Abu Laith al-Libi and Obama vs Hillary

Abu Laith al-Libi

Poetic Epitaph

Saddam's been waiting I hear, down there

down younger in the netherworld, waiting

for you Abu Laith, planning a big bash, with

lots of whores, booze and cash.

They say you worked hard for Allah, up

here, on earth, killing and robbing,

rapping and all sorts of nasty things...

things that would make a persons ears

ring, all in the name of Allah!

Now it's simply, a gravy train, all you

got to do, is find Allah, before the

devil-for it seems to me, He's also

been waiting for you.

#2201 1-31-2008

Obama vs. Hillary

And EK?

Obama, is somehow in a high because Sen. Edward Kennedy has put his arm around his shoulder, as if he was an Uncle Tom.

I do not know Obama that well, as far as a political person, or his views, but I do know Edward, and I'd not allow his hands over my shoulder when the camera was looking, Edward is what I would call, a cold blooded scavenger. Remember the book, "Dark Waters," by Joyce Otis... here is a guy when the chips get down, runs to a hole in the ground and like an ostrich, hides his head, hoping no one saw what he did, or have we all forgot he was responsible for the death of a young woman not so long ago. It is like having O.J. indorsing me for an honorary PH.D, forget it. I will not be surprised if this psychologically, penetrates in time, his parade of black followers, to shift to Hillary. People change alliances as fast as they change jelly for toast. Beware, there is no sacred ground, around the Kennedy family anymore, Camelot is empty.

Door to Tuol Sleng Prison

How many have walked through those steel doors
How many have walked on those wooden floors
Shackled like a butchered boar
How many, how many more:
Were put into those stifling, stone cells scared
How many, how many more:
Tasted brutality, worse than hell or war
Died on the brick of hunger,
Died slowly on the brick of psychosis
In Tuol Sleng Prison (Cambodia) forgotten!
How many, how many more:
Died with crushed bones, and skulls
How many grass eaters, vomited their guts
In Tuol Sleng Prison (Cambodia) forgotten!
How many died by the Khmer Rouge regime
How many died by Pol Pot and Kaing Guek Eav

First Poem: Longfellow's Window

It was perhaps May, the year was 1959; I was sitting on the top level of the attic steps, somewhat motionless, looking out the window into the backyard, we had a long hilly backyard, very green in the summer, grandpa cared for it like it was a treasure, proud, he even fenced it in after a number of years, after people trampled through it, as if it was a highway. The sunlight hit my face, it was a weekend and mother was downstairs doing something, perhaps housework, she was always busy. I had found some paper in a drawer and I slowly went to write, drawing my pen to paper, a word came forth, then writing again, a few more words, without looking at the paper my thoughts flowed through my mind, and my body was full of emotions. I slid the paper in front of my pen again, and noticed I had a stanza of some kind, then heard Grandpa’s old black mantel clock strike twice, it was 2:00 PM, next I went back into my silence, more like scratching with my pen now, words and syllables, rime and accents, trying to dance and sing with the pen, as words flowed onto the paper.

I re-read my first stanza, it would be, or become my first poem. I had listened to an old record [78] my mother had given me, by Jimmy Boyd, and so I came up with the name, “Who.” I think the song was named that, and it was a simple poem that needed a simple name, like the song. I had no idea of course I’d study poetry in the future, write 1400-poems, produce nine poetry books, and so forth and on. But that was the beginning, as all things must have a beginning, that is, all things must have its first step.

I found a second sheet of paper and copied the poem, and made the corrections I needed, it was now 4:00 PM, and dinnertime. (I had folded the poem, and put it into my pocket, asked my mother in her bedroom later if I could read it for her, and I did, and she liked it—of course, and then back into my pocket it went).

Next I went upstairs to the attic bedroom, where my brother and I slept, him on one side of the attic, myself on the other, a window in-between, this was on the opposite side of where the steps were, and the reason being the beds were there, was because the chimney stretched from the basement all the way through the attic, through the roof: too close to the window to put beds.

For the following week, I’d look out that window and figure poem two would have to be coming soon, and it would have to come out of that window, and it did. I was consumed, to realize I could express my emotions this way, instead of being crushed with them, holding them inside like excessive water.

It would be years later I’d venture out to see Henry W. Longfellow’s House, in Minneapolis, Minnesota, and gaze through his window; then after that, I’d purchase an expense signature of his (original), singed “Yours Truly Henry W. Longfellow…. 1877” a great poet indeed.

Happiness Poem

If a Happiness Poem could bring forth a smile, Then my face would always dress in style.

If my ears could hear my computer screen, From one to another, they, too, would grin.

My keyboard types for my eyes not my tongue This happiness poem will never be sung.

But what of my eyes? Don't they shine? Yes, but not from this poem of mine.

The pen is mightier than the sword, But a pen can write only words.

The feelings I sense and the senses I feel For keyboard and screen remain far too real.

My ears and my nose remain at rest. My cheeks and hairline are doing their best.

But if this happiness poem could make my mouth smile, My face would forever dress up in style.

Poem To Children

Little children that I once waited for in happiness

I've scarcely now try to notice,

distracted by their rudeness.

These children are from mothers…

the ones that always make trouble,

turn me pale inside—yelling.

Parents! How late did you wakeup today?

With their deafness to poison me.

This poem from me…poem

that I’ve wanted to write!

A sudden relief fills my head!

I’m with my doubts, in which I’ll die

alone, and be called the ogre of the day.

Anyhow, here is a poem from me to

you…mothers (or parents) have forgotten

in which they only send me grief.

Ay, a poem that so many times have

I avoid writing, now saves me from

a pretentious world, which is too late

for them…for me, I’ve stop waiting.

Structure - For a Living Poem

Someone once said, "You don't need substance from or of a poem," I disagreed with that, silently, and then wrote about it later. We all have our opinions in literature and poetry not sure who is right and who is wrong, or if there is such things as right an wrong in writing, except for things you didn't intend to do, and you did.

Substance can mean matter, body, the essence or soul of the poem, and I suppose some poems do not have a soul, there is another element in substance though, I've yet to bring out, it is called 'Structure' or at least I call it that, or proclaim it to be part of substance, again, folks may differ with that.

Let me put it another way, I have a body, and that means I have structure, and in my body I have a soul. I am a living poem you could say. But let me go a little farther with this.

When a thing is composed of parts, it has what you call structure, meaning I have arms, legs, a head, torso, feet, hands, these to me are parts. When you put all this together you get me. On the other hand, a poem has parts, such as: words, sounds, tone, and they all fit together, or should if you want structure to your poem that is; another word for parts can be elements.

A part of the poem, or structure, is its form. Some call them lines, other folks may call them stanzas, as in a haiku, there is a shape or pattern developing here that will become part of the structure. In most haiku's there are seventeen syllables, I say in most, and three lines, but it varies by style, one can add a line or two if you change the style. The first and third lines have five syllables, and in the middle line are seven.

To some poets, and I am among them, they are unwillingness to submit themselves to rigid forms, although I have. My first book, "The Other Door," would fall under this style, the rigid form style, and many of my other poems, are of this style, out of my 2400-poems to this day, but most have not. Why?

Well let me say it with a correlation: why write something and try to squeeze it into a haiku that cannot come out of a haiku, into such a rigid form that is, thus I change styles. What is important to me is the soul more often, how I think I want the reader to perceive the poem, and the effect.

But one must not forget, form gives the poem unity, completeness often times. That is to say, your eyes are no good if you can't see to read, so you get glasses, and thus, you are more complete. If you stick with a Haiku, which is liking to having no glasses when you need them, you do more harm than good-and perhaps make both you and the poem more cumbersome and silly.

On the other, a good sonnet, and I've written a number of them, not a lot, but several, and the concluding line, the last line, the one with a rhyme word, to end it all, should be the spark for the whole poem: for the best effect: we see this in Shelley's work "Ozymandias (1817), so what did Shelly really do to make the poem so good. To me she picked out one thing, idea, perception, and picture, framed it, echoed it at the end, one thing one human experience the reader could hang onto, and she used the form of the poem to do this. Like a counselor would do in group therapy, such as turning off the lights, tell a story in a low tone, and when there was a great silence, he created from the beginning to the end, at the end, the last word would be the word he would want everyone to connect the story with later with. I done this in poetry as well as counseling being a license counselor, putting this form into poetry is not difficult for me, and Shelly does it wisely. Her last words in the poem being, "The lone and level sand stretch far away."

Writing a Romantic Love Poem

When it comes to writing love poems, there are many different types of love but the most common that we think about is romantic love. So many love poems have been written about romantic love, many of them famous classics.

Almost everyone knows or has experienced romantic-type love at some time in their lives. Whether it was that first school age crush or puppy love, your first real relationship or even your current spouse, we have all felt this type of love. When most people think of love poetry, it is this very type of love that they are thinking about.

We're talking about the love between two people who care about each other and are attracted to each other in a romantic way. While there are many different types of love, this still remains one of the most well known and commonly expressed types so it is no surprise that quite a bit of poetry that is written is based on this.

There have been so many great poems written on romantic love and you can write your own. It's easy once you learn a few basic techniques and the ability to express your feelings openly. Even if you think you could never write a poem for your sweetie, it's possible.

As you can see, writing a romantic love poem is like opening up your heart for the other person to peer inside. The more open and honest you are, the better the resulting poem will be. Don't just try to copy a famous poem. Instead, really think about how the person makes you feel.

Love Does Many Splendid Things Poem

Love-that which makes the heart sings

Church bells ring

Choir sounds with strings

And guests bring thinks;

Love-that which let the nose runs

Allows one to use plenty of napkins

While dribbling snot on the ground;

Love-allowing many

To wish for exciting things anytime, anywhere

Upon the sight of who knows who

Giggling and dribbling on one's self;

Love-spinning the mind

In time and space

Thoughts never going to waste

Sometimes it's just a disgrace;

Love-that which counters hate

Fills the mind, body and soul

With grace and fellowship

Lets the stomach flips and turns;

Love-sleepless nights alone

Wondering where, when, how, who

Why does it have to be?

One is unable to see through the dust

Until it clears;

Love-upon the rising sun one stretches

Touching soft skin, hair, cheek

Bringing a facial smile

Radiating all over, arousing

Happiness and sensations;

Love-singing songs, dancing along

Cheek to cheek, not even a peep

Softly squeezing, loosely gripping

Rose of splendor, petals unfurling;

Love-bubble bath at night, midday,

Doesn't matter where or when

Massage, splash of incense

Candle light, champagne, steak

Salad, slippers and fragrance;

Love-holding her right, not tight with all your

Might, but with the tip of your fingers

Touching her scalp, neck, breast,

Cuddling, whispering, humming

Breathlessly breathing someway, somehow;

Love-the essence of stars floating, harmonizing

Melodies, rhapsodies in various colors

Coming together, vibrating, musing

Celebrating moments of splendor

Bliss of the lips and cheeks;

Love-many crying, sighing

Smiling, leaping for joy

Pounding the desk, stumping dirt

Love-you make it what it's worth!

Fortune Cookie Poem

This is true and sincere-your friends could be your friends!

You need medicine for love since your heart is too strong

You could be like a lawyer taking a swim

Your dearest wish may pass you by one day

It's best to forget your friend especially if you owe them

You will find roses in the garden with no thrones-forget the gloves

Don't worry-we don't have flaws here

Keep talking, we love people with foot in mouth disease

Happiness is at your doorsteps. Go to work for me on Sunday

Throw some dirt at them. You have plenty ground left

Flattery will always get you a cup of coffee and a shoe shine

Sorry no jobs! But you're always on our list

Today is not the day to make new friends

The greatest gift is giving it all away today

A secret person will step on your toe tonight-stay home

Hate will get you through the gate each time

Love will get your slate cleaned and paying child support

You will see beauty in fine things-loose this ability

Ideas are like the ocean; you must sink or swim

You should have had a great time yesterday

Plan for the pleasures you missed last year by next week

Friends are presents you can always give away

A family member will visit you with three cats and two dogs

Your life will be what life is all about

The things you lost will never show up-get glasses

Happy news will come soon, get a HAM radio

Strong and bitter words indicate muscle growth from the wrong end!

Personalized Poems

When finding the perfect gift for a loved one's birthday, you could be forgiven for running out of ideas. For example, what do you give to the woman/man who has everything? Even youngsters nowadays have amassed a lifetime's amount of possessions by the time they're out of their teens - which just makes it harder to find something of value.

This is where a Personalized Poem is ideal. You provide the special moments, anecdotes and experiences that are unique to the recipient and we do the rest! Let everyone else buy the trinkets, the ornaments - what they will truly value is something unique that only their nearest and dearest could ever orchestrate.

For the lad-about-town - why not remind him in a poem of the nights he'd rather forget? Why wait until his wedding to embarrass him within an inch of his life? He might have destroyed the pictures, but memories are harder to erase!

A poem could be a novel way to propose. There's a huge amount of pressure to find a unique and romantic way to ask the lady of your dreams to become your wife. What could be more romantic than a poem telling her exactly how you feel, something that she can treasure long after the wedding?

What about to your dear old Mum? She has given birth to you, nurtured you and in most people's situations, received little thanks. Show her you think she's the best by poetically thanking her. Just be warned, the sloppy kisses you had as a child could be back on the menu!

Sometimes it's not what you buy somebody that matters, it's the thought you put into it. Have you ever received daggers from the eyes of your loved one, when flowers from the garage were all you could muster for their birthday? Earn some brownie points and commission a poem. Save the chocs and socks for another time!

Heartbroken Poem May Ease Your Healing

Did you write a Heartbroken Poem when you split up from the person who was the love of your life? If you are really into this, you might already have done so, perhaps on the death of a close family member, one of your pets or something in your life that has caused you sadness. There is nothing like a relationship of great love to encourage people to write love poetry. For a divorce or a split, many fall for the heartbroken poem, as the therapy may ease your healing.

Some people find that poetry is an easy way to express what they are thinking at a particular moment. The form and style it takes matters little unless you are hoping to publish your works in the future. There is no need to write an exceptional piece of work. The heartbroken poem is written to help you get over your grief and sadness; you don't have to show it to others. What matters is that, even if it does not heal the wound, the heartbroken poem gives you the therapy to help you to get over your pain, and move on.

When you face a break up or other period of sadness, it is important to be able to take the pain. You may feel that you should get on with life without facing up to what has really happened, but time will catch up with you. At some time, you will likely go through a period of sadness, so it is better to face up to it straight away, before moving on. A heartbreak poem may ease your healing and thus prove to be an excellent therapy when you have just gone through a break up from a person you really loved.

So what, if the quality of the poem is indifferent, as you wrote it only for yourself. You have to express your true thoughts, however difficult this may be. Write them in a simple form as if you were speaking to yourself. List down all the points you want to mention, just to help you clear your head. You can then put the list in some logical order prior to finally composing the poem.

When you have finished your heartbroken poem, why not write more about certain aspects of your sadness. Everything that will aid you in looking your pain in the face is all good therapy for helping you get over your grief and move on.

Should you decide to share your feelings with others, why not? Put it online if you want to, on one of the specialized sites designed for this, and tell other people whether or not you want to receive their comments. This way you can share apart of your life with others.

PMS Poem

PMS

Is your woman a mess?

Premenstrual syndrome

Enough to make a man

Run far from home

Sigh for relief and groan

Agonize internally

At the torturous extremity

The intense emotional variety

Heavy burden and complexity

Unexplainable tendency

Explosions expressed angrily

Profound ongoing irritability

Bitter and profuse insensitivity

Suffocating your pulmonary

Constraining you internally

Thrust upon you vociferously

As complaining incessantly

These are some symptoms

Of PMS manifesting monthly

Communication uttered derisively

Spoken foully, hurtfully, and harshly

Insults unable to be endured endlessly

As she goes from femininity to being pushy

Nevertheless a loving man does dare to be

Understanding, sympathetic, and affectionate

While grinning and bearing it patiently

Wondering how long this devilish cycle

Shall badger, bruise, and cause abuse

Fatiguing heart, mind, and body

Adversely affecting one's sanity

Seemingly hurting one's marital unity

Contaminating one's inner purity

Obstructing a life lived peaceably

Throwing a woman over the edge

Making her frail and full of hostility

Depressed and fearful with anxiety

Retaining water within physically

Thwarting her self-esteem bodily

Eroding her confidence outwardly

Causing great distress and breast tenderness

Making a sexually aroused man settle for less

As she pushes him away far from her chest

These days of menstruation, not enjoyable for men

While major changes occur in lovely mother hen

Fluctuations and mood swings that seem not to end

Hold on my brother and dear fellow male friend

Such torments and troubles must come to pass

They certainly shall not come to stay

Therefore let none of these get in the way

Nor obstruct your undying love this day

For you too shall be made strong and last long

Like a man, boldly arise with faith to overcome

Be steadfast, hold on, do not up and run

Protect, Master thyself, and show Stability

This is what PMS should mean to thee

Purge, Make-Up, and Strengthen for she

As she regains her sense of inner identity

Cleanses, forgives, and heals relationally

Processes her pain and reconciles fully

In this most crucial and pivotal season

Wherein there is found no rhyme or reason

PMS may definitely be sad, callous, and cruel

Surely nothing we men ever learned in school

Nevertheless over it we can surely reign and rule

Though these moments may not be much fun

Surely above the clouds there does shine the sun

Therefore lovingly and patiently oblige your woman.