Exeter Too? ! But America Wins
While I was walking
In your calm lay
Beside that bay,
Tears were dropping
Like a shower or rain,
My eyes could not
Stop or Hold;
Can a dove control
A group of hawks.
Its time for
A final farewell, then,
Well…they say:
History repeats itself.
Betrayal was the end
Of my Love for you;
I truly loved you
Believing you are clean
From the inside
As the outside
And all of your
People as well;
But that's the mistake
Of the so romantic
Poet inside me,
For there are good
And bad people
Every where
And in any place.
The Qur'an never
Generalize about people
Even about disbelievers
And so should
The believers do.
But…well….History
Repeats itself,
I remembered
Lawrence of Arabia
He seemed clean to Arabia's
Naïve Nations then,
He came to the Arab's
Land that was full
Of ignorance then,
After studying their
Weak points and
Shortcomings, Pretending
He is a friend
To create problems;
To arouse more
Enmity between them,
To pave the way
For the invaders
To have control
On the wealth and
The land as well.
To some British
He was a hero,
To others, he was
A good spy,
To the Arabs
He was just a liar,
Malice was his way,
Some British people
Put him on a pedestal
And made a memorial
For him, and some did
Not like him,
Their valuesPrevented
Them from accepting
His deception and lies,
To the Arabs
He does not
Deserve to be
Mentioned and
Might be in
The garbage of History
Of their weak past
Which is changing fast
As the nature of days is.
Arabs lost their glory,
When they misunderstood
The essence of their Faith.
As a result they were
Controlled after they
Controlled most of the world.
But their weak past
Is changing fast
As the nature of days is.
Some people who
Lived in Exeter
A bunch of the so called
Friends or rather
Intellectual mates
Wanted to hurt me;
To destroy me
My being full of life
Full of Faith
Full of enthusiasm
For my work,
Was too much for them
To Take;
It hurts hauteur
To see different
But good beings
In other nations,
How could I be
So different but good,
How dare I be out
Of the frame
Of the stereotype:
The matrix
They designed
To imprison the Arabs;
How could I be
Religious but open,
Intellectual but
Not complicated
So shamelessly
They lied about my work
About the goodness
Of my writing;
Just because I'm a believer
In a different way,
They talk about democracy;
Ideas in the air,
With no application
Especially with the OTHER ones:
I rarely believe in conspiracy,
But it was a conspiracy after all;
Every contradiction says so,
They said they are impressed
But I can't continue with them,
Finally they said:
I should leave because
I was sick,
Well I am sick of
The deception of
The politics of the WEST.
Yet America opened
A door for me,
And I remembered
An English proverb:
When the Lord
Closes the door
He somehow
Opens the window.
London
2007
poem by Nadia Abduljabbar
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Related quotes
Whose Country Is This?
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of snakes;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of many waters;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of thieves! !
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of people;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of oil;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of earthquakes!
Whose country is this?
it is a land full of lovers;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of volcanoes!
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of beautiful flowers;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of hansome men;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of beautiful women;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of roses;
Whose country is this?
it is a land ruled only by men;
Whose country is this?
It is a land without rainfall;
Whose country is this?
It is a land ruled by a woman;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of corruption!
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of pirates! !
Whose country is this?
It is a land ruled by law;
Whose country is this?
It is a land controlled by rebels!
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of ice;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of pregnant women;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of the sins of Sodom and Gomorrah!
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of singers;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of troubles;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of war! !
Whose country is this?
It is a land with the biggest cemetery in the wolrd!
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of desert;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of trees;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of pregnant teenagers!
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of timber;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of hatred;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of love;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of care;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of peace;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of smokers!
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of businesses;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of harlots;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of wise people;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of idiots!
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of gold;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of cocoa;
Whose country is this?
It is a alnd full of crabs;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of evil;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of rainfalls;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of ants;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of horses;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of pigs;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of statues;
Whose country is this?
it is a land full of birds;
And so on, and so forth!
Because nature had made them so as we see them around us,
But the wise and fool live together on this earth.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Reality.
There are good people and bad people in this world.
People who create crimes and the people who stop crimes.
People who start fires and the people who put them out.
People who inflict injuries and people who fix them.
Villians who destroy the world and Superheroes who save the world.
It's scary to think life isn't like the movies.
Good doesn't always prevail at the time.
But, I believe that Good always prevails eventually.
The Winners Write History.
poem by Michaela Cooper
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Look What The Good People Done
They were drinkin his wine
They were usin his name
They were takin the time to take
His name in vain
Look what the good people done to him
Look what the good people done to him
They were havin their fun
Look what the good people done
Well, the good people say things that they
Dont really mean
They look so convincing cause theyre
So squeaky clean
Look what the good people done to him
Look what the good people done to him
Its a million to one
Look what the good people done
They (? put him on walkin down ? ), they said,
Lets go on with the show
And they pad him on whiskey and say, boy,
Youve got to go
Look what the good people done to him
Look what the good people done to him
Hes (? on the highway ? ) to none
Look what the good people done
All the newspaper men
They were lookin for names
Pulled him out of a hat
They needed someone to blame
Look what the good people done to him
Look what the good people done to him
He thought he was the one
Look what the good people done
Well, the good people say,
Keep your nose to the ground
Then theyll build you right up
Just to knock you right down
Look what the good people done to you
Look what the good people done to you
They were gettin their kicks
Look what the good people nixed
[spoken - here we go]
Look what the good people done to me
Look what the good people done to me
Look what the good people done to me
Look what the good people done to me
They were havin no fun
Look what the good people done
song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A nice person
´He was nice person and down to earth”
‘Good people depart early and still there is no dearth”?
“He was choosey in life and did no harm”
“He lived full life with enthusiasm and charm”
Some of the comments were heard when my close friend died
He lived exactly the opposite and on almost all the occasions lied
I failed to understand the value of comments passed on individual
Is it customary to pass words which in all the sense are dual?
I have almost witnessed the same scene
There may be unpleasant things to be seen
People will be offering their condolences
I may still be customary to site many instances
No one takes this occasion very lightly
We may notice some differences slightly
It is not appropriate gesture or tribute
It helps a lot to express the gratitude
Person is remembered at his departure
He might have not earned for his future
The last rites might improve his public standing
His contribution might be remembered as outstanding
We find some of the people still fearing the death
They are afraid of wrong comments or wrath
It puts them under constant fear and pressure
They do nice work at the end to make it sure
Some of the good work is definitely appreciated
It is openly advocated and stated
This brings some of the his fine work to the knowledge
It might have been his ultimate goal before his demise to manage
People may call him as true son of the land
His contribution is clearly seen on hand
He might have proved to some people as good friend
This is how he earns respect at the end
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Y... Garbage Man
Become a garbage man
Every day, just for a minute
Search for some litter
Pick up some garbage
Where ever you can
Don't stoop down.
Not good for the back
Just sit on your heels
Stay squatted and look up
It gives you a special perspective
Pick up a hand full
Walk to the bin
Not the nearest
The walking is exercise
Good for your body
So, become a garbage man
It can give you perspective
It is good for your body
It is good for the world
Just a hand full per day.
-
Note:
Garbage men really deserve ou full respect.
I got the idea to write this piece when I was picking up a handful of garbage from the beach. I thought if there more people picking up garbage than people throwing garbage, littering would no longer be a problem.
I hope in this poem there is nothing disrespectful of garbage men. They really do a great job en deserve our respect as much as doctors and lawyers deserve our respect (as indicated in the comments by unwritten soul below)
poem by Aufie Zophy
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Touchdowns and Fumbles
My poetry teacher tells me he isn’t a poet
He just writes poetry
I tell him I want to transfer out immediately
He shouldn’t be teaching
I mean anyone can write poetry
And if you say you write it good but aren’t a poet
Than you’re an arrogant prick
Give me a poet to learn from
Good or not, they still stand by their writing
While people who write poetry are weak.
Standing behind what people believe is good
And tossing away what people don’t like
A football player takes it all with him.
Touchdowns and fumbles, passes and interceptions
While couches talk about years when they
Were the best, but forget about all the others.
I can’t learn from a poetry writer
I need to know the mistakes and shortcomings
Or else history is damned to repeat itself in me
Give me a poet any day.
poem by Reyes Suarez
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The same people live...the same people die
The same people live, the same people die,
the same people laugh, the same people cry,
as they push on through, life's open door,
the old and the young, the rich and the poor.
The same people love, the same people hate,
the skeptics of heaven, the mockers of fate,
some use the gun, some just don't choose,
the proud and the vain, they win and they lose.
Death takes them all, the end's all the same,
no one can help us, cause no one's to blame,
When the door shuts and the bright lights go dim,
We all follow the same path and we all go to Him.
The same people live, the same people die,
Some still find wealth, while others get by,
the weak and the strong, the slow and the fast,
alone on life's journey, they all stumble past.
It's been this way, since the beginning of time,
To live...it's a joy, to die...it's a crime,
and still, we question and still, we ask why?
The same people live...the same people die.
poem by David Lessard
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God, is this the world you have created?
1-The minds full of lust
The minds full of lies
2-The world full of darkness
The world full of dirts
3-The world full of people like you like me
Using beautiful words when we need
4-The world full of injustice
Both in West and East
5-The world full of women who have lost their purity
For earning property
6-The world full of hate
In each time, in each date
7-So many racism, so many contempt
So many people who always pretend
8-GOD,
Is this the world you created
9-GOD,
I am sick and tired of living
there haven't been anything interesting
for me on your earth
poem by Nader Baheri
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Atomic War
War!
The final ending to fights and control of others,
War!
Is war,
And comes with,
Such grave situations,
Of:
Victims first,
That brings in armed forces,
To defend and free,
Those,
That are oppressed and held down,
In suppression to others of nations,
Or,
Controller of peoples,
For:
Wanting their resources,
For their own nations,
Wants and needs,
And power and greed.
For,
Freedom comes with a price,
When freedom is denied or taken,
From people,
Of deprived nations,
Where no freedom reigns,
For,
Fighting for freedom,
Causes,
So much death,
And leaves places in ruins,
Fighting for freedom,
Comes with such a heavy price,
War!
War breaks out,
And soldiers,
Of,
Hired guns become,
Guards of borders,
And,
Settlers of issues,
To protect and guard,
The people,
The places of war,
War!
Caused by,
The disputes of control,
While,
Up in the skies,
The skies so far above,
Where,
Planes and jet fighters.
Have,
Atomic control,
And when ordered,
It is activated,
Activated by nuclear waves,
Of radio transmissions,
Sent to set frequency controlled,
Activated by nuclear waves,
Of nuclear fusion,
Of man made nuclear,
With,
Mercury and patens,
Designed to,
Activate the nuclear physics,
Of,
Atom bombs,
Atomic War!
War!
Nowadays,
Atomic war,
Is,
The final frontier of ending what cannot be stop.
Supremacy on peoples,
When one kind wants to be just,
That kind,
And forcing assilimation,
On other nations,
So,
All look like,
And be like,
What they are,
And from,
So,
Those that cry freedom,
In their right,
For,
Freedom in choice,
Must leave,
Or,
Be destroyed,
In their own homeland,
By,
Genocides!
That,
Cause,
War!
Everywhere,
You look these days,
And everywhere,
You read of past history,
There is a truth,
In all the nations,
That just want,
What they want,
Regardless,
Of the other nations,
Just like in,
World War 2,
Which,
Brought about,
That first bang,
Of that,
First,
Atomic bomb,
The one launched,
That,
Hit Japan, ,
By,
The push of a button,
So many still remember,
The ending of,
World War 2,
Now,
Today,
Its what it is all about,
Nuclear war,
And so many that say it,
War!
War!
War!
Now,
Take a look at the world today,
Even,
Our waters and nature is disturbed,
Just like us all,
In races,
Of nations,
And,
Civilisations,
Today in Science,
They are all told,
To get more nuclear!
More nuclear in physics,
For war pays,
And the spoils of war?
Is another nations gain,
So,
In the results,
The People,
The Places,
The Planet,
All suffer,
Where,
Soon,
All will know,
Not to say this,
Or not to say that,
For leaders of nations,
Have proven to us lately,
That all that is said,
And all that is done,
Cannot be unsaid,
Cannot be undone,
However,
It is what is causing,
War!
War all over the power seeking world.
poem by Ellen Ni Bheachain
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I came to declare that I am a friend to Arabs, at a time when it is not easy to be friend to Arabs, because nowadays those who have ambitions and interests would not befriend Arab.
quote by George Galloway
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Denial
Our greatest weakness.
Is called denial.
Defending our faults.
Like living on trial.
From weakness comes strength.
Abandon all fear.
Confront all you are.
Make flaws disappear.
Make God your leader.
His spirit your guide.
Turn your wrongs into rights.
Changing you from inside.
We all lack the faith.
From the greatness He brings.
We are denying The One.
To ourselves we do cling.
We embrace the creation.
Not the creator himself.
This lie, it will rob you.
From a life full of wealth.
His life is abundance.
Our lives are deceit.
We deny what is good.
We live in defeat.
We look in the mirror.
Yet a window is clear.
We deny what He offers.
Pride's what we hold dear.
The world offers no answers.
But we continue to seek.
Solutions to questions.
From those just as weak.
We think He gets angry.
When we make our mistakes.
But in fact He is crying.
As he watches us break.
He just wants to fix us.
Like a good father would.
But we do what we want.
And not what we should.
Denial is a robber.
Pride is the thief.
A life of abundance.
Now a life full of grief.
Turn His tears of your pain.
To His tears of your joy.
The author of life.
Will fix what you destroy.
It's us we are hurting.
When our Savior's denied.
He knows the answers.
So don't look at your pride.
Fill the holes in your life.
Make it full and complete.
From the holes that He has.
In His hands and His feet.
poem by Ryan Lee Morris
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You Tell Me Of Your Australian History
You tell me of your Australian history your ancestors were British and Irish pioneers
But your history in this Land is not an old history just two centuries and twenty years
And in time that may seem quite a long span though the combined life spans of three people nothing more
Your ancestors hardly were Aussies they came here from a distant shore.
The first Australians have lived in this Country for longer than most care to know
Their ancestors came here from Asia more than sixty thousand years ago
They are indigenous to this Country all others have links to elsewhere
Yet they still struggle for recognition and that to me seems quite unfair.
Dispossessed by the Northern invaders they never did get back their Land
And that they are now ruled by white people I find that hard to understand
You talk of the history of this Land as if it were only two hundred years old
But then suppose the history of the ancient Dreamtime by white people will never be told.
I was not even born in this Country which makes you more Aussie than I
And though I'm not Nationalistic or Patriotic my heritage I won''t deny
You talk of your pioneering ancestors but why talk of Human history at all
If the history of the first Australians you do not see fit to recall.
You tell me of your pioneering ancestors but one fact you tend to ignore
That they were not born in this Country they came here from a foreign shore
You''d swear by you the Human history of this Land was only two centuries old
But the true history of this great Country by your type will never be told
poem by Francis Duggan
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The Peace of Jerusalem
We as Believers are admonished to pray for the peace of Jerusalem,
But how or when, to this troubled city, could true peace ever come?
It has had more bloodshed than any other city in the history of man,
But Jerusalem remains the central focus of The Lord's Eternal Plan.
Dialog with both sides will lead to peace is the world's deduction,
When they say peace and safety they'll only see sudden destruction.
The Arabs talk of peace with Israel, as they desire to destroy them,
And they even talk about making their capital the city of Jerusalem.
True Peace in Israel is not being discussed in any Arab Convention,
But peace my friend will only come through The Lord's intervention.
Israel is seeking peace with her enemies by diplomatic negotiations,
While ignoring God's command not to make a treaty with the nations.
For they need not man in time of need but only for God to intercede,
But again, they lean to others just like Egypt that splintered reed,
Now Christ enthroned in Heaven laughs as the nations plot in vain,
For God's Eternal Plan for His City Jerusalem will remain the same.
Jerusalem has been the capital of Israel for three thousand years,
And through history it's been the focus of Prophets and many seers.
They all pointed to a glorious time, for the greatest to the least,
When Messiah will finally reign on David's Throne to be their Peace.
(Copyright © 07/2002)
(Angry Poem) An Empty Soul
My own little picture book.
Everything has been drawn so clearly.
I've felt it so personally.
The violence never subsides.
Its deafening
Its the re-awaking.
We are forever changing.
The loops repeat themselves every day.
Reign the chaos in.
Put it down with forcefulness
Grab it just to let it go
Oh no, no, no, no oh, oh
The ins and outs with out a single doubt.
The rock star still plays his guitar.
The poet still writes his poems.
The author still tells his stories.
The vocalist still sings.
Through it all the passion will never fall.
I get that phone call.
And I know bad news has now hit my door step.
A death so sudden.
We can never be truly prepared.
In the heaviest armor.
We are still weak.
We still cry.
Even if its only on the inside.
Like a eternal burning fire you can never put it out.
It keeps coming back.
Taking another run at me.
Never stopping to think just maybe
He's already been through enough
But who cares about him.
In this life full of sin
What's one more.
By the way what is score?
Their winning good lord.
All bets are off.
Snuffed out, eliminated, and stuffed.
Just hang me on your wall.
'Yeah he was mine.'
'I got him good.'
'Took everything he had.'
'His entire family at my finger tips.'
It just makes me sick the extent you willing to go too.
Just to hurt little old me.
I don't understand.
Too naive, I don't know if I ever can..
Let me spell it out for you.
I have nothing left.
You took everything including my loneliness.
You wanted me to be pain.
But now all I feel is numbness.
Standing next to god I will ask him only thing.
Why was hate ever necessary?
Why were so many wars declared under his name?
Idol gods one and the same.
Its not his fault and I don't blame.
But some days I could use a good explanation.
Not that he has to.
But some one needs to.
Left to the unknown it gets completely out of control.
It slowly empties out the soul
poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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History is full of stories, full of triumph and tragedy and battles won and lost. It is the people who speak to me, the men and women who once lived and loved and dreamed and grieved, just as we do. Though some may have had crowns on their heads or blood on their hands, in the end they were not so different from you and me, and therein lies their fascination. I suppose I am still a believer in the now unfashionable "heroic" school, which says that history is shaped by individual men and women and the choices that they make, by deeds glorious and terrible.
quote by George R.R. Martin
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Sick of You
I am sick.....I am sick of you......I am sick of this life.....lived it long and good.....but now I am sick of you and the life I lead.....sick and weak.....this life I led.....but not any more......it shall end.....this sickness shall end.....I am sick of you yelling and what you say.....I am sick of this life and all I have done.....if I could go back I might....I remember walking out the front door and saying 'I love you'.......but that was then and this is now.....I have lived it long and good......but I am sick of it......staying awake and wondering 'what did I do'? ......I AM SICK OF YOU AND THIS LIFE I LED.....
poem by Dallas Stevens
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Along Life's Journey
Along life's journey God's decreed
Are always stops and starts
And yet good people meet each need
Because they have good hearts.
They may have twinkles in their eyes,
Or smiles to share each day,
With faith more than you realise,
To help you on your way...
If not for good friends here and there
And strangers who assist,
This world would be so full of care,
Good times could not exist...
And yet, we, too, respond sometimes,
As if instinctively,
With action, not just writing rhymes
For those with eyes to see...
If God commends each sacred soul,
Then He must share His love
With those who maintain self-control
And pray to Him above...
To think, that every life on Earth
Can choose the right and good
And seek to prove our lives have worth,
When we do what we should...
poem by Denis Martindale
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Jobism-According to Uncle Bob
'Jobism'
he said
'the real disease of the 2Oth century'
Bob was warming up to the topic.
'Now you take my grandfather,
what he wanted was his own piece of land
the ability to run his own life
he didn't work all his life for a job.
He worked for land and the independence
that land meant.
It has been that way for all of history of the human race.
From the cave man marking up the cave walls
to the rancher, the farmer
and the homesteader,
all we have ever wanted was a piece of land
to call our own.
My people came here to America not for a job
but for freedom.
Now we are settling for cubicles.
Mere one-hundred years ago
they taxed us off the land
gave to the corporations;
the farmers left the land,
got herded
into the dirty cities
plopped down into factories
becoming wage-slaves.
My Grandad is still bitter about that.
Now our kids are taught be good,
get a good education
and try to get a good wage-slave job.
One hundred years ago
it was get your own piece of land,
be independent,
don't be beholden to any man,
don't let the authorities run your life.
What a change huh?
This has had for more impact
than we think.
Hitler's minions asked why did they gas the Jews
and their answers were, 'it was my job.'
People in experiments will kill other people
if scientists in white lab coats tell them its ok to do so.
Whole nations go to war and maim
because somebody told them it was their job to do so.
Job one
means obedience is number two,
obedience to those that you might not ever obey
except for they tell you
obey me or your family starves.
or you can't get a good job.
We need to sever the wage-slave
from the job
which enslaves.
Cities never really worked
they create wealth for the few
and poverty for the many. Still does.
My idea, ' he said'
is I don't want no job:
I want independence.
Then he smiled.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Talk About The Good Times
(words & music by jerry reed hubbard)
Well I remember when I was as children
The time the people used to treat the neighbor like a fellow man
And all their singin and big prayer meetins
When a man was proud to walk up and shake his neighbors hand
Oh you talk about the good times,
Talk about the good times
Oh if you ever needed help a friend was there
Some good neighbor
Help lift your burden
Mmm, and the simple joys of life a friend would share
Times are harder and the people are changin
Now most folks couldnt tell you who their neighbors are
All their guns are loaded, the front doors are bolted
Aint this ol world takin hate and fear just a little too far
Oh you talk about the good times,
Talk about the good times
I wish I could go back to the days Im speakin of
When a friend would meet you
And a smile would greet you
What this ol world needs now is a little old fashioned love
My granddaddy God rest his soul now
Well we had a big long talk together the day he died
Said son this world is full of hate and venom
An I cant wait to leave this ol place and rest on the other side
Oh you talk about the good times, talk about the good times
Talk about the good times
Im gonna see all the friends I knew in the good ol days
Well have a big hand shakin
An sit and talk together
Sit down by the river jordan and sing our blues away
Oh you talk about the good times, talk about the good times
Talk about the good times
Im gonna see all the friends I knew in the good ol days
Well have a big hand shakin
An sit and talk together
Sit down by the river jordan and sing our blues away
Oh you talk about the good times, talk about the good times
Talk about the good times
Im gonna see all the friends I knew in the good ol days
Well have a big hand shakin
An sit and talk together
Sit down by the river jordan and sing our blues away
song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Apparation
I saw a man kneeling beside the dead body Gadhafi
with a smirk on his face holding thumbs up… eleven
months later he was slain just like the tyrant….
He became an envoy a friend of the wrecked country,
a buddy working to make the country a rational state
the US way; a client state to help oil flow freely to
the west. But he forgot, as many do, the infamy Arabs
has suffered in the hands of the west… even if people
were glad a tyrant was gone they still found the picture
offensive. For they see the inequity of the selective way
the west pushes democracy on the weak.
A ghost looms, a cuckoo in the nest, it will not give up
until it has full power of the defeated and we blindly
follow this cuckoo´s call into the abyss.
poem by Oskar Hansen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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