"medina" poems
*Growing to a man and embracing my life.
My commitment to Allah, a journey begins with no strife.
Once in a lifetime, a pilgrimage to Mecca must be the end,
To my commitment to my religion and forgiveness of sin.
Number 7 has meaning as the journey begins.
First stop Medina, as I seek out peace.
Hajj station to Bath, dress in the Ihram.
Praying at Masjid Nabawi, purity, equality for all.
A statement of intent, I commit to all.
Entry to Masjid al-Haram complex is now allowed.
Circling seven times Kaaba as I pray to God.
Sipping water from Zam Zam to keep the law.
Walk through the hills of Safa and Marwa times seven,
Where I pray seven times more.
Prayers along the way to my God,
At Mount Arafat then other sacred sites.
Kneeling down to pray to Allah, Day and night.
Sleeping the night with 5 million strong,
Then rise up to stone the devil to atone,
Shaving head for cleansing, showing respect for God.
Sacrifice lambs to feed the poor.
Onward to Mecca, back once more.
Circle Kaaba, pray to my God
Repeating Tawaf on each turn of seven and no more.
Circle Safa, Marwa then on to Mina.
On to Mecca again for more prayers to my God
Enter Makkah performing Hajj,
Before the faithful return to Mecca on seven then do a farewell Tawaf.*
Jan 14, 2016
Jan 14, 2016 at 11:28 PM UTC
Growing to a man and embracing my life.
My commitment to Allah, a journey begins with no strife.
Once in a life time, a pilgrimage to Mecca must be the end,
To my commitment to my religion and forgiveness of sin.
Number 7 has meaning as the journey begins.
First stop Medina, as I seek out peace.
Hajj station to Bath and dress in the Ihram.
Praying at Masjid Nabawi, purity, equality for all.
A statement of intent, I commit to all.
Entry to Masjid al Haram complex is now allowed.
Circling seven times Kaaba as I pray to God.
Sipping water from Zam Zam to keep the law.
Walk through the hills of Safa and Marwa times seven,
Where I pray seven times more.
Prayers along the way to my God,
At Mount Arafat and other sacred sites.
Kneeling down to pray to Allah, Day and night.
Sleeping the night with 5 million strong,
Then rise up to stone the devil to atone,
Shaving head for cleansing, showing respect for God.
Sacrifice lambs to feed the poor.
Onward to Mecca and back once more.
Circle Kaaba and pray to my God
Repeating Tawaf on each turn of seven and no more.
Circle Safa, Marwa and on to Mina.
Then to Mecca again for more prayers to my God
Enter Makkah performing Hajj,
Before the faithful return to Mecca on seven and do a farewell Tawaf.
Jul 9, 2015
Jul 9, 2015 at 8:31 PM UTC
Begging you, Sterling Mentor of the Card
Patient and Calm are your Methods in-check
May I take this Learner to Living afar
Bespoke my Efforts and Services are met
For if I noticed this Lack-of-Command
Married to sane Verbs I try to absorb
Even out of Bounty; Trust be at Hand
To remember such Stubbled Skills I bore
This is an Artist-on-High. That which speaks
With Curried Words much tempting to forget
At expense of Duty is no longer meek
And my Salt's Wager now easy to forget.
Bear me Calm. I can adopt to re-learn
The Blue Eagle's shriek which can eat the Worm.
Mar 8, 2013
Mar 8, 2013 at 12:23 AM UTC
Pi, at the end of its endless decimals' grandeur,
meets a human being—who holds a mirror!
Until now, the number, knowing only sway,
has been lost in discovery’s polished way.
No more: it begins—on a human—in front of its eye.
Patterns and unique precision, patternless waves,
new math tides soar, pivot at the cosmos' height,
only to bag the ultimate truth:
Fathima—the first spiritual woman—mooned there first!
Fathima steps forward where nature falls behind,
across the dead end, the irrational chasm she strides.
For the cosmos' deep mind, Earth, the ocean is but a drop;
the rope to the top is the lead—the feminine Fathima’s lock!
Raw Fathima moves; in shadow, nature follows,
clustering atoms span between the two,
only to witness her encrypted, secured fashion—
intact, uncharted, yet fully functioning,
in Makkah and Medina, while she lived.
The red fairies at midday’s spot-on,
the black swans arching rainbows in wonder—
marvel how Fathima deduces, straw by straw,
the maestros’ dream of ascension,
potion-polished, taking Ma pauses in liminal crescendos,
between past and future, here and hereafter—a circular duo.
Limning out chiaroscuro in light and shadow—
nothing like it exists, in plain sight or the world in toto!
Rainbows shaded in, sparking out,
the scent of roses in her veiled black hair:
the cosmos anew glinting off her edge,
deeper quintessence than dark matter!
The blueprint, the intelligent pre-design, rests in her elements.
The breakthrough exponent—hidden in her eyes.
Yet beyond the masses’ gaze,
she remains Zahra—light upon the original way.
Truly, only one feminine form has reached across
the other end of the cosmos' endless highway,
zooming past nature’s hidden gems—the irrational Pi,
the complex chasm—a mathematical goldmine.
Beyond the masses’ eyes and their painted canvases,
shine the daylight and the glowing fireflies of the night.
Viva Mankind! Fathima is the Moon at the highest high!
Dec 12, 2021
Dec 12, 2021 at 11:53 PM UTC
My mother was my first coach
With blonde hair
Boy cut
And big arms
Mama arms
That held the whole world once
Teaching me fast pace
Before baby steps, baby steps
Until you catch your breath.
Then Medina
With deep laughter
He made us tell jokes
To get out of push ups
He stuck out his hand
At the end of the chain link fence
Where I spat my blue gum out
Into his dark, and rounded palms
That led up to his yellow
Menger Cheetah
Cut off t-shirt
In the form of a tank top now
Insisting that I don't choke
While I
Breathe deep
In through your nose and
Out through your mouth.
Berkopes was bald
Like a military man
The boys said
From action movies
He smiled wide
As deep as he pushed
Toes
Toes
Toes
Up the hills
Behind the middle school
In the cool of
White morning
Over dew dropped grass.
Wingfield had short,
Dark hair
And my favorite
Green
For eyes
She had soft cheeks
Freckled
With a heavy stare
Eyes up
Knees up
Shoulders back and down.
Carter came easy
With t-shirts
And bike handles
Pushing up one hill
16X100
In mid September
He said
You're a natural
Teach your muscles to work when they're tired
Three steps faster and hold that pace.
The fastest kid I ever knew
With hair longer than my own
And a pink head band
He'd run six miles before he met me for our five
Dropping back to pace
He said it was all about staying relaxed
Potato chips
Between fingertips
Breathe deep
Because
It's all about
Staying relaxed.
Oct 1, 2013
Oct 1, 2013 at 5:03 AM UTC
In the arid dust I can see a shimmer of you in the distance, the red of your hair mixing with the ochre earth
Amid the noise and collision of caravansary in Jemaa el-Fna I hear your soft drawl joking with Snake charmers, always in hustle
In souks the sweetness of fennel and myrrh swirl in the wake of travellers steps and I'm reminded of your desert scent, like cedar and musk covered dust
In the dissonance of the call to prayer I can feel your awe as struck as mine, while the roiling sound of voices lifted in faith erupt over the Medina
In the coolness of Jardin Majorelle, I can feel your head resting on my shoulder as I contemplate the reflection of Lotus blossoms in stark blue pools
I see your eyes in the green of the Atlas Mountains, echo your amazement at Saharan navigation, feel your peace as the stars appear over the Riad
But can't feel your hand in mine as the sun sets over Marrakech
Aug 5, 2017
Aug 5, 2017 at 5:06 PM UTC
Truly Great Gratitude knows how to cook
From my Mentor reward a Burger's Gift
Out of a Contest she saw a New Look,
A New White Shirt whose Collar I did lift
So during the orders our Themes discussed
From Family to Travel saw a Best Face
With you your own Self renew and re-trust
Your Fresh Bond Paper your Husband sought Grace
Only when we bartered our Wallet's view
Was when your Picture's truth I discovered
How Human you are; And Friendlier new
Which self-doubted Fever I recovered.
Luncheon was Great; And now invades the Rain
We better both run with Minutes remain.
Mar 10, 2013
Mar 10, 2013 at 8:40 PM UTC
In the streets of Mecca
and Medina I pray I get lost.
Searching my way whole
day in heat I will exhaust.__
Who knows after being
much tossed and shoved.
I may find the stepped paths
of my Mustafa beloved.__
I'll garland and decorate those
paths with flowers nice;
As those will be paths of
success leading to paradise.__
Jan 4, 2015
Jan 4, 2015 at 7:29 AM UTC
We rode to Ta’if on a flying carpet
— a Toyota with a missing hubcap
sweeping through fattened clouds
which clung to the hilltops like grazing bison
arriving on the otherworldly plateau that wore
the death shroud of an old hermit’s mystery
which our Prophet reached in sandals as ******
as the deck of a Nantucket whaling ship
Arabian Himalayas. He climbed like a yak
and the Lord strengthened his steps
Our taxi driver — as lost as the cheque in the mail —
poked at his satnav and called his mates
The Almighty’s beloved followed the angel and
never lost his way. He strained with pain
Our driver’s mirrored eyes intruded while we
held hands on the back seat and yawned
The Lord smiled down upon his aching friend
and eased the pain in cramping calves
A sagging mosque now hunches where the ignorant
had cast away the chance of a lifetime
Oh think if they had taken him in — Medina
would sit as a happy king on a mountain throne
I immortalised my love in a photo in that mosque
praying as a saint where our hero had struggled
I adore my captured shaikha and the memory
of when we followed in the footsteps of our Prophet
Apr 19, 2016
Apr 19, 2016 at 1:12 PM UTC
So frightful beautiful harridan
your extended & startling tongue
red rapturous rolling eyes
dark, dark skin,
sword, sickle & trident
already stained,
dripping ...
& lapped by the dogs
at your Divine feet.
Around your neck
glazed eyed
silent,
threaded, beaded
blank faced,
your victims skulls,
surprised no doubt,
at your swiftness,
caught in mid-flight
in activities bold
& terrible.
Lieutenant William Calley,
Captain Ernest Medina,
Lieutenant Frank Barker,
So, so many from Charlie Company
guilty on that fateful day
in My Lai 4
South Vietnam
March 16
1968.
Mar 26, 2017
Mar 26, 2017 at 9:57 PM UTC
Swarming in the incense, this part of “The City”
looked like a Turkish bath, and the books, old & cold,
shivered in trays as they awaited their faux leather,
While a wet winter wind whistled in the keyholes.
By the fallen, balmy cloud the fruits of cactus
lay in a red cart like porcupines colored, tired
of being on guard all the time. Their hues stirred
the hunger of the centenary walls, so their fissures
oozed and their latter-day hieroglyphs began
to crumble.
(c) LazharBouazzi
Sep 24, 2016
Sep 24, 2016 at 5:54 PM UTC
*At scratch, discern you’ll either win the duel or face defeat
Before you go the distance warrant you’re set to dust your feet
for when a cycle is heavily ridden it unquestionably must squeak
Afore you relish a plum you most probably will ascend her tree
so be sure you can swim before you plunge into the sea
as if you can’t you may lamentably pay very high a fee.
Even before you contemplate a “happily ever after’, a fairytale, a forever
tune your grip to clench the hot rod ‘for better for worse’
scorching of blessings in the moment and every awaiting curse
and also fine-tune your lips to never say never
Before you stir the limpid prepare to deal with every ripple
for you won’t march over mines unless you want to *******
before you poke the bear, beware of the wrath of forked flame
because when you blister, you’ll have you to gulp pain and blame
before you leave, truth and no lie you ought to explain why
and also be willing to say goodbye
for at times there’s no backtracking, before a tantalizing hegira you must be sure
don’t walk off to Medina when the Kaaba you seek is back in Mecca
and turn out to be the reason you’re judged a faker
since prior sailing they say, one must be ready to lose sight of the shore
before you route for emerald pastures, learn how to mow
don’t say “No” when you feel different, or yes for ‘No’
and ultimately, you must be ready to face the universe afore you speak.*
Nov 24, 2016
Nov 24, 2016 at 4:04 PM UTC
******* lie in blinking too fast for the curve signs,
Reflected in your imported eyes ,
And the lines
That lie on your hands .
Palmistry for dummies.
Rough valleys and ridges
Of Indian blankets
Just waiting to be taken.
Makin voodoo dolls
never quite
capturing the milky white underneath where the light doesn’t shine .
Despite popular belief , it’s 2 that bind.
Dining with your demons ,
always broke my good china .
Medina ,
I’ll bury you in me and dare too look upon your face.™
Oct 8, 2014
Oct 8, 2014 at 10:52 PM UTC
See
by Michael R. Burch
See how her hair has thinned: it doesn’t seem
like hair at all, but like the airy moult
of emus who outraced the wind and left
soft plumage in their wake. See how her eyes
are gentler now; see how each wrinkle laughs,
and deepens on itself, as though mirth took
some comfort there, then burrowed deeply in,
outlasting winter. See how very thin
her features are—that time has made more spare,
so that each bone shows, elegant and rare.
For life remains undimmed in her grave eyes,
and courage in her still-delighted looks:
each face presented like a picture book’s.
Bemused, she blows us undismayed goodbyes.
Keywords/Tags: Elderly, woman, grandmother, thin, thinning, hair, airy, emu, moult, soft, plumage, wrinkles, laugh lines, frail, gaunt, bones, winter, grave, eyes, courage, laughter, family, gathered, bedside, kisses, hugs, goodbyes, farewells, life, death, photo album, pictures, photos, photographs
Published by The Eclectic Muse, Love Me Knots (an anthology of the top 100 contemporary love poems), Nutty Stories (South Africa), Black Medina, The New Formalist, Better Than Starbucks, Potcake Chapbooks, Strange Roads, Sonnetto Poesia, Litera (UK), Poems About, Poetry Life & Times, MahMag (in a Farsi translation by Dr. Mahnaz Badihian), Somewhere Along The Beaten Path (Anthology), Freshet, Life & Legends, Famous Poets & Poems, Short Quotes & Poems (listed in the top 10 short poems) and Victorian Violet Press. “See” won 3rd place in the 2003 Writer’s Digest Rhyming Poetry contest, out of over 18,000 overall entries, and was published in Writer’s Digest’s The Year’s Best Writing.
Mar 6, 2020
Mar 6, 2020 at 4:44 AM UTC
a nicest girl I've ever remembered.
she's a photographer because she likes to take pictures.
Also, she's from Medina, New York located in Gennesse County and she always loves rainy days.
Anyways, i love Amber Draper because she is so beautiful just like me.
I wish i can be her friend someday in the summer of 2016.
Anonymous.
Oct 28, 2015
Oct 28, 2015 at 11:16 AM UTC
I was,
And I am.
So shall I be to the end of time,
For I am without end.
I have cleft the vast spaces of the infinite, and
taken flight in the world of fantasy, and drawn nigh
to the circle of light on high.
Yet behold me a captive of matter.
I have hearkened to the teachings of Confucius,
and listened to the wisdom of Brahma, and sat be-
side the Buddha beneath the tree of knowledge.
Behold me now contending with ignorance and
unbelieving.
I was upon Sinai when the Lord showed Himself
to Moses. By the Jordan I beheld the Nazarene's
miracles. In Medina I heard the words of the Apostle
of Arabia.
Behold me now a prisoner of doubt.
I have seen Babylon's strength and Egypt's glory
and the greatness of Greece. My eyes cease not
upon the smallness and poverty of their works.
I have sat with the witch of Endor and the priests
of Assyria and the prophets of Palestine, and I cease
not to chant the truth.
I have learned the wisdom that descended on India,
and gained mastery over poetry that welled
from the Arabian's heart, and hearkened to the music
of people from the west.
Yet am I blind and see not; my ears are stopped
and I do not hear.
I have borne the harshness of unsatiable con-
querors, and felt the oppression of tyrants and the
******* of the powerful.
Yet am I strong to do battle with the days.
All this have I heard and seen, and I am yet a
child. In truth shall I hear and see the deeds of
youth, and grow old and attain perfection and
return to God.
I was,
And I am
So shall I be to the end of time,
For I am without end.
Jun 27, 2014
Jun 27, 2014 at 6:47 PM UTC
In My House
by Michael R. Burch
When you were in my house
you were not free—
in chains bound.
Manifest Destiny?
I was wrong;
my plantation burned to the ground.
I was wrong.
This is my song,
this is my plea:
I was wrong.
When you are in my house,
now, I am not free.
I feel the song
hurling itself back at me.
We were wrong.
This is my history.
I feel my tongue
stilting accordingly.
We were wrong;
brother, forgive me.
Published by Black Medina. Keywords/Tags: racism, racist, slavery, chains, plantation, burned, house, free, freedom, history, forgive, forgiveness, brother, brotherhood, understanding, tolerance, equality, justice
Apr 5, 2020
Apr 5, 2020 at 4:20 AM UTC
I came across an old house,
In the tumult of the Marrakesh Medina,
Cluttered with a frenzied pace
And mutterings of Berber foreign to the Western ear.
Yet, this old house, which was anything but a
grain in the midst of the chilly hustle,
Possessed my curiosity as only mud was the floor,
Drifting to decay
As the wind howled through its door.
There, an impoverished family dwelt,
In a space so dismal and rude,
And though gnawing sadness they felt
They had not a morsel of food.
The children, dressed in tatters and rags,
Cried to their poor mother for bread
Of which she held none.
Cupping their faces with looks of despair,
She said "Do not cry, or my soul will not spare"
Well then, let the wealthy and merry
See such a scene!
That in an old house in the depths of a medina,
They may know miseries are declared.
Jan 7, 2019
Jan 7, 2019 at 9:36 AM UTC
Water and Gold
by Michael R. Burch
You came to me as rain breaks on the desert
when every flower springs to life at once,
but joy's a wan illusion to the expert:
the Bedouin has learned how not to want.
You came to me as riches to a miser
when all is gold, or so his heart believes,
until he dies much thinner and much wiser,
his gleaming bones hauled off by chortling thieves.
You gave your heart too soon, too dear, too vastly;
I could not take it in; it was too much.
I pledged to meet your price, but promised rashly.
I died of thirst, of your bright Midas touch.
I dreamed you gave me water of your lips,
then sealed my tomb with golden hieroglyphs.
Published by The Lyric, Black Medina, The Eclectic Muse, Kritya (India), Shabestaneh (Iran), Anthology of Contemporary American Poetry, Captivating Poetry (Anthology), Strange Road, Freshet, Shot Glass Journal, Better Than Starbucks, Famous Poets and Poems, Sonnetto Poesia, Poetry Life & Times
Keywords/Tags: Water, rain, desert, flower, joy, oasis, illusion, mirage, Bedouin, miser, Midas, gold, golden, bones, rich, riches, thieves, heart, price, cost, thirst, tomb, hieroglyphs
Mar 6, 2020
Mar 6, 2020 at 3:46 AM UTC