"sheikh" poems
arson farson
larson? pio
leo trio el feo
angle fangle
his mite
is frite
scrap flap
trap slap hlap,
harun al rash
enter trash, mash
grate great
***** sheikh
eel feel meal really real
aeal steel molecular
trust bust, shrekular
even bush
shrugs off
the north tower.
May 14, 2015
May 14, 2015 at 4:20 PM UTC
“Two teaspoons of coffee, one teaspoon of sugar, and pour it right before it boils down”, my mother said smelling the coffee she is cooking to perfection. I stand there and wonder what scent Hamlet was smelling when he said “Something’s rotten in the state of Denmark”, I’m guessing it’s the same scent colonizing this house. I look at the ***** ceiling and start sniffing the air. My mother looks at me and says “your nose is nearing the skyline, keep it where your feet are. Men don’t like prideful women”.
I looked around trying to see what smelled so repulsive. My grandmother lit incense, my sister baked a fresh orange cake for celebration, my other sister splashed a few drops of the musk that the Arab man gifted us all over the house, and father held a stack of 500 Riyal banknotes to his nose.
The rich Arab that knocked on our door last week asking if we have an extra womb for sale is visiting again today. My mother prepared a hot bath for me an hour ago; she said I have to smell like freshly uprooted Baladi roses, so I soaked in the bathtub trying to figure out what is this repulsive scent I am smelling.
Right after I finished my bath I told my mother “something stinks”. Her reply was dragging me to the kitchen where she teaches me how to make coffee. I say “mother, nobody drinks coffee here”, she says “You need to learn how to properly make coffee to serve our sheikh some tonight. Remember, eyes on the ground”. I reply reciting the lesson she just taught me “Keep them where my feet are”.
I hear people in the city overlook what lies beneath their feet; a 16 year old city girl will never know what it means to have to walk 30 kilometers with a broken shoe in order to read one book. I guess farming taught me a thing or two about looking down. I remember reading before that African slaves were shipped to America to primarily work in farms, coffee and sugar farms to be exact. I realize now what this stink is. I look at my mother and tell her “I will not marry him. This ring reeks of slavery”. She looks at me in astonishment, and I reply reciting the lesson she just taught me “and pour it right before it boils down”.
Aug 25, 2018
Aug 25, 2018 at 7:18 PM UTC
"Build forts in each homestead
You must resist the Pakistani enemy
with whatever you have in hand
Remember, we have given a lot of blood,
a lot more blood we shall give if need be,
but we shall liberate the people of this country,
(if God blessed)
The struggle this time
is the struggle for our emancipation;
The struggle this time
is the struggle for independence"
Sheikh Mujib
7 March, 1971
Aug 16, 2017
Aug 16, 2017 at 3:48 AM UTC
bachelorhoodwinked
by michael r. burch
u
are
charming
& disarming,
but mostly ALARMING
since all my resolve
dissolved!
u
are
chic
as a sheikh's
harem girl in the sheets
but my castle’s no longer my own
and my kingdom is overthrown!
Originally published by Brief Poems. Keywords/Tags: bachelorhood, bachelor, engagement, marriage, resolve, dissolved, hoodwinked, helpless, vulnerable, smitten, bewitched, charm, charmed, spellbound, love potion
Apr 1, 2020
Apr 1, 2020 at 8:45 PM UTC
My name is Rajabu Al Islam, an African Muslim
Born in Africa, Black Muslim not Arabic,
I am now in the solemn city of Mombasa,
Standing on the pinnacle of Tahir Sheikh Towers,
Looking at the land of Likoni and Motonkwe
Beyond the deep blue arm of Indian Ocean,
Behold the Muslim terrorists, lynch fierce terror
On the innocent human beings, in ramshackled church,
They are shooting women and young children,
The pastor at the dais, wielding the Bible,
Also succumbs to a bullet in his ***** capacity,
The church choir master has also dropped dead
And the rest of all humanity in the church
Have no where to take cover from terrorist,
As Moslem terrorist ********* bullets on them,
Poor humanity wail in the agony of death
From the injurious bullets, of AK 47,
Auma Otieno drops dead her son Osinya falling away,
Osinya is not dead, but a slug stuck in his skull,
In glorification of Al shabab the Islamic terror wing,
Baby osinya is young boy of six months,
Without selfish piety of Middle East in chest,
When you shoot him, is it n’t it super terrorism!
To shoot a child of six months in the head
In pursuit of your religious ecstasy?
Who said that Islam is the way of Godliness?
He was a beautiful cheat full of brawnish frivolities,
Islam is total darkness, as its overt organs are ;
Al gaeda, Al shabab and Boko Haram.
I hate Islam for its ***** reasonless ignorance
I hate it with my full passion and my entirety,
Indeed I am prepared to die in stern defense
Of my antipathy for Islam; a piety so uncouth
When I recall, the Twin towers of America,
West Gate of Kenya, American embassy in Kenya,
And the stubborn Boko Haram, that condemned human life
Foolishly in the north of Nigeria to be foul divinity.
Mar 25, 2014
Mar 25, 2014 at 10:59 AM UTC
they forgot... i said: i feel sedated... i don’t feel drunk, i feel sedated... but there’s you with a horse’s head telling me otherwise... high on ketamine.
as expected,
the local highstreet is changing,
a new shop opened, a café,
serving all day breakfast,
and it donned the union jack proudly on a pole,
made me think about marching to war for a bit,
but then i walked past the local estate agent,
and, guess what,
it actually allowed the travelling circus’ posters to hang
on its windows next to unaffordable housing...
(usually these posters are reserved for dilapidated buildings,
you know how people, when it comes to gypsies with make-up
acrobats and elephants)
well... unaffordable... unless you’re a sheikh or
a rich scamming nigerian;
now that’s lucky for a giggle... a union jack above
the café door and circus posters in the estate agents... ha;
it’s like i’m watching the third partition of poland,
although here it’s not the habsburgs prussians and the romanovs
but the jazz singer blackface clowns, the regular clowns... and the mimes.
Oct 19, 2015
Oct 19, 2015 at 9:54 AM UTC
Santa Fe, Texas
May 18, 2018
welcome to America.
where there had been 11 school shootings before
the end of january of 2018.
welcome to America
where the mentality of the attacker
is the problem,
and not the system.
welcome to America
where a 17 year old Pakistani girl was killed in her school
among 9 other beautiful souls.
welcome to America, Sabika
which was greeted to you nearly six months ago
where you arrived in the "land of hopes and dreams"
to learn and grow and achieve.
welcome to America
the country that showed promise from the looming Taliban threats in Karachi, your hometown.
welcome to America
the country that you were going to help save Pakistan
by building stronger US - Pakistan relationships
and showing women empowerment by being
(possibly) the second female prime minister of Pakistan.
never again would you watch fireworks explode in the sky on August 14
never again would you count up your money on Eid
never again would you eat your mom's biryani on a hot summer day.
welcome to America, Sabika Sheikh
your hopes and dreams were alive and floating
in the land you gave your heart to
and the land that would take it away.
- a.g.
May 25, 2018
May 25, 2018 at 10:56 PM UTC
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| | | 1: 1: 1 Adolf ****** step 4.
Oct 17, 2018
Oct 17, 2018 at 5:33 PM UTC
His eyes blue green
His body Roddy
His hands distinctive
Arms strongest than pillars of marble
His hair reddish blonde
His manners unforgettable
His smile stunning
His private vessel redish too
His feet huge
His Adam leaf just right
His ancestry Irish
His heart pure gold
His soul my own
His twin soul twin flame
my very own
His voice strong masculine deep.
Soprano.
His passion wet a stallion perfectly shaped all rapture is
My voice his soprano pride
My thighs his madness
His anger his silence I fall in love.
His true loving heart my own.
His physic athletic muscular HE- MAN type body
His hight 5'8
His wealth my own
His jewels my children
His diamonds my tears my tears his diamonds his Rubies his poems.
His sonnet 75 his treasures buried for me to know his love is true
His heartbreak my own
His goals my own
His first love is me
His love making supernovae
My smile his 20 million hurried loot worth fame and great fortune.
My Knight my all
My sheikh my king of hearts
My body his pleasure his desire
My hair dark ashy moon glow over cedar- brown
My eyes vitreous reflecting colors of nature, starry looking eyes
My voice his soprano pride
My thighs his madness
My DNA his own
My height 5'4
My feet 8-1/2-9
My heart of gold his own.
My talent his own
My joy and happiness
my own
My song his delight his lyric rights
My first love him patpat
My love.
Our marriage license sleeps.
Our book; We are the authors
of our own lives and destiny..
What Dreams may come
Gone with the wind
Message in a bottle.
E. T. Phone home.
Scarlett letter A
Countless written memories.
.
Favorite places stargazing under the stars.
Boat rides waves rocking our love away.
Lover is PatRk imaginary ancient
True love.My E T.
Knight yes one King of hearts RD-present here soon.
~~~
By: Karijinbba, all rights.
Dec 25, 2023
Dec 25, 2023 at 7:09 AM UTC
Sweet wind that brings me desert dust and ashes
Or salty mist as blood on burning lips
Sweet wind that carries smells of roads and mountains
And rocks, and sands, and rusty wires, and tires,
And bullet-pierced sandbags, mines, and empty tins
And holy thorns that grow through them
And hot, bleak sky high over them
And dry, cracked clay embracing them
Sweet wind that brings me memories of war
Wind softly stroking dusty oleanders
And rushing all along the endless road
Wind –
Now tell me, when the land so lolls in sleepy peace –
Kids playing, women chatting, lovers dreaming,
Men building houses, furnishing, arranging –
All more fragile than cobweb lace
That busy housewives sweep away on sleepless daybreak
Sweet wind, tell me why I
I try to fill my mind with buzz and humdrum
Of knowledge – words, and thoughts, and numbers,
-- to stifle the voice, the shadow haunting me –
The voice that whispers softly, sweetly killing
To wake me up – to find myself again –
To send me far away where is my home:
To prison, madhouse, hospital, dodjo,
Wet dugout, earthquake rubble, secret lab
Where I belong, where all like me are going –
But still in vain,
For happiness, my prison guard and mate
Me torturing,
And happiness, the evil sheikh of nightmares,
His long, thin legs me strangling, hanging down
My shoulders,
His mud-brown hands me stopping ears, and eyes, and mouth –
And me
Who wanders through my days as empty rooms
And endless corridors of giant fallout shelters
Where lonely steps reverberate in hollow hallways
And ruthless light
In which the shadow of my shadow
Me follows – counselor, and silent friend,
Unhurt by splinters of that broken magic mirror
That **** in air; may some benumb my heart
And let me play the game of words and numbers
That spells ETERNITY;
And let the sweet hashish of words and numbers
Make me forget;
Make me forgive, and live, and lie
That I believe the world of war will never come.
Nov 27, 2012
Nov 27, 2012 at 6:28 AM UTC
By: Cedric McClester
Planes don’t just fall from the sky
There’s always a reason why
Mechanical failure might apply
Or sabotage they will deny
But the truth will soon emerge
The very thing they want to purge
Sabotage is bad for business
And we know that they do get this
For Russians it‘s hard to take
Coming home from Sharm el-Sheikh
That a bomb ISIS did make
Could cause them that much heartache
But no matter what you say
They’re gonna make somebody pay
Cuz it can’t go down that way
So rest assured they will convey
Strong outrage and dissatisfaction
Against the ones who took that action
And their ire’s gaining traction
Soon we’ll all see their reaction
A lot of blood is gonna spill
Now that they will wanna ****
Those who wished them such ill will
So for ISIS it’s all down hill
ISIS had better eat their spinach
Cuz by the time the Russians finish
They will clearly be diminished
Beaten at the line of scrimmage
One shouldn’t target a non-combatant
But that’s clearly is what happened
And it fits their usual pattern
So look for ISIS to be flatterned
Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2015. All rights reserved.
Nov 5, 2015
Nov 5, 2015 at 9:36 PM UTC
The most fascinated thing in this nature is your smile..
It took me a way within a while..
It’s natural not artificial not fake ..
Unlike others when they smile...it looks ambiguous
Your smile is my inspiration...
This is a fact it’s not exaggeration..
You are supporting Youth, sustaining the nation..
Unleash their minds with motivation..
I’m writing for you without any hesitation
With my own words , and with some imagination..
I learnt to smile when I see you smile
In every step and every mile
To see the green and enjoy the breeze
flying to sky with Sheikh Abdulaziz ..
Sep 23, 2018
Sep 23, 2018 at 1:55 AM UTC
Yes, there are angels in the net,
I can prove it and I am ready to bet.
They send me mails every day offering me money,
From Nigeria to London, all set to make my days sunny.
All they want from me is to open an account and deposit few thousand bucks,
And all this at an assurance, that I will have millions in my hands, what a luck!
People jealous of me say, whole thing is a lie and a scam,
And that I should mark them and put them in a spam.
There is no way I am going to pay heed and put these offers in trash,
Am not going to ignore, in the fear that my computer can be hacked or it will crash.
Why will Mrs Langers, whose dying husband left me a lot of money, lie?
And the Sheikh! , who sees a lot of potential in me, is all from Dubai.
An online lottery just declared I won millions without buying the ticket,
I deserve all the money of his kingdom, says Mr.Fickett.
This is it I will deposit all the money I have in their account right now,
And since I will be rich pretty soon, I am naming this, as Project Cash Cow.
Jul 14, 2011
Jul 14, 2011 at 10:23 PM UTC
Yes, there are angels in the net,
I can prove it and I am ready to bet.
They send me mails every day offering me money,
From Nigeria to London, all set to make my days sunny.
All they want from me is to open an account and deposit few thousand bucks,
And all this at an assurance, that I will have millions in my hands, what a luck!
People jealous of me say, whole thing is a lie and a scam,
And that I should mark them and put them in a spam.
There is no way I am going to pay heed and put these offers in trash,
Am not going to ignore, in the fear that my computer can be hacked or it will crash.
Why will Mrs Langers, whose dying husband left me a lot of money, lie?
And the Sheikh! who sees a lot of potential in me, is all from Dubai.
An online lottery just declared I won millions without buying the ticket,
I deserve all the money of his kingdom, says Mr.Fickett.
This is it I will deposit all the money I have in their account right now,
And since I will be rich pretty soon, I am naming this, as Project Cash Cow.
Jul 18, 2011
Jul 18, 2011 at 1:29 AM UTC
Clanging friction on a steel ocean...
tale telling graffiti rooftopping.
Moment face-offs, superimposition
on a mind-screen.
Lampposts and steel beams cutting
sunlight, as it swims through surly
silver subway cars.
Drum roll shadows blowing blue
smoke brick.
Wearing and tearing all knowingness'
superstring hair...willing what wills.
Too many times here, rapacity lives
its death...you can see toes bust
through sheikh shoes, and curl.
Too many times here...too many ways
here, the next stop forgets itself.
As straphangers rock in the Eternal
Now...and those seated uncomfortably
on juxtaposed rows, play eyeless tag.
Playing down a pitless ground,
coring out their reserved space.
As panhandlers jingle change, irking
noise sensitive, sensitivities.
X-ed out by perfect attention to the isle
floor, staring at the colored bits and
pieces--damn...to ride on anonymity's
most crowning achievement, in the
most populous American city.
Force feeds one the fullness in emptiness...
as a street musician steps on, waiting to
strike a guitar string.
(Unstruck Sound)
Oct 19, 2015
Oct 19, 2015 at 2:42 PM UTC
Stunned played by fate
She didn't play
any Chess games
to know
to Sheikh-mat cut off timely
the stonefish proud Greek
in his own chess biggoted
many a game with
non Greek queens
She noticed his weird gaze
morph his face
uglily though as he spoke of marriage deceivingly so
the mad Greek had been checkmated
by Greek evil Medeas
the freak in his far away land
Hellenic chess game of lure
under their jealous spell
of Synanceiidae
stonefish medea Kiriaki
and her many more Medeas
knowing his record
marked his queen for death
The geek proudly ignored
She me had checkmated
with great value King
American elite
in the chess game of life
having checkmated
such a valued King
she had won the chess game
of Life and love
knowing Chess games or not
She then sheikhmat
his deceptive Greek gaze
bone fish old man
She was no Queen in power
to move freely away
but she fled soon as she could
anyway
And as her true King
has the value
the queen has the power
for moving freely so
in his palatic home
to lose the value King though
cornered in his castle's bed
by other Queens
And in this Chess game
of life
to lose the value King
is losing the Chess game
and every other treasures
promised or received
this is a wise matter to know
to not lose
the many other games
surely to come
reigning at the king's court
In looking for love
dear queens!
know your chess game rules
calling out check mate timely
wins heaven on Earth
and the willing King's love
each time
~~~~~~~~~
By:Karijinbba
03-30-2020
~~~~~~~~
revised 04-28-20
Mar 30, 2020
Mar 30, 2020 at 2:58 PM UTC
i better become an anecdote, an anecdote well hidden, otherwise poland will become the new mogolia having to ingest and regurgitate the holocaust; with english middle-crass opinions citing a need for plumbers... hey... i'll block your loo for free! and i'll block it without even using toilet-paper! look here... 1 (index), 1 (middle) and 1 (ring finger)... now comes the mascara!
why? why?! i'll tell you why!
za jasno! za jasno!
(too bright! too bright!)
why are these *******
allowed cars and lights ahead
of them to illuminate and
i'm not allowed sunglasses
just because it looks weird?
they gave men capitalism
with the slavic pope, and *******
to the girls... mass expulsion...
the pretty girls weren't pretty any more,
just average on the streets...
you know, average, worth keeping,
no jealousy about...
all the jealousy went into pimping
beauties to french jocks and arab
sheiks... love story of the year,
a sheikh paid for two twins being born...
i wish i was home,
even with mother russia looking over my
shoulder... at least ethnicity would match...
you know the pain i had watching
a polish girl get spat on by a neanderthal
netherlander?! i hoped for an invasion of europe
by islam.
Apr 7, 2016
Apr 7, 2016 at 6:14 PM UTC
My gorgeous cow, you inspire me to write.
How I hate the way your frightened and weak,
Invading my mind night and day through the night,
Always dreaming about the quiet sheikh.
Let me compare you to a contender?
You are more aloft, profound and intense.
Sad frost nips the robins of December,
And wintertime has the incidental expense.
How do I hate you? Let me count the ways.
I hate yours ****** attitude, legs and eyes.
Thinking of for you is the baleful reprise.
Now I must away with a pensive heart,
Remember my rammed words whilst we’re apart
Sep 24, 2019
Sep 24, 2019 at 12:31 PM UTC
By:Cedric McClester
They smoke, they drink
And fornicate
Then claim a religion
That they must hate
While trying to form
A new caliphate
Made up of gullible people
Led by an apostate
He’s studied Qu’ran
And got a degree
But routinely misleads
Muslim wannabes
By proselytizing
He makes ‘em agree
With his twisted logic
On how things should be
At the risk of redundancy
Let me restate
What I’ve said before
He’s an apostate
With his own religion
That’s comprised of hate
And most of the uumah
Does not relate
Some call him Sheikh
Other imam
But I call him apostate
Cuz I don't give a ****
Despite all his followers
Who’ve been programmed
Into believing his dogma
See they've just been scammed
Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2015. All rights reserved.
Nov 20, 2015
Nov 20, 2015 at 5:44 PM UTC
but you are human,
and why would i add trembling
a fake to it?
i'd add a cappuccino to it,
and therefore a theft
of the righteous dead - there you
are within a framework
of Ralph Fiennes' acted out,
the oyster that became a spider -
a shelled sheikh on closer inspection
an avaricious dynamo of twins
hiding an expression of one
and hiding the other;
as with ants and Blake and Milton
and Blake - what unearthed be kept
in realm of geology - as stated
the demand of the tooth-fairy -
a prizing to be collected from:
a shadowy contest outlasting a noon?
as that shortening to make knowledge
a privy and thought a pedestrians' walkway?
Apr 25, 2016
Apr 25, 2016 at 10:03 PM UTC
Here love blossoms
Here people come running frankly
Here the head bows in reverence
Here Bengali is the book of poetry.
Here is a fistful of hands in vows to remember the martyrs
Here the Bengali's roared
Such as Ekushey of Bahanna one day
Woke up.
The world has seen a lot of shots
Didn't see the language soaked in blood February!
Hyena's team is so brazen and so barbaric
Kari wants to take her mother's language
Salam-Barkat Rafiq-Shafiq Jabbar
The vigilant guard of the mother tongue poured out the ****** of the chest.
Then a Mujib at the front of the procession
Sheikh Mujib is at the forefront of history
Bengal and Bengali took the lead
Fifty-two sixty-two - we got the demand to survive
The days of seventy-nine fires have come
Bangabandhu got Bengali
Day of release ahead.
In nineteen years, Bengalis took the form of the liberation army
Twenty-one to seventy-one
Mujib gave the call - at the March racecourse
When he heard the shackle-breaking poem
"This time the struggle is for freedom" ...
The fort was built from house to house
The defeated Pak army looked at him with a smirk
The red-green flag flew over the open land of Bengal
The people of Bangladesh chanted the slogan in unison - Joybangla!
The world has never seen such a February, such a March, such a December of victory
Proud Shaheed Minar with red-green flag!
Feb 21, 2021
Feb 21, 2021 at 1:29 AM UTC
the portcullis grinds to a halt
the red, leering cyst Solipsism
tints the looking glass
:blustery,
warm afternoon breeze
smoothes out the crinkling
of the wrinkly overcast soul
as a hurried little sheikh,
an aged caucasian woman
blisters past me
on two be-tighted legs
tensely betwixt
solemnity and nervousness;
i wonder why i hurry everywhere
a man with one full human leg
on crutches
in an astronauts effigy
tripods a very deliberate but rickety path
slowly leaps his spider arms
his cyborg motorcyclists helmet
obstructing none but the least aware
from peering at his character
"*doting on windmills
every day is a partition
the great event; theatre epic,
"Life!"
presenting everything ever,
filtered and engraved
by humanitis
there's you and who you were,
where you've been,
how you're going to be
and in no personal regard
--Psyche is a selection of the universe,
propped up by consciousness.
it exists in no True sense,
but it is as it does
due processes aside.*"
--to paraphrase his silent proclaimation
look into the annals and you may deduce
humanity has made a rather good run of things
we no longer stick each others heads on pikes
or burn women who float at a stake
blot out the eternal sunshine
the well-wishing hypocrite of everymind,
who robs us of choice
hovering the carrot of dreams in place
learn to live through the brimstone rain and choking dust
because volcanoes give birth to islands
Dec 27, 2016
Dec 27, 2016 at 2:13 PM UTC
its easy to wake up when someone loves you
but when youre under the weather under the covers
sleeping only thing that fixes stress now im a mess
leave your heart beating like my sperry on the street
the concrete
tempered
and feet
still feel cheap
from the lack of designer sheikh
wallet empty from the time we spent
dollars is funny if you think about it
nickles pennies and dimes
and i still cant count back the time
5's twenties and tens
we all forgot the about the president
when we facing the Benjamin
Aug 29, 2014
Aug 29, 2014 at 5:41 PM UTC