"infidels" poems
You laugh
Angels weep out of jealousy
Devils have no single conspiracy
Demons dancing in harmony
Men hearts go broken with no remedy
Women eyes tearing continuously
Violins break out of envy terribly
Composers have no more creativity
Music plays with no melody
Silence starts listening joyfully
Happiness laughters left in agony
Beautiful words describe nothing but misery
Tulip flowers become colorless shamefully
Believers lose their faith immediately
Infidels drop their convictions instantly
Hearts start beating rapidly
Lungs oxygenating quickly
Living ones laying listening carefully
The dead come back miraculously
--Hisham Alshaikh
Jul 13, 2018
Jul 13, 2018 at 10:24 AM UTC
His flabbered jowls were hung aghast
Beneath his slobbered liver lips
His bulbous eyes were overcast
By burly brows of stewardship
An overbearing egotist
He stood apart from infidels
Compassion dealt with belt and fist
Disdainful with no parallels
And there upon his lofty dais
In garments fit to drape a throne
He glared with bulbous eyes ablaze
Upon a ragged danger zone
A misbegotten anarchist
Audacious with his sweet implore
To strike a flaming catalyst
Emboldened by his quest for more
Oct 18, 2014
Oct 18, 2014 at 7:36 AM UTC
Here God,
Everything is for you:
Here are my
Testicles, looking like smashed purple grapes,
Bruised, mashed, and crushed along with what
Is left of my once proud, now exploded, tattered *****
I have laid before you my
Disemboweled, bloodied and tangled intestines;
Blown into bits and pieces, here lays my torso along with
Shattered ribs, ruptured lungs, exposed internal organs:
Erupted heart; battered, split, spleen; torn, mangled liver;
Next to them, my legs, minus a few toes;
Arms with hands missing thumbs, fingers;
My head,
Less pieces of skull, cheek bones, nose, tongue, and teeth,
Is nearby;
Those puffy messes of glutinous, jellied, deflated ****** orbs are my eyes;
Over here, piles of chunks of obliterated pieces of flesh floating
On a thick soup of congealed blood, mixed and meshed with
Splintered, fractured, cracked bones; everything
Convoluted, disfigured, impossible to identify.
All of this is for you,
I am your martyr,
Your soldier,
Your obedient servant;
I blew myself up,
Along with many infidels including
Men and women,
Unborn babies and children,
Young boys and girls,
I tore their bodies to shreds,
Mangled and mutilated, they
Suffered deaths no nightmare could imagine.
I sacrificed myself for you,
Exemplifying piety and righteousness,
I await my reward,
Wait for you to put my pieces together again;
Been here for what seems an eternity and
You have not come near;
Not made me whole.
Where are you?
Are you not great?
Where are the young, innocent, ****** girls or
The boys with silky, pearl smooth skins;
Will I ever have an ******** again?
Uncomfortable, anxious, concerned I
Lay here on this sacred, hallowed ground,
Like a fleshy puzzle, scattered in jagged pieces,
Waiting to be solved;
Praying to be completed and recomposed.
Where are you God?
A virtuous, faithful, prostrated one waits;
I have much to show you.
Oct 21, 2010
Oct 21, 2010 at 7:50 AM UTC
Two rivers flow from my heart:
One famous to the people—
Revered, acknowledged,
Relied upon to renew life
In those strong, able mothers,
Whose water is playful and tame;
The other only known to the
Beasts of the forest—the exiles,
The infidels, the disillusioned
Sinners since birth, and the
Secret prophets who understand
Love and continue to preach it
Across treetops, under skies,
Through minds and closet doors
And kitchen knives and civil[ian] wars.
Bless their souls, those words of peace
Shine brighter than the sun
(Rumored to rise over everyone).
My rivers breathe life within me until
The source depletes, and my heart is still.
Sep 23, 2014
Sep 23, 2014 at 7:36 PM UTC
There is no dusk in this city
penetrated by the raging Potomac,
Night just crams itself in and
rapes the day dry -
lays her flat against the horizon.
Mothers and children run for covers
and put each other to sleep;
in a few hours
harlots and nighthawks will do the same.
Sweet Siren
You are this city
Petticoated and pretty,
Cunning and stunning
Winking and blinking
Red
Yellow
Green
eyes popping open like sunken headlights,
Ready for the night.
I hear your wailing
red-flashed and flaming
like an open heart,
piercing the black with it's plea.
I feel your pulse-pumping red corpuscles
thrusting me deep into
lusting for things forbidden and hidden
Somewhere inside this neon wonderland.
Sweet Siren,
Sing your teasing tunes for me
Deliver me from your shelters and streets,
Where infidels and angels
Fall at your feet.
Sweet Siren,
Deliver me to the
Trembling shelter of your sheets.
Liars and their lies
roam this concrete jungle
begging for love and razors
and other disposable items.
You go screaming passed them though,
determined to save at least one numb drunk ***
in some rain cleansed back alley of vices;
only to fool your own conscience
with the lithium laced smile of charity.
Sweet Siren
Quiet your angry shrill to a hush
The tarmac and taxis are tired of us
And your princes and saviors have fled this town.
Sweet Siren,
It's time for us to burn this city down
And leave the ashes
For the thieves and the clowns.
Aug 14, 2013
Aug 14, 2013 at 1:58 PM UTC
Am a Templar Knight whose allegiance is to Our Lord Jesus Christ
Sir Thomas de Charney is my name, Master of the fortress in Gaza
Was compelled to quill an account of an assault on the town of Ludd
My heart was also dazed and enamored by a young woman evermore
We left Gaza late in the day; I took 40 of my best knights with me
Fully clad in mail and helmets, we dashed long swords in scabbards
Short swords made at the ready to perlustrate with a days provisions
We headed east prepared to do battle, for God and for the cause
We approached Ludd; saw billowing smoke; heard strangled screams
I dispatched 35 knights throughout the municipality in groups of 5 each
My orders were; execute requisite to save townspeople from slaughter
An appurtenance to the initial order: no parley with these infidels
Before dismissing my men, I saw smolder swell left flank of the border
Saw a hovel, the thatch was burning out of control and spreading apace
Around the corner were three enemy soldiers crowding over someone
Until the last few years, I knew not what **** was; the worst in a man
Despite noise of city under siege, these ******** were intoxicated in sin
The remaining five knights accompanied me and covered the perimeter
I dismounted Petra, clutched the hilt of my long sword, made approach
The three heathen sensed my bearing and turned to meet their death
Then I saw her face and was transfixed
I would yield no prisoners
Today there would be justice for this woman
I pray for swiftness of divine retribution
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
To be continued…………
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Dec 29, 2014
Dec 29, 2014 at 1:54 PM UTC
You are as confident as broken nails
and as filthy as a rodent smells.
You're like infidels in cheap hotels
where prostitutes have body sales.
This guilt was berthed when your stomach fell
forever deep into an endless well.
This is as tragic as a soiled veil
as you've become an empty shell.
Cigarette smoke climbs the walls,
but broken alarms sound muted calls.
Out here, there are countless brawls.
Your city sleeps; our city crawls.
Dec 14, 2010
Dec 14, 2010 at 1:37 PM UTC
Turn the other
into an object
that's where
genocide begins.
Manipulations
of the economy machines,
Sweeping labels
capture all,
That's where incarceration
to
slaughter begins.
Rapists
cockroaches
infidels
the unclean.
I put this log
into my woodstove
the pill bugs
scurrying for cover,
I feel a heart felt flicker,
Light the match,
Go upon my day,
Never looking back.
What does it take to treat
people
that way?
Where conscious
loving
living
human beings
transformed
by a look
into
pill bugs scurrying
for cover
with a fire storm,
No one
Every one
knows
is
coming.
Aug 14, 2015
Aug 14, 2015 at 12:03 PM UTC
I heard a call from heaven, I saw a fever dream
Of a land my kin would live in and joy would reign supreme.
But the land of the pure has blood in her waters
Of the children she bore, both the sons and the daughters.
There is poison in her air, her streets awash with shame.
How long shall her people suffer these perils in her name ?
Where justice is all but rare for the ones of wealth and fame
and her defenders sold her bare for fortunes and petty gain.
Her clerics were no different, they were but the same.
Men of God with Godless morals, who put us infidels to shame.
So we wait for spring's embrace, in this garden of yours and mine.
But winter is a mighty foe and it hangs on to every vine.
Jun 29, 2022
Jun 29, 2022 at 2:54 PM UTC
A philosopher is one who
strives to think new & original
thoughts; I think you need to
rethink your views on
Christianity...or philosophers;
And I get to say this, because
I was raised Catholic; In church,
every single week, we open up
a book that has not changed
in about 2000 years; I was raised
in an Irish-Italian & Hispanic
neighborhood & lived across the
street from Our Lady of Good
Council, I got to see them all
suffer & most go straight to Hell;
I used to fantasize about being in
the Spanish Inquisition & going
on Crusades slaughtering Infidels
& joining the Knight's Templars;
****** killing & pillaging, then
retiring to a quiet life of Sainthood
Sep 15, 2018
Sep 15, 2018 at 9:59 AM UTC
Were that I were bounteous,
Were that I were strong,
Were that I had substance
I would sing for freedom’s song.
I would sing, as does a blackbird
With a resonance so clear
As to wake the deaf of humankind
And hound their jaded ear.
To awake their sense of sameness
To jolt their sense of fair,
To arouse the warmth of brotherhood,
To cleanse our racist air.
For the blacks, the whites, the brindle
Are homogenously one,
You break the skin, the blood is red
We’re born beneath one sun.
Each man loves his mother’s warmth
Each man holds his wife,
Each man feeds his children
And cherishes his life.
So where’s the racial difference?
What makes this problem start ?
What prompts the cold Kalashnikov
To **** that other heart?
What prompts back alley beatings
Of infidels who stray ?
What price religious difference
By men who say they pray?
Who is this God who fosters war ?
How can he profess to be
A champion of sanity
To unleash this killing spree ?
Were that I were bounteous,
Were that I were strong,
Were that I had wisdom
I would sing for freedom’s song.
I would sing for racial harmony,
I would sing for such a day,
That men could laugh together
Be they black or white or grey.
Marshalg
For the United States of Humanity.
2 July 2011
Jul 1, 2011
Jul 1, 2011 at 12:15 PM UTC
"Don't work with the Americans."
"Don't help the Americans."
This is what some of the Afghan interpreters are saying
After their poor treatment by the United States government
The Afghan Interpreters are angry
And they have a right to be
After most U.S. troops have left
Some are stuck hiding in Kabul
The Taliban tell the local people
That they are infidels
The Taliban **** many interpreters
The Afghan Interpreters struggle
Only about 30% get their visa
Some only have enough money
To make it to Greece
They live together
Barely any money
No hot water
Persecuted by the local police
One interpreter saved the life of an American soldier
The soldier helped him put together his visa packet
His visa took three years!!!
This interpreter had fought with them for 7 years
Had saved the lives of five American soldiers
Had been the personal interpreter for 12 U.S. senators
One interpreter
Did not leave on a flight approved by the U.S.
He had to leave on the next flight
Because the Taliban was threatening to **** him
Thankfully the U.S. soldier
Had a place for him to stay
And could give him some money
The soldier promised him
He would help him get resettlement benefits
Even though the U.S. government stated
He was not eligible to receive his benefits
Because he did not arrive on a U.S. approved flight
The Vice Interviewer
Learns from the lawyers working for the interpreters
That there is a massive bureaucracy
The Department of Defense doesn't consider them veterans
The soldier tried to get a bill introduced
That would streamline the process
And increases the number of visas
To help the Afghan Interpreters
No legislation regarding immigration was introduced
Because of bickering among Republican members
The program ran out in September of 2014
So now thousands will be stuck in Afghanistan
One interpreter that was interviewed
Was stuck in Afghanistan
Working as a taxi driver
Fearing for his life
Many of the Taliban prisoners
Have been released
Now he fears for his life
He doesn't know what will happen
6,000 applicants
For 280 available visas
As of July 2014
May God bless the Afghan interpreter
Trying to live his life in peace
May God bless the Afghan people
It seems things never change for them
Feb 26, 2015
Feb 26, 2015 at 12:51 PM UTC
I wanted to write a poem about peace
but I was too angry
I wanted to write a poem about love
but my passion was elsewhere
I wanted to write a poem about freedom
but there was nothing to stop me
Just as there is nothing to stop you
But you wont
You would rather write about hate
About how people shouldn't be allowed to say that because its not nice and its not respectful and it offends you
But you don't say "they"
because you don't know who they are
You don't say their names
because you can't be bothered to find out
You identify them by their religion
because of the clothes they wear
You identify them by their race
because of the colour of their skin
You took a handful of people and used them to taint almost a quarter of the worlds population.
Congratulations.
And now your words are circling the globe, spreading hate and intolerance while at the same time spreading their message, and so it begins.
The spiral of hatred and terror and fear and mistrust that ends with some young Arab kid kicked to death on the streets of London "cos he looks like a Muslim". The same spiral of hatred and terror and fear and mistrust that ends with a young Muslim walking into a market in Baghdad and killing hundreds as he martyrs himself to defend his home against the invading infidels.
And the only thing that's changed is the body count
The only thing that's changed is the number of mothers and fathers and brothers and sisters and sons and daughters who will have one more reason to cry on this day and mourn their dead while others protest the loss of theirs.
And so it goes on.
If only it had been my words that had circled the earth first and not yours, we may have learned something actually worth learning.
If you really want to stop the killing and the dying and the mourning and the protests that offend you so much, copy and paste THIS and show the world there are still those that can think for themselves, that there is still hope.
Nov 11, 2010
Nov 11, 2010 at 1:02 PM UTC
Arcane rumblings bellow out from the infrastructure.
The secrets swell out from the wealthy infidels. Their water has broken.
The top-hat henchmen gather their whiskers.
Stuttering shock and leaking their whispers,
vulcan-loud.
The wise old casualties know all of what’s to come,
so they pack their sacks with their old guns
to fortify their army of one.
The news skips the billions of ignorant families
condemning daughters and sons to an army of none.
The first bullets abandon their barrels,
the kick-off to pain, from poise.
Eager to byte flesh, fur, faith,
eager to make some godawful noise.
The following blasts are a metallic symphony
Quickly looming, swooning,
booming into cacophony
in shrill-major.
Blood spatters pavement, under marching feet,
is dragged, looped about the streets in a homicide calligraphy,
paralyzing the squinting mercenaries.
Out come the canons,
dancing on their wheels,
silencing the gunfire,
spinning on their heels,
dissenting the sonata with rifle-explosion accompaniment.
Warrior sighs greet the late auxiliary:
armadas sing in baritone
while civilians scream soprano.
Children cry in alto.
Blood flows in legato.
Today some of us will die
so that the rest will open their eyes
to an oversky, cloud-bloated with lies.
While down below we blaze away our requiem.
And by the hand of this same melody we die.
Here lies humanity,
fashioning,
always,
a bellicose smile.
Sep 19, 2012
Sep 19, 2012 at 10:55 AM UTC
The hardfaced queen of misadventure
Dressed in a robe of insecurity
Seated on a throne of infidels
Ornate with misled hearts of a thousand men.
The resenting mirror of insidious lies
Confessed all the ugly truth
Of all those swollen eyes and wrinkled cheeks
Concealed behind a facade of smiles.
The incongruous pair of unfortunate heels
Tells a thousand stories of her exploit
In worn out stilettoes of faded red
By the futile resistance of those frozen feet.
Playing god on the hellbound streets
Her thighs bewitching weak and drunken hearts
In a fiery throng of mutilation
For a decisive battle that shall claim no victor.
Aug 12, 2013
Aug 12, 2013 at 8:04 AM UTC
Your American woman,
unveiled, in tight clothing.
Kicking naked men, in a pile.
How would you woman
like to be naked, in a pile with me!
How would you like it to be rolling around
on the floor naked, with your body touching mine
Naked!
Taking pictures and laughing
you are so seductive,
your wickedness,
and our naked bodies!
One day I will lock you up,
and strip you down, Naked!
and take pictures of you!
With your supple flesh,
and painted lips,
your tight pants!
Kissing, kissing in public,
and taking pictures of our naked bodies!
Merciful Allah!
Death to all infidels!
Jul 28, 2012
Jul 28, 2012 at 1:26 PM UTC
through shattered glass a broken mind
in one lone voice terse and cleansed
speaks unspoken thoughts of rusty will
nestled in spirit's brawny grasp
winged notions lay in wait
on woodless edges of fate's forest
relenting for relent's sake
heart-shaped clouds bleed sorrowed sheets
blanketing a clown of shame
huddled atop nervy stilts
embedded in the muck of mourn
furious fields forge fires of rage
a sweltering stench stands tall
in lockstep a ghosts parade
foggy silhouettes stop and gaze
watching, waiting, wanting
to rob future's grave of treasures past
scratched and bruised and battered lands
tattered bands of dreamscape caravans
timeless sands, spineless hands, heartless clans
among these, fate is planned
a distant city stands to fall
infidels shall cringe and crawl
brotherhood of hate begun
redemption of man undone
©Jason Cole
Apr 1, 2015
Apr 1, 2015 at 4:52 PM UTC
Grown my beard long enough,
time, now, to
announce to the world,
the demands of the new Caliph:
First a rider on raiment -
of black be your fashion.
Then, in the name of the Lord
the most merciful,
We demand razors!
Yeah we need more of them -
for shaving our underarms
and other sacred duties outlined below.
We demand brides!
We can knock at your censured
doors at night:
for faithful brides and
infidel ****** for pleasure.
In the name of the Lord, most merciful,
Madam, may I ask,
is your modesty circumcised?
In the name of the Lord, most merciful,
Can we have more watches please?
But mannequins, they must be covered.
And when we huddle the infidels
in trenches or behead your sons
please, we do so in but peace!
Aug 23, 2014
Aug 23, 2014 at 1:11 PM UTC
She Wants
Scarlet cheek
Drenched in heavy breath
Praying to a god of lightning within skin
We sin electric
Along the pulse of thunder
That pounds along the prism of rib cage
As an empty echo waiting to be filled
We reduce the night in hidden instincts
Back down to darkness
Kissed in candle flame
So desperately close to being blown out
That we have already settled into gloom
Sightless in the slap of touch
The weight of wait
Tension in tendons
Curled toes and closed eyes
Fearlessly peeking
To drown in the bounty of hair
That hangs heavenly
Like a blindfold
Lost in the black sea of pupil
A lack of breath
In lip bitten lungs
We surrender to a pillow case prison
Bed sheet asylum
Deemed insane
We play straight jacket
Handcuff confessions
Shrink our skin
Closer to a clothing called sanity
Admit to the sweet seductions
Of tounge **** swallow lip
Quiver to bow
Notch arrow
Draw steady down
Hold
Hold
Tremble
Release
To bask in the wisdom
Of hip slips singing
Dipping witness to testify
In the court-ship of submission
A contained chaos
Contested as corruption
But our bodies speak universal
In a language of moans and mantas
Sung out over the churning bass beat
Of heart thumps that resonate
In the taught syllables of beau-ty
Caged between skin and its slap
We are powerless in the presence of passion
And position our bodies in sculptures of sweat
A natural occurrence
A midnight madness
Where we shed this skin
And let our bones scrape
Till our skeletons knock the nails outa this casket
Resurrected we wake as infidels
And follow our echoes
To the origin of our conversions
A little death
A simple attraction
Tension
And release
Dec 24, 2013
Dec 24, 2013 at 8:23 PM UTC
Silver linings
Are dreams of clouds
Yet with a sliver of silver
We take to the skies
The angels ask us
To keep their silence
The price for our forbidden flight
But enamored by beauty
Befuddled by grace
we are forever chasing after
that which we wish were
A dozen glass roses
velvet lined stairs
Glass ballroom slippers
Pearls in our hair
Slivers of longing
Are what we have left
The angels disapprove
Silence is broken
The vow unfulfilled
A dozen gold roses
To pave all the stairs
and golden glass slippers
To match our hair
Silence lingers
We are struck blind
The angels turn their backs to us
The gates of heaven are closed
Not even the holiest of days
Will cleanse our souls
Goyim
Infidels
******
a dozen red roses
Line the graves to the stairs
They shattered our slippers
And tore out our hair
Sep 12, 2013
Sep 12, 2013 at 7:18 AM UTC
Send me rockets
let me fill my my pockets with resistance to explode in lights across the desolation of this land of nights
and send me guns to run across the border fence where sits the old guard in defence of this,that once was home.
Send me fire to burn the towns and clowns to laugh like maniacs of which we have become,
and water to flood the thirsts,the first of many and sun to dry the dampened land.
Send me a band of hungry,homeless men then send me stones to build their homes.
Fill my cup up to the brim,let me swm in opulence.
In defiance of the crown I proclaim this town along with others as my property,I demand from them my total liberty,not the washed out freedom that we think as being free where rich men with their plaudits try to laud it over me and put me down
This is my town,my land,my band of disaffected vagabonds and to set the record straight,we're going to take it back,
we're going to attack the citadels,we the infidels are going to tear them brick by brick,we're going to make them sick of us
we're going to make them go.
Oct 29, 2013
Oct 29, 2013 at 8:12 AM UTC
this time in Vienna
in my little nation's capital
a young Muslim still in search of himself
believes he has a mission
to **** as many infidels as possible
to avenge insults to Mohamed
and Allah by all those secular Westerners
armed with attack rifle handgun & machete
he shoots his way through the Vienna party mile
not knowing whom he attacks
killing four wounding twenty-three
driven by his duty to defend Allah
never questioning why the Almighty would ever need
to have his infinite greatness defended
by a confused youngster's shooting of innocents
Nov 4, 2020
Nov 4, 2020 at 4:37 AM UTC
...I
amongst the nonbelievers
the infidels of your world
know and agree
in one thing
Both worlds
play chess to seek
the ace beneath the board
Adagio for strings
obra of the Devil
Arms to tomorrow
and the existence
of the bloom is
but a remnant
of a child's
conception of
Silence
The crescent moon
wanes with the truth
under the ground
like a forgotten bedtime
story...
Mar 3, 2013
Mar 3, 2013 at 9:45 AM UTC