"persia" poems
Invariably,
You prefer to come
To me in the dark.
"You're more my temperature then,"
You once said.
I'm not much of a thermometer,
But I am the eurythmy
To each syllable you give
In such settled shadow.
A play of murmurs and fingertips,
You once named this.
Always I see a wreath in your hair,
In colors of Persia,
Textures of night,
And the soft blended lines
Of you I know
Infallibly.
Nov 30, 2019
Nov 30, 2019 at 11:26 PM UTC
it was me who destroyed carthage of the ancient worlds in 1300bc. the way i destroyed carthage was this. my mother was a persian queen and carthage wanted persia destroyed. my mother did not want her husband killed so she sent me, her eldest child, to the war. i told them that if they looked into my right eye they would think it was very beautiful but if they then looked into my left eye, which was my most beautiful eye, for i was left-handed, even as most creative people are even back then, they would notice it was even more beautiful.
i then said if i wanted to be a little kind to them they would want to be very very kind to me. they liked me and tried to show me their great kindness but the truth was that they had been so unkind to their children with bad magics involving rings that they died instantly. that is how i destroyed carthage.
Jan 3, 2020
Jan 3, 2020 at 11:57 AM UTC
I
You came to me in the robes of Cyclamen
But how can I bring you a bouquet of red chrysanthemums?
When I have not found any white chrysanthemums in the bouquet of your heart?
Do not pluck the petals of my pure daisies with your eyes closed, lest you would be fooled by your wild guesses.
Because, you do not need to set your foot on twelve daisies before you can see the dawn of your spring
I will give you neither white nor red daisies after the last swallow of summer has flown away from your alcove, lest your dreams of them in autumn leave you heartbroken in winter.
In my wanderlust quest for Ivy
I did not find you in the bloom of Orange Blossom or in Lemon Blossom
But I found you entangled in the paphiopedilum orchids of Phaphos with a garland of Peach Blossom dangling from your ringed neck
Like a rose entangled in your own thorns
Then I disentangled you before I led you to the lyceum of my Muses
They welcomed you with the petals of Apple Blossom cast at your bleeding feet. They wiped your tears away with the golden petals of yellow roses and bathed you in the pool of the Coral Rose.
They covered you with the Peach Rose and led you into the bed of my Rose of Persia before I came to you with my bouquet of the white Rose of Sharon and the Lily of the Valley
II
My heart is a bouquet of red roses
Red roses in a vase of Michaelmas daisies
As flowers bloom in the oasis in the desert
Red roses will blossom in my heart
So, here I am my dearest dove
I have come to your nest to rest in your *****
I have come to you my sweetest love
Where the roses in my heart will blossom.
For my heart will no longer pine
Nor will my enchanted spirit whine
For as long as you are mine
You will forever be my Valentine.
Aug 8, 2013
Aug 8, 2013 at 5:12 AM UTC
"Alexander son of Philip, and the Greeks except the Lacedaemonians--"
We can very well imagine
that they were utterly indifferent in Sparta
to this inscription. "Except the Lacedaemonians",
but naturally. The Spartans were not
to be led and ordered about
as precious servants. Besides
a panhellenic campaign without
a Spartan king as a leader
would not have appeared very important.
O, of course "except the Lacedaemonians."
This too is a stand. Understandable.
Thus, except the Lacedaemonians at Granicus;
and then at Issus; and in the final
battle, where the formidable army was swept away
that the Persians had massed at Arbela:
which had set out from Arbela for victory, and was swept away.
And out of the remarkable panhellenic campaign,
victorious, brilliant,
celebrated, glorious
as no other had ever been glorified,
the incomparable: we emerged;
a great new Greek world.
We; the Alexandrians, the Antiocheans,
the Seleucians, and the numerous
rest of the Greeks of Egypt and Syria,
and of Media, and Persia, and the many others.
With our extensive territories,
with the varied action of thoughtful adaptations.
And the Common Greek Language
we carried to the heart of Bactria, to the Indians.
As if we were to talk of Lacedaemonians now!
5.2k
And here face down beneath the sun
And here upon earth’s noonward height
To feel the always coming on
The always rising of the night
To feel creep up the curving east
The earthy chill of dusk and slow
Upon those under lands the vast
And ever climbing shadow grow
And strange at Ecbatan the trees
Take leaf by leaf the evening strange
The flooding dark about their knees
The mountains over Persia change
And now at Kermanshah the gate
Dark empty and the withered grass
And through the twilight now the late
Few travelers in the westward pass
And Baghdad darken and the bridge
Across the silent river gone
And through Arabia the edge
Of evening widen and steal on
And deepen on Palmyra’s street
The wheel rut in the ruined stone
And Lebanon fade out and Crete
High through the clouds and overblown
And over Sicily the air
Still flashing with the landward gulls
And loom and slowly disappear
The sails above the shadowy hulls
And Spain go under the the shore
Of Africa the gilded sand
And evening vanish and no more
The low pale light across that land
Nor now the long light on the sea
And here face downward in the sun
To feel how swift how secretly
The shadow of the night comes on…
4.1k
Brother Iran
by Michael R. Burch
Brother Iran, I feel your pain.
I feel it as when the Turk fled Spain.
As the Jew fled, too, that constricting span,
I feel your pain, Brother Iran.
Brother Iran, I know you are noble!
I too fear Hiroshima and Chernobyl.
But though my heart shudders, I have a plan,
and I know you are noble, Brother Iran.
Brother Iran, I salute your Poets!
your Mathematicians!, all your great Wits!
O, come join the earth’s great Caravan.
We’ll include your Poets, Brother Iran.
Brother Iran, I love your Verse!
Come take my hand now, let’s rehearse
the Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam.
For I love your Verse, Brother Iran.
Bother Iran, civilization’s Flower!
How high flew your towers in man’s early hours!
Let us build them yet higher, for that’s my plan,
civilization’s first flower, Brother Iran.
Published by MahMag (translated into Farsi by Mahnaz Badihian), Other Voices International, Thanal Online (India), Deviant Art, Portal Vapasin (Farsi). Keywords/Tags: Iran, Iranian, Farsi, Persia, Persian, brotherhood, culture, civilization, poetry, literature, poets, mathematicians, philosophers
Mar 26, 2020
Mar 26, 2020 at 3:06 AM UTC
The Persian Chessboard
as the story goes, it happend in Persia
could have been India, or even in China
the King was bored, so he looked for someone wiser
the Grand Vizier, being the principle advisor
entertain me the King said, challenge my senses
I need something different, I'm tired of burning fences
the Vizier scratched his chin, and stared straight ahead
how about a new game, where you have to use your head
we'll use moving pieces, on black and white squares
the King will be the major piece, the rest nobody cares
capture the opponents King, to make him surrender
be careful of the others, the ones who are pretender
we can call it 'shahmat', or death to the King
and when this death is proclaimed, everybody sing
the final move is checkmate, there will be no place to run
the game sometimes in real life, the loser had no fun
the pawns and the knights, each one fell to the side
eventually then an added piece, the King's special bride
the Queen was entered in, she also had some power
she was just as deadly, cutthroat behind you in the shower
the King was very pleased, he granted Vizier a treasure
he told him, pick your price, anything you pleasure
the Vizier tried to trick the King, he made mistake instead
the game lived on and on, but the Vizier turned up dead
Gomer LePoet...
Jun 10, 2010
Jun 10, 2010 at 1:17 PM UTC
The best ever military commander
Was a young king named Alexander.
From the Macadonian city state
He was known as Alexander the Great.
A brave man - he had a lot of bottle;
A wise man too - taught by Aristotle.
He fought many battles & always won,
His army never lost a single one.
Turkey, Syria and Egypt all fell,
So did Babylon, and Persia as well.
But after 13 years of war, his men
Said they wanted to go home again.
That was the end of conquest & glory
And that's the end of Alexander's story
Aug 10, 2014
Aug 10, 2014 at 10:25 AM UTC
The little Prince of Persia
Who's purpose is to depurse ya,
Dispersing suits, clock off time city worker,
Mark your card, inertia.
He's no mathematician or magician
But give him a dynamoment to take you to the cleaners,
cause this one's mean a!
Hellbent on humiliation he'll reverend run you to the station.
He's counting cards, counting on ya till your seeing stars, K.O, ringside seat whilst you get parred, po, poker face he'll drive you gaga!
So Loay and behold he might not be honourable, but he's willing and able to bring the last supper to this table.
He's not called Jack but he's a joker, in guise he tries to choke ya, draw the ace but it won't help ya,
cause you're a disgraced King
and you've just been usurped sir,
by that little Prince of Persia.
Dec 1, 2014
Dec 1, 2014 at 4:44 PM UTC
The Hawker Hurricane is a British fighter design from the 1930s. Some 14,000 Hurricane and Sea Hurricane fighters and fighter-bombers were built by the end of 1944。 August 1940 brought what has become the Hurricane's shining moment in history: The Battle of Britain. RAF Hurricanes accounted for more enemy aircraft kills than all other defenses combined, including all aircraft and ground defenses. Later in the war, the Hurricane served admirably in North Africa, Burma, Malta, and nearly every other theater in which the RAF participated. The Hurricane underwent many modifications during its life, resulting in many major variants, including the Mk IA, with interchangeable wings housing eight 7.7mm (0.303in) guns;the Mk IIC, with a Merlin ** engine; the Mk IID, a tankbuster with two 40mm anti-tank guns plus two 7.7mm guns. During the war, Hurricanes were sold to Egypt, Finland, India, the Irish， Persia, Turkey and the USSR Air Corps.More in http://www.rangorango.com/124-series-c-1_5.html
Aug 28, 2013
Aug 28, 2013 at 4:08 AM UTC
Thousands of sheep, soft-footed, black-nosed sheep--
one by one going up the hill and over the fence--one by
one four-footed pattering up and over--one by one wiggling
their stub tails as they take the short jump and go
over--one by one silently unless for the multitudinous
drumming of their hoofs as they move on and go over--
thousands and thousands of them in the grey haze of
evening just after sundown--one by one slanting in a
long line to pass over the hill--
I am the slow, long-legged Sleepyman and I love you
sheep in Persia, California, Argentine, Australia, or
Spain--you are the thoughts that help me when I, the
Sleepyman, lay my hands on the eyelids of the children
of the world at eight o'clock every night--you thousands
and thousands of sheep in a procession of dusk making
an endless multitudinous drumming on the hills with
your hoofs.
2.5k
If I was a king of Asia I would give you all the gold there is
But I'm not even prince of Persia, all I have is love and dreams
Let me show you land of legends, land of honeymoon and rising sun
I am not as rich as Ali Baba, but I promise we'll be having fun
I'll take you to Bali the gem of Java Sea
Then we'll go on to safari a little south of Abu Dhabi
I'll take you to Maldives to swim in coral reefs
We'll enjoy the sweet papaya on the islands of Pattaya
I'll show you lake Baikal, Tibet and Taj Mahal
We'll see Macao, Yokohama, Hanoi, Jeddah, Jaipur, Jakarta
I'll take you to Dubai, Dushanbe and Mumbai
We'll spend some starry nights in yurts near the city of Yakutsk
I’ll take you to Tashkent where melons got their scent
We will taste all sorts of apples in the city of Almaty
I’ll take you to Beirut we'll go nuts on dried fruits
And the coffee with vanilla we can try it in Manilla
I'll take you to Kashgar to shop at old bazaar
Then we'll fly a magic carpet to the markets of Qatar
We'll see ruins of Karakorum the old capital of Moguls
Then we'll go to Kathmandu and then Karachi and Kabul
We'll discover caves with treasures, make three wishes all at once
All at once will turn to a fairy tale, like in one and thousand nights
Let me show you feast of colors, take you cross the dunes in caravans
Even if I don't look like Alladin, I sure know a thing about romance
I'll take you to Taipei to see its lovely bay
We will sip on Coca Cola on the silky sands of Goa
I'll take you to Shanghai where towers touch the sky
And the best of architecture we will see in precious Petra
We'll go to Ashgabat, Bishkek, Busan, Baghdad
We will see Great Wall of China and Cambodian Angkor Wat
We'll see the Everest, mount Fuji, Gobi Desert
And it's certainly my pleasure to take you all around Asia!
Apr 3, 2022
Apr 3, 2022 at 10:07 PM UTC
*~~~~~A PERSIAN RUG~~~~~
Just like your soul
Complex and stunning
Piece of art
Woven for years
With patient love
By hands of your
Amazing life
...
It gets the redness
From your lips
The blueness from
Your open mind
The green parts from
Your hazing eyes
The whiteness from
Your shining smile
...
Let me lie there
On this beauty
Let's fly away
High up the sky
Show me around
On a journey
The magics of
'Poetry Land'
~~~~~~~~~PERSIA*~~~~~~~~~
May 1, 2017
May 1, 2017 at 3:05 AM UTC
It was meant for her
she felt it but yet
to her she couldn't get it
It was in her linage
but yet she thought
she couldn't get there
cus' she was a commoner
and of a forbidden race,a Jew
It was true her family was
wiped out by the Amalekites
leaving her and her cousin orphaned
still destiny had great plans for them
It was true that in the whole
of Persia she was among the most
beautiful maiden but yet her cousin
now her father prevented her from
leaving the house and coming in contact with the king
As she grew into a lady
she became more beautiful and
this actually made her the most
beautiful lady in the whole of Persia
As she was being promised
by her late mother her cousin
now her father gave her the Tresured Medallion
the Star of David when she
became a full blown woman
Since out of love and care
she ran not in disguise of a boy
but her self to the palace to save Jesse
her friend who they captured to make
a palace official but unfortunately for her
she was immediately siezed to be among the Queens to be
something she always wished for but
because of wht they did to her
the palace was her most feared place
At the palace in the harem
she found favour in the eyes of the royal enouch Hegai
and everyone in the palace
making her the most loved person in the palace
Hegai kept the secret of her being a Jew
As time went on she waited
for the night with the king
that single night that would change
everything for her and her family
and truely that night came and
she found favour in the king's eyes
and through this she became the
Queen of Great Persia
We all would be wondering
who this lucky girl is and what her name is
well this is just a little story of Jewish girl
who was greatly favoured by God
whose name was changed from Hadassah
to Star of Pussa to Queen Esther
Sep 1, 2017
Sep 1, 2017 at 5:28 PM UTC
among the Judeo-Christian writings known as
The Bible only the books of Esther & the Song
of Solomon do not mention God at all; rather,
these narratives give us a beauty contest set
in Persia on one hand & food **** on the other;
-
the two shortest Books of the Old Testament;
_
arranged like B-picture double-features:
Esther coming before the Book of Job;
the world's biggest loser's epic tale of loss
& redemption; [ ]
|
hilarious satire - - featuring Satan;
&
Song of Solomon preparing
one for the war adventures
of the visionary poet Isaiah
.
X-Christianity, as such, - or not,
isn't as complex as MC Escher;
or HR Giger, or L. Frank Baum
Jul 19, 2018
Jul 19, 2018 at 1:14 AM UTC
Once I had thought that wizards existed
and I was king of Persia.
I drew with chalk on the ground
and sang to the birds, thinking I could speak their tongue.
(In my mind...)
I could fly, far to distant lands.
I could morph into animals and warriors,
defending the Queen Grandma from the evil villain Grandpa.
(In my mind...)
Long ago, those dream were real.
There was no difference.
(In my mind...)
I was invincible.
(In my mind....)
Then life hit me.
(In my mind...)
Grandma and grandpa could no longer play horsey
and aged to a ripe old age.
I morphed into an adult, with bearded chin and hairy chest.
My wings were clipped and I was forever grounded.
(In my mind...)
The birds tweeted, and my chalk broke.
My crown was tossed into the bin with my childhood.
(In my mind...)
Wizards only exist in books. Persia is long gone.
Where did life go?
Give me my wings back.
Crown me again.
Let me fly high, let me be king again.
All of this, in my mind.
Feb 7, 2013
Feb 7, 2013 at 12:06 AM UTC
PARI and Peri
Pari is Peri.
Pari is the short name
of Bollywood actress.
Peri is the
beautiful woman of
Persia myth.
Past woman
of London
not looks like 'PERI' !
The actress of
Mumbai film city
not looks like 'PERI.'
Pari is not Peri.
OK......for you !
for me
Peri is PARI and
Pari is also Peri !!!
Jan 14, 2019
Jan 14, 2019 at 8:57 AM UTC
According to Ancient Egyptians,
they came from Puru.
Pur is the root word for Persia.
Ancient Egyptians,
Sumerians;
same.
Feb 14, 2018
Feb 14, 2018 at 5:38 PM UTC
The moves you made against your fear moved me to faith.
I watched through tears as you were saved -
the heroine of your own fairytale
facing nightmares to awaken the beauty they slept on.
You were candle-flame and made darkness your element,
quivering formlessly in all directions, then still
the moment you found your center to be where it burned the most.
You turned pain into a glowing power source.
You were my favorite self-love poem in motion,
one that dates back to 13th century Persia
about mirrors, and how the polisher of which took on the form
of moonlight itself, giving all it has
when no one was watching.
You poured yourself into that night
in a waterfall of polished movement,
shattering glass, dancing your way out of a distorted
reflection in a carnival funhouse of illusions
you were grown enough to see past.
From a distance, I watched you
transcend technique,
bend and shift through countless forms
as if through a kaleidoscope.
You filled my mind's eye.
I saw myself in your mirror,
coming face to face with every side of you
past and present, high-fiving one, embracing another
in celebration of your conquest.
There's a fighting word beyond our known language
for this: masakatsu agastu
or, "true victory is self-victory".
Fight the battles you need to finish.
I'll be waiting at the edge of my seat
until the house lights come on and the show
ends and the audience disappears,
leaving only us
in front of the mirror
you are no longer afraid of.
May 12, 2019
May 12, 2019 at 10:48 PM UTC
If he were alive today,
I would send birthday wishes his way.
For he fills my heart with happiness,
As his words sing out with spectacular displays.
From beyond the stars, beyond the moons,
Beyond the galaxies and the milky ways.
His words continue to resonate
His flute carries them this way.
His legacy around for hundreds of years,
His message, one so clear.
Combining and encouraging all nature to be,
All loving and sincere.
© Robert Kingston 30.9.15
Oct 13, 2015
Oct 13, 2015 at 11:37 AM UTC
She was my light, part sun
she was my dark, a waning crescent moon
the old moon before dawn breaks
showing that after, every dusk
comes a new devouring dawn
an awakening.
I take to my wrists, silver ribbons
scars from past endeavours to match
the heavens above, hell below
covered in ink, to the left a sun
to the right, a moon, both partly shaded
each surrounded by stars.
I draw my wrists together, moon and sun
perfect sync, married faultlessly
a mirage of peace, peace I crave so deeply
lovers, marital ties, bonded daily,
as human love, mirrored, a solar great father
a luna great mother.
Legends of Persia, finding their children,
among the stars of luna, sol solis
traditions of Greece, distinguish family
children of the sun, children of the moon
and on earth they did once inhabit,
now silent, skies above us we see.
Reading, the inked moon as her mind,
emotions,
the sun her energy, vitality,
as she projects herself, onto this world.
A world in which I am the dreamer, this is a fable, a delusion, fantasy, make believe
I rub my wrists together, with rigor
by magic, I see the ink lift, forming
black smoke, merging,
head tilted, moon and sun marry
into the sky.
I'm just playing another game, in this lovesick mentality
© Sia Jane
Jan 24, 2014
Jan 24, 2014 at 4:55 PM UTC
The Persian Chessboard
as the story goes, it happened in Persia
could have been India, or even in China
the King was bored, so he looked for someone wiser
the Grand Vizier, being the principle adviser
entertain me the King said, challenge my senses
I need something different, I'm tired of burning fences
the Vizier scratched his chin, and stared straight ahead
how about a new game, where you have to use your head
we'll use moving pieces, on black and white squares
the King will be the major piece, the rest nobody cares
capture the opponents King, to make him surrender
be careful of the others, the ones who are pretender
we can call it 'shahmat', or death to the King
and when this death is proclaimed, everybody sing
the final move is checkmate, there will be no place to run
the game sometimes in real life, the loser had no fun
the pawns and the knights, each one fell to the side
eventually then an added piece, the King's special bride
the Queen was entered in, she also had some power
she was just as deadly, cutthroat behind you in the shower
the King was very pleased, he granted Vizier a treasure
he told him, pick your price, anything you pleasure
the Vizier tried to trick the King, he made mistake instead
the game lived on and on, but the Vizier turned up dead
Gomer LePoet ...
May 9, 2013
May 9, 2013 at 7:34 AM UTC
I was 15 years old
when I tried ******
for the first time.
I got it from an older girl
with a mane of obsidian
hair and a porcelain face
shaped like all
her teardrops.
She told me she'd let me
**** her
if I went to prom with her.
I didn't want to **** her;
she smelled like
the Boston Harbor.
I smoked the ******
that first time.
Gray smoke curled thickly
into the damp air of
a basement haunt--
in the Georgian heat
the rain had steamed away.
It tasted like the sands of Persia
or the ambrosia of Mount
Olympus.
It smelled awful;
burnt rubber after a highway
blowout.
I couldn't move;
I sat on my moth-eaten
sofa, dozing in and out
of life in a golden daze.
Everything was golden then
in that instant and I knew
the golden love of a mother's
glowing gaze for the first time.
Then I heaved and my stomach
purged itself.
Then I knew the black hate
of my own vicious glare
for the first time and awoke
an hour later.
Then I threw up my guts
again.
When I woke to the sounds of silence
once more I was confronted
with a golden warmth
and the feeling of the presence
of the Sacred Heart--
and I knew that I loved it.
Jun 13, 2014
Jun 13, 2014 at 10:42 PM UTC
*etymology extract: as was said, they'd read my poetry
on the front, among the billions, a few might tread,
from everyday Monday through to Sabbath,
thus said, archaeologically bound: Egypt, Josephus,
the nativity play, xylophone, and too much
indoctrination acquired to walk like a peacock,
and indeed more strut likening to a crow;
for indeed the waterfall of skulls, the dead sea
which reaches depths higher than peaks of architectural
adventure in man levelling mountains,
exploring sea depths and excavating depths
of the prized orbits: such restlessness never once
but countless times before; so soon forgotten
among the revision of partitioning, that nearer
Israel's resurrection on a foreign continent
than a neighbour's resurrected breath on the continent
concerned... leave unto Persia that book,
and unto Africa the judgement over Egypt...
but so your toying in global affairs is gluttonous in
sugars of hoped for sweeteners in applicability,
paying remnants of the economic enrichment i too remember,
20 to a room... 20 to a room... with baked beans soup
and white bread to send breadcrumbs home...
oh but my scottish compatriots haven't felt the full
**** of immigration, they haven't!*
why not talk of Kazimierz Prószyński
like you do concerning Auguste and Louis Lumière?
oh, i get it, ******* in the hood...
Europe is really foreign accepting the existence
of the once famed commonwealth,
as the present time, with the resurgence of
Israel, which can't be split equally, fathered
and equally brothered among the constituents
from the Baltic to the Black Sea...
from the median to the red...
best keep the sea lions bopping along with dear tourism
in the over-salted sea,
should the dead sea attract more sacrifice than the
touristy hill outside Jerusalem.
Jun 2, 2016
Jun 2, 2016 at 8:59 PM UTC