Ch 03 On The Excellence Of Contentment Story 19
I never lamented about the vicissitudes of time or complained of the turns of fortune except on the occasion when I was barefooted and unable to procure slippers. But when I entered the great mosque of Kufah with a sore heart and beheld a man without feet I offered thanks to the bounty of God, consoled myself for my want of shoes and recited:
‘A roast fowl is to the sight of a satiated man
Less valuable than a blade of fresh grass on the table
And to him who has no means nor power
A burnt turnip is a roasted fowl.’
Related quotes
The bush fowl saw the chicken being carved up and laughed. The chicken told the bush fowl to stop laughing. For the same hands now carving up the chicken would be used to carve up the bush fowl.
A right pair!
The tired shoes yawned,
They were unable to detach themselves from the feet
The tired feet yawned
Feeling trapped by the shoes and unable to escape
The first signs of agraphobia pressed in
Both were sick of the sight of each other
What a pair!
The hands tapped the table top idly
Refusing to release them,
Too busy composing a first and second draft
Of sonnet in its third sequence
The hands showed 'creative indifference'
The feet and the shoes
Now hot and bothered
Grew smelly and grumpy
Stamping the ground they united forces
Shifting both legs into action
Stamping the ground in fury
Shifting the hands from the writing pad
Until finally the hands released them from each other
'What a pair'! , the hands cried
The feet and the shoes
Sent loving looks to each other
After a particularly tiresome day
They hoped soon to be re united
What a pair!
poem by Yvette Smith
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O what we must suffer for the sake of God's church! said the abbot, when the roast fowl burned his fingers.
Reds
Red dress, red shoes,
A dancing moonlight reflecting from you
A diamond laced necklace, so cheap but expensive
Shining on through,
knowing a charged up essence of you jeweled
Will never escape the memory of you
Red dress, red shoes,
Ripples in the still breeze
Tracing the woods following footsteps made of you
Red dress red shoes,
I remember clearly the day I met you,
The beauty of you, red dress red shoes
Cold day, warm night
That red dress red shoes first entered my sight
Like a demon or devil, delving deeply to my heart, you entered my blood stream
With an evil curderling scream of art,
The ripping then began to start
This lady of red dress and red shoes
Enters the mind
Red dress, red shoes
Trapped in time
its true
poem by Daniel Richards
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Al-Aqsa is in DANGER!
The mosque in our dear country Palestine
The mosque that is pumping in our hearts
The mosque that should belong to all Muslims
The mosque that is slowly falling apart
Where the Zionists have stepped in
With their dirty hands and shoes
They have touched our holy mosque’s walls
The Zionists including the Jews
They are digging tunnels under our mosque
Hoping the Al-Aqsa mosque to collapse one day
They are hoping to build their own Jewish temple as a replacement
That they won’t even let the Muslims enter their mosque and pray
the Jews and the Zionists have stepped in our Holy Mosque
Doing what they please
Purposely stepping in with their dirty shoes
And forcing our Muslim brothers and sisters to leave
How can we stay silent?
And our silence is the cause
Of all of the destruction happening in our holy mosque
Caused by our enemies’ filthy jaws
Al Aqsa mosque belongs to all Muslims
Not just the Palestinians alone
This mosque is our life
This mosque is our home
The Jews and the Zionists have stepped in
Where the prophet (peace be upon him) and his followers once stayed
Our enemies are standing in our mosque with their unclean bodies
On top of the grounds where our beloved ones once prayed!
The Arabs’ silence MUST end
Where we can finally pray in our mosque and here the prophet’s beautiful, echoing sound
And we shall say “No, you Zionists and Jews. THIS IS OUR MOSQUE! ”
“AND YOU ARE FORBIDDEN TO STEP A FOOT ON ITS GROUND! ”
poem by Marria Attar
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Twice As Much
Red-red-red-wine!
Red-red-red-wine on my lips and,
I am about to say something;
But the sweet of the meat is in the eater.
Does not the rain has a father?
Does not the rain has a mother?
For my ears have heard of you but now,
My own eyes have seen you too.
Twice as much,
As beautiful as the daughters of Iyyob;
For the stone which the builders rejected had become the head.
Today, i am the stone and you are my lover;
For i am the headstone of the corner.
Come and work in my vineyard,
And come and quench my heart with love;
Like a roasted turkey and cranbery source from Turkey.
Today you are mine and,
Like a roasted guinea-fowl from Guinea!
Come and make love tom me my sweet one.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Ch 02 The Morals Of Dervishes Story 17
A bareheaded and barefooted pedestrian who had arrived from Kufah with the Hejaz-caravan of pilgrims joined us, strutted about and recited:
‘I am neither riding a camel nor under a load like a camel.
I am neither a lord of subjects nor the slave of a potentate.
Grief for the present, or distress for the past, does not trouble me.
I draw my breath in comfort and thus spend my life.’
A camel-rider shouted to him: ‘O dervish, where art thou going? Return, for thou wilt expire from hardships.’ He paid no attention but entered the desert and marched. When we reached the station at the palm-grove of Mahmud, the rich man was on the point of death and the dervish, approaching his pillow, said: ‘We have not expired from hardship but thou hast died on a dromedary.’
A man wept all night near the head of a patient.
When the day dawned he died and the patient revived.
Many a fleet charger had fallen dead
While a lame ass reached the station alive.
Often healthy persons were in the soil
Buried and the wounded did not die.
Ch 04 On The Advantages Of Silence Story 13
A man used to shout superfluous calls to prayers in the mosque of Sinjar and in a voice which displeased all who heard it. The owner of the mosque, who was a just and virtuous amir, not desirous to give him pain, said: ‘My good fellow, in this mosque there are old muezzins’ to each of whom I pay five dinars monthly but to thee I shall give ten, if thou wilt go to another place.’ The man agreed and went away. Some time afterwards however, he returned to the amir and said: ‘My lord, thou hast injured me by turning me away for ten dinars from this place because where I next went they offered me twenty dinars to go to another locality but I refused.’ The amir smiled and said: ‘By no means accept them because will give thee even fifty dinars.’
No one can scrape the mud from gravel with an axe
As thy discordant shouting scrapes the heart.
Times To Weep
So often I
have taken from you
and given little back
yet
you never complained
as I pretended to think
this was simply in your nature.
Many times
I turned from your tears
fooling my self
that you were grieving
over some girl friend
and her misfortunes in love
not seeing
the hurt there
came at my hands;
ignoring that I kept you
in my emotional jail
you unable to leave
and I unable to let you go.
I wore your obsession with me
like male perfume;
my aroma therapy
But came the day
you rolled up your
heart-break carpet
tucking it neatly away
in the hall closet
me in two days calling you back
from your mother's house
because I missed
you not being there for me
for whenever I needed.
You saw this abandoning
your healing time
and came back
came back to say your
final hello
and your final goodbye.
While you loved you said
'and offered the kiss'
I merely turned my head
all those years
and 'offered only the cheek.'
Now my face
is to the wall
unable to sleep
all these years
and you
have the children
you sought
and I have my own
carpet
now
kneeling
at night
taking
my own time to weep
about missed opportunities
love lost
regrets at my pillow-keep.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Trees are more like FOWLS,
Trees are more like FOWL'S,
Trees are more like FOWL'S,
The Birds that EMERGED is greater than 40's and 80's,
This Historic moment is like a TIGER,
Taking this THOUGHT,
There is the NEW EMERGING of FOWLS,
Imagine of another New Composure maybe another MISSION completed for these BIRDS,
The Birds will flow in all COLOUR'S since the love of God hast no STATUS.
poem by Maxim Muyu
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Burnt to ashes
You burnt me, a wound of incomplete,
you remind me, a memory of indiscreet.
Deeply cut, all the way through my heart,
cold-blooded hands tearing me apart.
Mercilessly burnt, all the way to ashes,
move ahead steadily to the flashes...
My sore havoc is only yet to wreak,
and my days are yet to remain in bleak,
but my life seems to carry on,
with hope that despair shall be gone.
But shall despair feel my ominous envy?
Shall it be ungainly, to the hope of melancholy?
Oh I beg my soul, for you to leave,
Oh leave my lonliness spoken and grieve,
for you unhappy, unmerciful and unstill.
What great power lent you untill...
all my skin is burnt
all my feelings burnt
burnt, evermore, to ashes....
poem by Maya Hershey
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Ch 02 The Morals Of Dervishes Story 37
A dervish arrived in a place, the owner of which was of a noble disposition, and had surrounded himself with a company of distinguished and eloquent men, each of whom uttered something elegant or jocular, according to the fashion of wits. The dervish who had travelled through the desert and was fatigued had eaten nothing. One of the company asked him by way of encouragement likewise to say something. The dervish replied: ‘I do not possess distinction and eloquence like you and have read nothing so you must be satisfied with one distich of mine.’ The company having agreed with pleasure he recited:
‘I am hungry and opposite to a table of food
Like a bachelor at the door of a bath of females.’
The company, having thus been apprised of his famished condition, produced a table with bread but as he began to eat greedily the host said: ‘Friend, at any rate stop a while till my servants roast some minced meat’; whereon the dervish lifted his head and recited:
‘Do not order pounded meat for my table.
To a pounded man simple bread is pounded meat.’
The Rowfant Catalogue
Friends had he many, neighbours next to none.
Rowfant and Crabbet lay few fields apart.
Each Sunday saw him here, his church drill done,
Duly stroll in to talk of books and art,
Entrapped, may--be, to share my modest tart,
Roast fowl and claret, and an evening won
In stealth from Sabbath bonds strange to his heart.
Childlike he prized these truant bursts of fun.
--Long years ago! It needs his wit to jog
Old time to life. Yet I remember well
Companioning him home to the hill's top
Keen on his books, and how he paused to tell
Eager the first news of this Catalogue.
Reading it, see, the tears come and I stop.
poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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Dialogue
DIALOGUE
'Prior, I'm sure you'll agree,
though external beauty,
be but dermal, no higher,
sea sole, fowl from my fryer
prior approval would see,
should assuage thy belly!
Wine, fine spirits as well! '
When his menu he'd sell
.
Answered D in return:
'As my guest you will turn
in V.I.P. suite sweet
prior approval must meet,
meat and mince in mint sauce.
course with nothing too coarse
beet none other may beat
eat so bring your two feet
for feat rich to earn
all your stomach could yearn.'
.
'Pause not, for your paws
can crunch boiled lobster claws,
liken lichen to green
lettuce, let us to scene
be seen to add chili
unheard of in Chile
You will find my cuisine
tasty delicate lean
Mourn tomorrow morn 'cause
woke from dream by crow caws.'
./.
Replied brother in C.
'To mistake, maître D.
sole for soul as you tell,
augurs almost of Hell,
Lucifer's clause, roast fire.
But you've just found a buyer!
Mind your spirits stay well
when your fishes indwell,
for indulgence you'll fee
should they foul prove to be.'.
.
'In your inn no heartburn
' would I feel, tummy churn,
I your guest guessed jest fleet
owing naught to conceit.
There must be no remorse
or complaint made, perforce
slender maid with round seat
may my table serve, mete?
Taking cue I'll queue, learn,
take time thyme to discern.'.
.
'Sure your rays from far shores
may raise hope, reassures
that your servings have been
tasty like runner bean
fresh not stored in fridge chilly
nor prepared by hillbilly,
hoard horde teem scarce serene
might your team's great tureen
take by storm, raw's cooked, roars
'soon consuming your stores! '
Author notes
25 December 1977 revised 2 April 2009
robi3_0145_robi3_0000 WXX_JMX
for previous version see below
Crew that maître d'hôtel Replied Brother in C.:
to fat friar far from cell ‘To mistake, maître D.
‘Prior, I’m sure you’ll agree, sole for soul as you tell,
though external beauty augurs almost of Hell,
be but dermal, no higher, Satan’s roasting coal fire.
sole or fowl from my fryer But you’ve just found a buyer!
would assuage thy belly! Mind your spirits stay well
Then to accompany, - when your fishes indwell,
wind, fine spirits as well.’ for indulgence you’ll fee
When his menu he’d sell. should fowl foul prove to be! ”
© Jonathan Robin Poem written 25 December 1977
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Fundamental of Liar Chapter CX: Ability
It’s not unable, it’s just not a favor
It’s not unable, it’s just reluctance
It’s not unable, it’s just not my style
It’s not unable, it’s just wrong
It’s not unable, it’s just no time
It’s not unable, it’s just out of place
It’s not unable, it’s just not consideration
It’s not unable, it’s just objection
It’s not unable, it’s just not effective
It’s not unable, it’s just stubbornness
It’s not unable, it’s just not important
It’s not unable, it’s just mercy
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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Bunny Slippers (TM) (For Will)
Bunny slippers,
Bunny slippers,
Pitter patter feet,
Running down the hallway,
Seeing who they meet.
Bunny slippers,
Bunny slippers,
Running all night long,
Curious feet,
Can really do no wrong.
poem by Aisha Sherazi
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It is the great privilege of poverty to be happy and yet unenvied, to be healthy with physic, secure without a guard, and to obtain from the bounty of nature what the great and wealthy are compelled to procure by the help of art.
quote by Samuel Johnson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Pretty Girls
Here she comes just a-walk just just a-walkin down the street
Singin down do be do do wop a do do wop
Singin down do be do do wop a do do wop
See the pretty pretty pretty girls in the street
Down do be do do wop a do do wop a do do wop
See them walkin with their pretty shoes on their feet
Down do be do do wop a do do wop a do do wop
Down do be do do wop a do do wop a do do wop
I took a walk round the market down town
Taking it easy just to see what I could find
I found the girls there, long legs and blond hair
All getting set to make a mess out of my mind
Hey! eyes left!
See the pretty pretty pretty girls in the street
Down do be do do wop a do do wop a do do wop
See them walkin with their pretty shoes on their feet
Down do be do do wop a do do wop a do do wop
Down do be do do wop a do do wop a do do wop
I got my heart burnt, you know where I hurt
They say the miniskirt is coming back in style
I say its not fair but what do they care
When youve got power then you use it for a while
Hey! eyes right!
See the pretty pretty pretty girls in the street
Down do be do do wop a do do wop a do do wop
See them walkin with their pretty shoes on their feet
Down do be do do wop a do do wop a do do wop
Down do be do do wop a do do wop a do do wop
God, if youre up there, listen to my prayer
In future man should have a different design
Give him a switch so he can turn off his libido now
Give him a tranquilizer built into his mind
Hey! eyes right!
See the pretty pretty pretty girls in the street
Down do be do do wop a do do wop a do do wop
See them walkin with their pretty shoes on their feet
Down do be do do wop a do do wop a do do wop
Down do be do do wop a do do wop a do do wop
Dont talk to me about womens liberation
They already got their right just where it hurts
Now here she comes just a-walk just a-walkin down the street
Singin down do be do do wop a do do wop
Singin down do be do do wop a do do wop
See the pretty pretty pretty girls in the street
Down do be do do wop a do do wop a do do wop
See them walkin with their pretty shoes on their feet
Down do be do do wop a do do wop a do do wop
Down do be do do wop a do do wop a do do wop
song performed by by Joe Jackson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Where The Blacktop Ends
Gonna kick off my shoes
And run in bare feet
Where the grass and the dirt and the gravel all meet
Goin' back to the well gonna visit old friends
And feed my soul where the blacktop ends
I'm lookin' down the barrel of Friday night
Ridin' on a river of freeway lights
Goodbye city I'm country bound
'Til Monday rolls around
Gonna kick off my shoes
And run in bare feet
Where the grass and the dirt and the gravel all meet
Goin' back to the well gonna visit old friends
And feed my soul where the blacktop ends
Workin' in the grind is an uphill road
Punchin' that clock and carryin' that load
I bust it all week and then I'm free
The weekend belongs to me
Gonna kick off my shoes
And run in bare feet
Where the grass and the dirt and the gravel all meet
Goin' back to the well gonna visit old friends
And feed my soul where the blacktop ends
Give me some fresh air give me that farm
Give me some time with you in my arms
Far away from the hustle and the pressure and the noise
Gonna kick off my shoes
And run in bare feet
Where the grass and the dirt and the gravel all meet
Goin' back to the well gonna visit old friends
And feed my soul, you betcha
Gonna kick off my shoes
And run in bare feet
Where the grass and the dirt and the gravel all meet
Goin' back to the well gonna visit old friends
And feed my soul where the blacktop ends
Where the blacktop ends
Where the blacktop ends
Where the blacktop ends
song performed by by Keith Urban
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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