toward the flames
when others turn and flee.
Without such courage all is lost,
there can be no victory.
Jul 2, 2013
Jul 2, 2013 at 7:26 AM UTC
Faded stains of spilled bourbon
dot the weathered nightstand’s surface
like stars speckle a clear midnight sky
Each commemorates a prop of courage
swigged to help forge another day
Bras, slips, heels and flats
pepper the soiled carpet
reflections of the many
nightly transgressions now
impediments which fleck her soul
Her frontal lobe
harbors distortions
from her past
forgiven by those who know her
forgotten by others
Rain pelts her window
rat-tat, rat-tats against the panes
compulsively splatters the door
flings open her mind
to let today’s downpour
splash away
any trace of her anguish
Jan 17, 2017
Jan 17, 2017 at 10:23 AM UTC
A crushed Shah Jahan said:
When you behold the memorial,
a sight so masterly, yet sorrowful;
you will inevitably admit
an aching little bisecting wish
that adorns your yearning lips....
parched,
barren,
effete......
And from the world's lid,
the luminaries too
would sob and drip.
#
He could well have been talking
about my beloved's words ;
......so utterly breathtaking
that a sigh poignantly quivers
in my dithering being.
Her words meander.
It is no wonder:
for all of us saunter
in thought and speech
one time or the other.
At times her words are poised and easy.....,
wonderfully jolly, sensationally starry:
They shimmer like the four minarets (1)
on the full moon night;
....brilliant......resplendent.
Then they taper from the dome
and stop halfway between the tomb
and the solemn reflecting pool:
They are calmer, sober,
and you know,
a little factual;
...what they call discriminating
intellectual, rational......
Soon the words leave charbagh (2)
and hit the red sandstone walls (3)
crenellated with flawless wisdom;
spotlessly beautiful
like the lifeless marble
that proudly commemorates
Mr. Shah Jahan's love
in grim, cold blooded grace.
We talk about
riders and scruples,
kith and kin,
restraints and constraints,
fidelity and modesty.......
....and I can not help
but to sadly agree
to the placid logic
in our impeccable scripts.
#
Logic is a wonderful remedy
for the radical and foolhardy
but for every cure,
there is a spin-off.
Deep somewhere,
a delicate,
two-cent sentiment
collapses into atrophy
and.......silently
another part of me
becomes a
meek monument
of disposable history.
----------
(1) The four minarets of the Taj Mahal
(2) The garden that starts from the end of the main gateway and ends near the squared base of the mausoleum is an integral part of the Taj Mahal structure.
(3) The building material used is brick-in-lime mortar veneered with red sandstone and marble and inlay work of precious/semi precious stones. The mosque and the guest house in the Taj Mahal complex are built of red sandstone in contrast to the marble tomb in the center.
Nov 11, 2019
Nov 11, 2019 at 10:27 PM UTC
Remedy this.
Believe the wound will close.
Pray the blood will cease its flow.
And when the inevitable happens.
Pray that the shattered remains.
Will find its form one day.
These icy shards feign comfort and warmth.
Contort the mind to reach out.
And paint by numbers.
First encounter.
Second chances.
Third and so on.
Down the list.
Until hands have gone numb and colorless.
A life less than that of which what stood.
Shambles.
And somehow still in motion..
Just as any monument that commemorates the living long since past.
May 6, 2016
May 6, 2016 at 1:00 AM UTC
crystal rains,
silent songs
an angel's breath.....
sweet fragrant memories,
amazing zeal
fragments of the past,
compassion,
and courage
the fire of grace
danger of the unknown
stepping inside a war zone
never to return
a young life cut short
snuffed out...
a body torn to pieces
hit directly
by the renegade grenade
what for, I ask...
it's not simply a task..
can anybody tell me why..
questions in marks
no one..but no one
can tell me why.....
the archangel has fallen
the sea has lost its seal
today the sky has no sparkle
the stars refuse to share their light
but the world still turns
and people will never really learn
history is bound to be repetitive
then all is forgotten
what was is what is...
the war cry has sounded
the wing of the angel hounded
his mellow heart wounded
in his flight ,he is grounded
goodbye archangel of our times
know that love in these rhymes
commemorates the bells in their chimes
when they lay you down to rest,
you sleep eternally in your best..
I shed a tear for you today
not knowing who you were..
we have met ,not in this lifetime
but somewhere in the metaphysical
world of spirits
far, far away where none can hurt us
I dream to see your smiling face again...
Apr 4, 2015
Apr 4, 2015 at 2:12 AM UTC
She was found there, by the shoreline, hidden in a plastic bag,
where the ebb and flow of Ocean beat upon Deer Island’s sand.
A little girl, just two years old, in a bright jumper clad
A little beauty beat to death by some brute of a man.
No one could identify the body they had found
so police employed an artist to help them solve the case.
His rendering of “baby Doe” went up all over town.
Soon it was on the internet. “Do you recognize this face?”
They broke the case last Thursday, they finally had her name.
Her Mother and the boyfriend were arrested and arraigned.
Each condemned the other for the ****** of the Babe.
A bronze fawn now commemorates the spot where she was slain.
Sep 19, 2015
Sep 19, 2015 at 9:23 AM UTC
Maxwell House jars
To punches traded for a planetary
Mars of all cleaved rock and desperation!!!
All sarcastic inspiration
Commemorates the deeding mobsters!!!
Hogger's mincing
Cahiers tinting
Grocery bag giveaways!!!
Make it tomorrow
Soldier
And thou might make it today!!!
Enjoy thy livings
Enjoy thy stay
For vacation is noones attire!!!!
Shelter in stormy lands
What is thy quilt?
Thou sheriff of sheen filth!!!!
Serene sessions
Cometh quickly and go,
Receiving to know one
In all and all in one!!!
Trigger fingers art ready to squeeze
Closer we gasp into the sun!!!
Earthly breeze
Middle earth ones!!!
How damning it is thou extorter....
Thou loiterer
Of pale grey cold nighted sweets!!!
Nose of fire
Deckage of wires
To fathomed Kodiak's
Of ink jets !!!
Wake up call hast finally sounded
Panther eye's wait to swindle!!!
Release knowledge
Release power of the toes
That fit in the sandal!!!
Jun 11, 2015
Jun 11, 2015 at 12:15 PM UTC
Faded stains of bourbon
dot her nightstands’ weathered surface
like stars speckle the midnight sky
Each impediment commemorates
a symbol of courage
to help forge another day
Bras, slippers, heels, and flats
pepper the carpet
each a reflection of impediments
that fleck her soul
Harbored distortions from her past
forgiven by those she harmed
forgotten by others
fester within her frontal lobe.
Rain pelts upon the window
rat-tat, rat-tat against the panes
repetitive sounds that fling open her mind
to let today’s downpour
splash away
every trace of her anguish
Mar 2, 2025
Mar 2, 2025 at 6:58 PM UTC
Good Morn Faire Lady.
Good Morning to you.
For Christmas time has come so true.
When Leslie's head turns from her sleep
Awakes to sun and clear air to breathe
Night's gloom is shed and day begins.
Each wave that rolls upon her shore
Sends another breath to her who bore
Such fine children who grace her door
When then the year ends for hound and men
Dear Leslie will sing with all that who
Rejoice the New Year for me and you.
So join with Her on the happy day
That commemorates our Saviour's ways
And hug her dearly as she says,
Merry Christmas to all of you
And a grand and happy new year too.
Jan 4, 2016
Jan 4, 2016 at 10:17 PM UTC
Whereas individuals corresponds to light and some only commemorates the sun
Beats and rhythm are heard only when instruments are played neglecting the percussions in each step we take
Whereas credibility is judged by the eye lashes, contours of jaw lines and skin tone, a mask potraying a transparent persona
We evolve as a whole, enabling us to calculate the distance between rock bottom and stardom or the existence of umbra of the sun, still some are left behind taking no umbrage of the insults the society bring forth
Whereas, Dialogue is to articulate ones perspective in accordance to the culture but the unique individuals that are indifferent using slang are often deemed as ostentatious
Whereas a picture speaks a thousand words, the accoutre depicts a thousand lies
We resent what we reap, repent and repeat
We acclaim the mere seconds of glances and likes we obtain
The frivolous joy shifting our molecules as it really is ,till we lie in dirt and turn to dust, nothing.
Oct 20, 2014
Oct 20, 2014 at 10:26 AM UTC
She met me
on the sports field
at lunchtime.
She talked about Easter
as it was the subject
of her religious education lesson
that morning.
According to the teacher,
Easter, the Christian festival
that commemorates
the resurrection of Christ,
was an old English word eastre,
which according to St Bede,
was derived from the word Eostre,
who was a goddess
whose festival was celebrated
at the spring equinox.
She read it
from her school exercise book
in her cramped scribble.
I looked at her sitting
on the grass
with her puzzled expression.
I wrote it down,
but don't understand
what it means,
she said.
I guess when
the conversion
of the British people
to Christianity came
back in the 5th century,
that they put the Christian festival
of the resurrection of Christ
on top of the old
pagan religious festival,
I said.
She looked more puzzled:
but Easter is still Easter
isn't it?
she said.
Sure it is,
I replied.
She seemed
content with that
and she put her book
down on the grass.
We wanted to kiss,
but it was too public,
so we just sat
and talked and now
and then held hands
and gazed
into each other's eyes,
and smiled,
all the time
our inner desires
were going wild.
Mar 2, 2018
Mar 2, 2018 at 5:56 AM UTC