Damascus Has Grown Feeble
Dragged away,
Run away from her! !
For, i am troubled like the tossing sea which cannot rest;
And, Damascus has grown feeble because,
Terror has seized her.
Glean, dean, wean, clean, lean, mean, bean, Jean;
And like a family without home!
But, who will come and clothe these people?
To and fro by the walls,
To and fro with the bombs,
To and fro with the bullets,
Oh, you who attack Damascus! !
You still trust in your riches but, they will not save you.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
A Damascene Moon
Green Tunisia, I have come to you as a lover
On my brow, a rose and a book
For I am the Damascene whose profession is passion
Whose singing turns the herbs green
A Damascene moon travels through my blood
Nightingales . . . and grain . . . and domes
From Damascus, jasmine begins its whiteness
And fragrances perfume themselves with her scent
From Damascus, water begins . . . for wherever
You lean your head, a stream flows
And poetry is a sparrow spreading its wings
Over Sham . . . and a poet is a voyager
From Damascus, love begins . . . for our ancestors
Worshipped beauty, they dissolved it, and they melted away
From Damascus, horses begin their journey
And the stirrups are tightened for the great conquest
From Damascus, eternity begins . . . and with her
Languages remain and genealogies are preserved
And Damascus gives Arabism its form
And on its land, epochs materialize
poem by Nizar Qabbani
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Moreover
Moreover,
Meanwhile,
Department,
Pegged;
Lean, mean, wean, dean, bean, yean!
Spiced up by an exciting performance from your love,
But come and let us get drenched fully in this muse.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
By What Authority Saul's Plan For Damascus?
After arresting putting these people in prison;
Saul learned about their Christian friends
in Damascus by getting letters from prisoners?
What fate then did Saul desire for Christ's followers?
'I persecuted to the death the people who followed
this Way. I arrested men and women and threw
them into prison. The High Priest and the whole Council
can prove that I am telling the truth. I received
from them letters written to fellow Jews in Damascus,
so I went there to arrest these people and bring
them back in chains to Jerusalem to be punished.' Acts 22: 4-5.
Split imaging from the poem ‘Transformation Inquisition Saul Into Paul Of Tarsus'.
poem by Terence George Craddock
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Ch 07 On The Effects Of Education Story 02
A sage, instructing boys, said to them: ‘O darlings of your fathers, learn a trade because property and riches of the world are not to be relied upon; also silver and gold are an occasion of danger because either a thief may steal them at once or the owner spend them gradually; but a profession is a living fountain and permanent wealth; and although a professional man may lose riches, it does not matter because a profession is itself wealth and wherever he goes he will enjoy respect and sit in high places, whereas he who has no trade will glean crumbs and see hardships:
It is difficult to obey after losing dignity
And to bear violence from men after being caressed.
Once confusion arose in Damascus.
Everyone left his snug corner.
Learned sons of peasants
Became the veziers of padshahs.
Imbecile sons of the veziers
Went as mendicants to peasants.
If you wanted thy father’s inheritance, acquire his knowledge
Because this property of his may be spent in ten days.
Bladesmith Alchemy
He toils over fire fueled by coke
Forging a fine Damascus blade
Coaxes, cajoles, at last invokes
A sacred fire totem…unafraid
The Bladesmith knows;
Salamanders can pass thru fire
Unburnt/unharmed by such heat
A tempered blade its one desire
Lest, this fine sword be incomplete
Thru blade salamander does pass
Pursued by fiery flames from hell
Thru blinding smoke of sulfur gas
Mission done, he bids “farewell”
Revealed here the secret of 'Damascus Steel'
Perfected by one tiny amphibian's ordeal
(Inspired by Howlin Dervish)
ROTMS
poem by Ray Lucero
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
From Saul To Paul
Saul was a very zealous Pharisee, committed to The God of Eternity,
A circumcised Hebrew of Hebrews, opposed to Christ’s Good News,
Saul threatened to murder anyone, who avowed belief in God’s Son,
Fomenting great hatred and strife, against That Way of Jesus Christ.
Those believing in that time and day, were called people of The Way,
Saul then journeyed to Damascus, to arrest believers in Christ Jesus,
On his journey to destroy the Way, the Lord Jesus had words to say,
“Saul, Saul why do you persecute me”, said The Lord of the Pharisee.
This after Saul fell down in fright, all surrounded, by a Heavenly Light,
The men with Saul heard God’s Son, however, those men saw no one,
Telling Saul simply to continue into, Damascus, to be told what to do,
When Saul got up he could not see, and was led by hand into the city.
In the city Saul’s sight was restored, by Ananias a disciple of the Lord,
With hands scales fell from his eyes, through Christ, who he despised;
Yet some disciples were still afraid, because of havoc Saul had made,
But Barnabas a disciple of Christ, encourages Saul about his New Life.
God can save and change anyone, who comes to Christ, His Only Son,
Just as He changed Saul of Tarsus, to become an instrument of Jesus,
Christ’s Light, to the gentile world, as The Good News, he would herald,
No longer would he be called Saul, but now for Christ, the Apostle Paul.
(Copyright ©04/2011)
Five Letters To My Mother
Good morning sweetheart.
Good morning my Saint of a sweetheart.
It has been two year mother
since the boy has sailed
on his mythical journey.
Since he hid within his luggage
the green morning of his homeland
and her stars, and her streams,
and all of her red poppy.
Since he hid in his cloths
bunches of mint and thyme,
and a Damascene Lilac.
*
I am alone.
The smoke of my cigarette is bored,
and even my seat of me is bored
My sorrows are like flocking birds looking for a grain field in season.
I became acquainted with the women of Europe,
I became acquainted with their tired civilization.
I toured India, and I toured China,
I toured the entire oriental world,
and nowhere I found,
a Lady to comb my golden hair.
A Lady that hides for me in her purse a sugar candy.
A lady that dresses me when I am naked,
and lifts me up when I fall.
Mother: I am that boy who sailed,
and still longes to that sugar candy.
So how come or how can I, Mother,
become a father and never grow up.
*
Good morning from Madrid.
How is the 'Fullah'?
I beg you to take care of her,
That baby of a baby.
She was the dearest love to Father.
He spoiled her like his daughter.
He used to invite her to his morning coffee.
He used to feed her and water her,
and cover her with his mercy.
And when he died,
She always dreamt about his return.
She looked for him in the corners of his room.
She asked about his robe,
and asked about his newspaper,
and asked, when the summer came,
about the blue color of his eyes,
so that she can throw within his palms,
her golden coins.
*
I send my best regards
to a house that taught us love and mercy.
To your white flowers,
the best in the neighborhood.
To my bed, to my books,
to all of the kids in the alley.
To all of these walls we covered
with noise from our writings.
To the lazy cat sleeping on the balcony.
To the lilac climbing bush the neighbor's window.
It has been two long years, Mother,
with the face of Damascus being like a bird,
digging within my conscience,
biting at my curtains,
and picking, with a gentle beak, at my fingers.
It has been two years Mother,
since the nights of Damascus,
the odors of Damascus,
the houses of Damascus,
have been inhabiting our imagination.
The pillar lights of her mosques,
have been guiding our sails.
As if the pillars of the Amawi,
have been planted in our hearts.
As if the orchards are still perfuming our conscience.
As if the lights and the rocks,
have all traveled with us.
*
This is September, Mother,
and here is sorrow bringing me his wrapped gifts.
Leaving at my window his tears and his concerns.
This is September, where is Damascus?
Where is Father and his eyes.
Where is the silk of his glances,
and where is the aroma of his coffee.
May God bless his grave.
And where is the vastness of our large house,
and where is its comfort.
And where is the stairwell laughing at the tickles of blooms,
and where is my childhood.
Draggling the tail of the cat,
and eating from the grape vine,
and snipping from the lilac.
**
Damascus, Damascus,
what a poem we wrote within our eyes.
What a pretty child that we crucified.
We kneeled at her feet,
and we melted in her passion,
until, we killed her with love.
poem by Nizar Qabbani
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Viva Mas
Drop Bars not Bombs
Make Chai not War
Baseball not Bombs
Books not Bombs
Make Love not War
Drop Tuition Not Bombs
Blondes not Bombs
Beats not Bombs
Drop Class not Bombs
Make Art not War
Flowers not Bombs
Food not Bombs
Make Levees not War
Drop Seeds not Bombs
Bread not Bombs
Beauty not Bombs
Drop Television not Bombs
Make Solidarity not War
Build Trust not Bombs
Bring back Food
Boycott Banks
Bring Life not War
Make Tracks not War
and this is the way the long road Ends Not with a bang but a whimper
poem by Jerome Moore
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Conversion for me was not a Damascus Road experience. I slowly moved into an intellectual acceptance of what my intuition had always known.
quote by Madeleine L'Engle
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Conflicts Of The Mind
Many a person thought insane
Is often void of care
Not always are life’s conflicts plain
Nor strategies laid bare
The devil’s still a lying cheat
He’ll occupy the mind
Manipulating most discreet
The feeble lost and blind
We need to know we need to see
Discern a servant’s rights
Believe The Lord for victory
Not lose with darkness fights
Yet though The Truth’s in black on white
Too seldom is it read
So seldom does man put to flight
The one who’d strike us dead
Best lean on God o troubled soul
Trust God you faint of heart
Trust Christ to save to make you whole
And set from harm apart
While Satan’s out to cheat and kill
Trust Jesus’ true report
Pay heed to God and Heaven’s will
Take capture every thought
Put on the armour of The Lord
Put on the helm of light
Take up in hand your trusted sword
And breast plate shining bright
Come to The Lord sweet suffering child
Trust in His Christ and Son
Turn from your sin be reconciled
And see life’s battle won
poem by Michael P. Johnson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Damascus
Set up places for yourselves in Damascus,
For my lover is like two small flocks of goats;
And i am ready to market my wares with you all.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Kiss, The Reply - Parody Austin DOBSON A Kiss
I kissed Rose right back
like that, without sorrow,
and a pat on the back
showing on the right track
was my rapid attack
I received on the morrow: -
so why would she pack
and the taxi fare borrow?
3 August 1991
Coppers Killed Me
Coppers killed me when we met,
jumping on the tube I sat in;
Magistrate, who loves to get
treats into your list, put that in!
Say I fought the terror fad,
say that “conscience clear” describes me,
say you’re growing old, don’t add, -
Coppers missed me!
Coppers killed me when we met,
hitting on the seat I sat in;
Acting circumstantial bet
eight hits, three misses, put that in!
Say I sought no terror fad,
say that “from bombs free” describes me,
say I’m growing cold, don’t add, -
Coppers killed me!
../..
Error wracks me today,
terror tracks you tomorrow,
let it be as it may,
pain from plain clothes turned grey.
Should tomorrow replay
such a savour of sorrow: -
what for you, safe today, -
is in store for tomorrow?
I could never fire back
like that, without sorrow,
and eight bullets through back
showed after attack
on the Stockwell tube track.
The report on the morrow: -
was on the wrong tack
did from fantasy borrow!
Terror slew me today,
error you risk tomorrow!
Violence came into play
which my life did waylay -
do you share the dismay
at what might come tomorrow?
There’ll be devil to pay
what excuse will YOU borrow?
August 15 2005
poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Going Nowhere
This is what you offer me,
A system of dishonesty,
Where life is measured, monetarily,
And I'm just another face.
Another man with the simple skills,
Of staying alive, and paying the bills
I'll Never amount to anything,
Live and die where I've always been.
This is where I'm at, the bills
Still come no matter what,
I'm all grown up, but still I'm going' nowhere
I'm all grown up, but still I'm going' nowhere
Uneducated, though I graduated,
Wish I would have been a little more dedicated,
And got something out of school,
Instead of always playing the fool.
But even if I did for just one day,
Had all the right words that I wanted to say,
It wouldn't make any difference anyway,
Cause no-one's listening
This is where I'm at, the bills
Still come no matter what,
I'm all grown up, but still I'm going' nowhere
I'm all grown up, but still I'm going' nowhere
So save your words,
Just save your words,
Cause I don't care anymore,
So save your words,
Just save your words,
Cause I don't care anymore,
So save your words,
Just save your words,
Cause I don't care anymore,
So save your words,
Just save your words,
Cause I don't care any-more,
My father worked his life away,
In all those years he never missed a day,
There isn't anybody that could say,
He didn't keep his bills paid.
All that time, he never got to do,
All the things in life that he wanted to,
He always kept his family fed,
With the blood and sweat he shed.
With the sacrifice he's made,
This is how he gets repaid,
I'm all grown up, but still I'm going' nowhere
I'm all grown up, but still I'm going' nowhere
song performed by by Zero Down
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Coppers Killed Me
Coppers killed me when we met,
jumping on the tube I sat in;
Magistrate, who loves to get
treats into your list, put that in!
Say I fought the terror fad,
say that “conscience clear” describes me,
say you’re growing old, don’t add, -
Coppers missed me!
Coppers killed me when we met,
hitting on the seat I sat in;
Acting circumstantial bet
eight hits, three misses, put that in!
Say I sought no terror fad,
say that “from bombs free” describes me,
say I’m growing cold, don’t add, -
Coppers killed me!
Error wracks me today,
terror tracks you tomorrow,
let it be as it may,
pain from plain clothes turned grey.
Should tomorrow replay
such a savour of sorrow: -
what for you, safe today, -
is in store for tomorrow?
I could never fire back
like that, without sorrow,
and eight bullets through back
showed after attack
on the Stockwell tube track.
The report on the morrow: -
was on the wrong tack
did from fantasy borrow!
Terror slew me today,
error you risk tomorrow!
Violence came into play
which my life did waylay -
do you share the dismay
at what might come tomorrow?
There’ll be devil to pay
what excuse will YOU borrow?
August 15 2005
poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
This is not a family
This is not a family...
No not to me... a family is people who are there for you they are the people that you trust to make sure your okay they are the people that believe in you and they are the people who will never lie to you and always be honest
This is not a family...
For a family its pretty sad to think we treat one another as nothing talk to eachother as if we dont care for one another and backstab and walk on one another because we can
This is not a family...
I use to think i had it good till i grew up and relized family shouldnt bring eachother down... family shouldnt make you cry... family shouldnt make you think you will be nothing and stay nothing for....
This is not a family...
Instead its just a sad excuse of people who put up with eachother not because they want to but because they have to... for this family that i have i hope that all of you will soon relize before its too late that i love my family... and i believe in my family... and that even though my household is not right at all... i know that i will become something... not because you make me think i cant... its because i believe in myself and with that i know i will someday do great things...
FOR this is not a family...
but it is my family
poem by Andrea Thanasas
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
My Home
My home
Where is my home
My home is not about
These walls of bricks
My home is not
A mansion full of riches
My home is not where
People of the same skin lives
But where i will find
Peace, love and harmony
Where i will find
A better destiny
Where do freedom lives
Here or there
Then that is my home
poem by Matt Ancient
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
When Will I Be Free?
When will i be free without these bombs around me?
When will i be free from these wars around me?
When will i be free without these dead bodies around me?
For the bullets and the bombs are killing my people in Libya!
And in don't know when they will be free from all these! !
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Catch Me If You Can
Jean, jean, jeanie, catch me if you can
Jean, jean, jeanie, catch me if you can
Do ya, do ya really wanna try, ohh my...
Jean, jean, jeanie, catch me if you can
Jean, jean, jeanie, catch me if you can
Do ya, do ya really wanna try, my, my, my...
Sweet magicians daughter, weaving spells my way
You know I want to be with you, but magic words are all you say
Jean, jean, jeanie, catch me if you can
Jean, jean, jeanie, catch me if you can
Do ya, do ya really wanna try, my, my...
Merlins magic daughter, I know thats what you are
Im playing magic games with you, its easier to guide a star
Jean, jean, jeanie, catch me if you can
Jean, jean, jeanie, catch me if you can
Do ya, do ya really wanna try, my...woo
Magic lady waiting, your palace walls are tall
I can wait forever, but Im climbing up the palace wall
Jean, jean, jeanie, catch me if you can
Jean, jean, jeanie, catch me if you can
Do ya, do ya really wanna try, ohhh, my, my, my, my...
Jean, jean, jeanie, catch me if you can
Jean, jean, jeanie, catch me if you can
Do ya, do ya really wanna try, my...
song performed by by Rick Springfield
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Walls
Walls of stone and walls of brick,
Some walls thin and some walls thick,
Walls so high and walls so low,
Walls to hide and walls to show.
Walls quite short and walls quite tall,
Some walls, last well, some walls fall,
Walls for comfort, walls of hate,
Walls for security, walls ornate.
Some as a barricade, some to support,
Walls of wood and walls of iron wrought,
Walls as a barrier, walls to enclose,
Some are to sit on, some to lean and doze.
Walls we build ourselves, these aren't good,
Walls for privacy, walls that have stood,
So many years through weather foul or fine,
Walls, that are yours, walls that are mine.
Brick by brick they are built to last,
Whether built now or in the past,
They shelter us from so many things,
And shield us from whatever this life brings.
poem by Ernestine Northover
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!