"sudanese" poems
She’s underhand throwing words with her mouth
The boy leans in past natural borders, to study the agenda in her eyes
He is built like a bent paperclip,
with bottlebrush forelocks, a barracuda jaw.
Between her bare legs, she gently squeezes
a cup of iced hibiscus tea.
She reaches down and lifting it to her lips,
I feel mine part, in thirsting sympathy…
Her upper thighs blush wet with condensation as
The boys eager fingers click on her knee,
like ice cubes in her sweating berry hibiscus,
floral melt cascades down her throat.
Fairy breath lands on my shoulders - my silk overcoat
It makes me dissolve with memory
of my beloved tea picker,
a cocoa skinned Sudanese girl
traveling the road to market in Al-Junaynah,
swaying in the truck bed under a warm sun,
dreaming of red karkadeh flowers
and a paper clip boy.
Sep 25, 2014
Sep 25, 2014 at 9:37 AM UTC
We sat,
******* the shreds
Of chicken
From our teeth,
In a cloud of smoke
From tempers flared
That burned to the quick.
The record spun,
The needle stuck
In the endless
Circle groove
At the disc's
Center, but
Neither of us
Moved.
We didn't change
The record,
We didn't
Shut the
Player off.
We sat,
And watched our
Fingers and toes
Evaporate.
We looked on
As the
Room dissolved,
We made no pleas,
Or any noise at all
As our world
Was erased.
In the eggshell light
Of our rebirth
The seasons passed,
With no attention
Paid, like
Sudanese children,
Left to collect sunlight
In the pores of their flesh,
Are ignored
By their God.
The air was a sea
Of vibrations,
Writhing and alive
In the periphery
Of our perceptions.
Do you remember
How it felt to
Be reconstructed?
Cell by cell
We came together,
Our blood vessels
And lymphatic tunnels
Wove through
Tendrils of bone
And wisps of
***** tissue,
Our nerves snaked
Their way through
The jungle of our
New-found existence,
A supercomputer
Materialized within
Each of us,
And they began
Discovering themselves
And each other.
We had arrived prematurely,
And our flames
Were snuffed out
In the claustrophobic
Incubators.
Here we now sit,
White noise
Filling the void,
Waiting for
Something we'll
Never see
Come to be,
But can't avoid.
Oct 26, 2012
Oct 26, 2012 at 11:54 PM UTC
Although I haven't witnessed
Darfur's eyes run red.
Rivers full of skeletons,
and bodies torn and bled.
I've read about the pigment
of fearful hearts so lost.
A dreaded world within a world;
there are no lines to cross.
Money paid for power.
Power, bodies, bills.
The Janjaweed at noon,
are cleansing for their drills.
Washing down stern orders
with blood on unclean hands.
Babies and their mothers
decomposing in sand.
Weapons worn like diamonds.
Lust and **** colliding.
Torture becomes normalcy.
Living only hiding.
So long as Omar al-Bashir
sees families as roaches,
death is understated.
In greed, he people-poaches.
Pity is for damsels
parading in a tide
of much needed attention
with ego on the side.
To you, my friend
who listens, but fails to comprehend:
Those who live for nothing
are nothing in the end,
I ask you, pray for Sudanese
fed horrors for their lunch,
their bones becoming rubble,
under tires they will crunch.
Dec 1, 2014
Dec 1, 2014 at 1:49 PM UTC
In the garden in Corniche
In the playground bound by a metal fence,
While the Arab teenage kicks the ball,
The feet of the Sudanese, sitting on the stone bench nearby
Start prickling;
Cries out that
For one who knows how to score goals,
The hunger to kick a ball
Is the ultimate one!
Me? I shall remain nameless!
The fisherman
Whose whole body tingles
As he espies a shiver of gigantic sharks
Even while swimming for life,
Having lost his boat and fishing net in the deluge,
The nun, whose ******* start secreting
As she watches a bawling baby,
Standing amidst toddlers of the nursery
The swimmer,
Who crawls through the desert
On camel-back
I do not ask for anything else
Just the ball and the opposition
Let a thousand, or tens of thousands come,
Let the goal-mouth
Be miles distant,
I do not ask for anything else
Once, while carrying a load of cement
On the tenth floor,
For a moment,
A moment,
The sun tempted, as a huge ball.
The scar of the beating received
While dribbling the sun on the sky meadow
Remains on the back..
There are ***** anyone can play with.
No, all surges ahead
Do not end in goals.
There are no games that do not have ‘foul’ -
Even in dreams.
There are no Arab children
In the playground now.
Jut the ball, ball, ball alone.
It scurries hither and thither
By itself,
Races outside,
Speeds towards the goal-mouth,
Sometimes ducks out of sight.
Very privately,
And even more secretly,
Ball smiled at me.
A shudder of incarnations
In my toes.
As soon as the ball and feet
Left the playground,
Two legs
Started dancing,
Betwixt twilight and night.
Oct 1, 2013
Oct 1, 2013 at 12:57 AM UTC
My beautiful Sudan
A proud Sudanese man and Sudan
Is truly beautiful and courageous
And strong feel the happiness
And love in Sudan all day long but sadly
The world has changed and so has our Beautiful Sudan and I'll watch you from far Away and I'm so scared for you all and I'll
Stop will pray for those who are suffering today
That this painful war will end tonight and I'm Sending love to everyone who's
Hurt and has passed away
In Sudan so try to keep safe and warm and Guide yourself through this horrible storm,
And when I think of
Sudan I'm filled with pride
And the love deep inside my
Heart and I shed a tear
For our brothers and sisters who've died and
The wind is blowing like a hurricane into the Frightening sights of war
And we all miss our home
Land and wish and pray you wouldn't fight Anymore so please think of me and
I'll be your light and I'll pray for everyone who's
Suffering in Sudan every day,
And so try and be strong I'm here for you all Day long and trust in yourself you'll know what To do I've seen bullets flying in Khartoum and
Our children are dying brave mother's crying And our men lay dead in streets and Sudan is Weeping spilling our children's blood
And I hope I'll see you all soon and we can be Free and be happy Sudanese people you and Me and when this ****** war is truly over and We all come home and we'll live forever in perfect harmony.
David P Carroll.
Apr 24, 2023
Apr 24, 2023 at 4:26 AM UTC
I watched you shudder
pick up a sweater off of the floor
drink from a bottle--
then slide across the couch
wars raged on--
and I faked an excuse
to stand up
miners were stuck deep in earth
and I sat down and put my arm around you
sudanese children were ravaged
and I looked into your eyes--
you laughed at my blemishes
then went to the bathroom
I was hurt deeply--
I thought
I'd deal with all the suffering in the world
if I could avoid all the **** that was going on now.
I got up--
poured myself a glass of water
and drank it down--
I listened to the toilet flush
Oct 24, 2010
Oct 24, 2010 at 11:14 AM UTC
These days everyone’s caught up in catch phrases,
well not everyone but most,
no one’s got time to read the whole thing anymore,
well not no one but most,
here we go,
strap in your seatbelt,
or ride recklous out the sunroof,
ride clean or ride *****
this days Spoofs sell more than Truths,
youths with boots worth more than that of the life of a Sudanese child troop,
everyone wants to be a Chamillionaire,
well not everyone but most,
everyone wants to be Tupac with the Juice,
well not everyone but most,
here we go,
on the ride of a lifetime,
where you get off in your free time till you ultimately get off,
see we all get on with nothing but a one way ticket,
on this roller derby coaster until it’s over and we get off,
like Casey Jones high on ******* a conductor on this Train of Thought,
everyone wants to be on the scene as an American Gangster in this American Dream that we’ve got,
well not everyone but most,
everyone wants to sell their Soul or at least trade it for Fame but everything can’t be bought,
well not everyone but most,
here we go,
trying to not speak in riddles,
because He’s a genius as long as people understand His words,
no time for nonsense on this conquest to conquer the constant combat in contests,
in fact I’d like to erase the whole idea of Contests and Contesters,
I must confess Sir that I do protest our constant fetish for Obsessors and their obsessions,
everyone wants to be Instagram famous,
well not everyone but most,
everyone want to feel better than everyone else,
well not everyone but most,
here we go,
we’re at the point in the Piece where I try and prove my point,
where I try and come up with a catchy catch phrase,
where I try and bring it all back around so you get the chills,
but honestly my vision’s starting to fade and I forgot what I was going to say,
and that’s okay because I don’t think anyone cares anymore anyways,
because theses days everyone’s caught up in catch phrases,
well not everyone but most,
no one’s got time to read the whole thing anymore,
well not none but most,
anyways never mind either way ready or not here we go…
∆ Aaron LA Lux ∆
Mar 16, 2017
Mar 16, 2017 at 8:48 PM UTC
the proof of the soul is evident with a continuation of the Einstein particle, from theory into practice - the proof is short-lived, the indestructible attache of man lingers on, his the soul, democratically a medium of revision and certainty - improved instruments of investigation, the purity of reasoning later meddling with the senses of other's being given certainty: σ (total) - ¼ = σ (¾, i.e. remnant and electron cloud symbiosis of partaking in Gemini simultaneous coordination) - the thunder and lightning, a 747 and the delay vacuum cleaner "echo" - on a less grander scale plumber's apprenticeships - perhaps less grand, but therefore all the more necessary, zenith of self-worth, rather than god-worth, audacity on the dance-floor and no prim-cut hopes kneeling in a church for added fancy to desire clemency.
i do believe the Hindu polytheistic theory of reincarnation exists -
but in no way related to the resurrection of σ -
a totality of a person - whatever given characteristics in total,
i mean replicating mannerisms
as a form of adaptability will only make
a clone a clone on paper (in theory),
but the original experienced whatever
environment was to be experienced -
to have a true clone would also mean
replicating the environment,
and that's impossible - in science as in
nature we're susceptible to ungovernable
forces - a tornado uproots a mid-western
house and juggles it about like a boxer -
a tsunami and the sun with its 5,000 starving
Sudanese children - whatever -
but reincarnation does exist in a different
psychological medium, in the id - the shortened
version / unit of ideas - it it it or that that that -
ideas are resurrected or reincarnated (passed on)
all the time - i can understand a Hindu
in only this reality - not in the reality of an
entirety of the individual and the environment
for the individual's individuation -
an idea can be resurrected - there's always
continuity in philosophy, whereas history sees
disconnected events due to it's prime tool as a hope
for averting them (hindsight), philosophy in historical
terms is always a seance of connectivity - lubrication,
evolution, adding to, saving up, discharge, mid-life crisis.
i can't understand the Hindu concept of reincarnation
when it comes to people - each adapted and each
an ongoing process - ideas can be reincarnated -
by egos? not really.
Jul 14, 2016
Jul 14, 2016 at 8:19 PM UTC
I. From a Vietnamese / Cambodian / Egyptian / Israeli / Lebanese /
Sudanese / Syrian / Afghan Child’s Garden of Verses
Flare light
Flare bright
First flare I see tonight
I wish I may
I wish I might
Not be blown to death tonight
II. From an American Man’s Twooter of Self-Pity
Subtle beep
Subtle beep
‘wakening me from my sleep -
Oh, no! I’m going to die!
Not meeeeeee! Don’t wanna fry!
It’s all about ME – boo-hoo!
Poor ME! Poor ME! I’m gonna SUE!
Jan 15, 2018
Jan 15, 2018 at 4:29 PM UTC
Today, Geneva is sharing air.
But it is deeper in the sea.
Month of the month orange.
Napa moved towards the water.
And Yang says: "Now you are connected,
I go, I love you, My future is coming,
some people want." The real person
who wants to secure his work.
Christina Tzirica, white white land.
And Didis tells about weight loss.
Arabs and billions of billions of yuta.
The stories of Sinbad and the eastern
tip of Iran. Over time jigagotiya copper
and pillow, Iran, This is against
the source code. Thousands of works
are third. Read the entire organization.
Urter matrix and cellular structure.
The difference between the calendar
and the type of landscape is,
It comes out, it is not clear on the white sheets.
Uganda is like an old sugar jar.
The White Church represents the region.
Power is always provided to partners.
The money you paid for your trip.
To complete Mesopotamia from the
pyramid, The animals and the earth
are connected to the earth. This is Girpat
and Bell. Simple research among
the monks. Earth and sky and earth.
There are too many windows
To become bigger and bigger.
Eliacake of the ancient city of Macedonia.
Unfortunately, at work, more than 90
[9 minutes]. High but archaeological
finds. They relate to different colors,
Beautiful temples are being replaced.
Who is registered? The next color
reaches until it reaches another.
List The pages you created
The document has been used.
Yard (flank) on the pages
of your name. Maximum height
in zigzag. Taituki, name immediately,
Part time and "cover" translation.
It works first with the initial
accumulation. In the 4th century AD
In the 13th century. It is true that
in a thousand years. And locally. Old
Germans will be built Sudanese Indians
Nurses and naked women are women
Mar 11, 2019
Mar 11, 2019 at 3:00 AM UTC