WE ARE WAITING …
-
As long as You are not angry with me then I do not care
For me is the model of Musab bin Umayr
The best dressed man in the city
But that was for him a state of pity
Until there came to him the Message
All did he leave of his privilege
For the sake of Allah and His BelovedAs long as You are not angry with me then I do not care
For I think of Bilal when his chest was bare
On the burning sand did they make him lie
Until he thought he was going to die
They crushed him with rocks in the blazing sun
And begged him to reject the Almighty One
But never did he give in to the wickedAs long as You are not angry with me then I do not care
I remember Khabbaab when they pulled his hair
In the blacksmiths of his evil mistress
With burning rods did she cause him distress
She twisted his neck and burnt his skin
Until his fat dripped into a tin
But he remained firm to his belief as long as he livedAs long as You are not angry with me then I do not care
For I picture Khubaib when he was there
Tied and bound to an immovable tree
With no chance of him being free
Their spears and arrows did they fling
Yet grapes to him did his Lord bring
Until his noble soul was liftedAs long as You are not angry with me then I do not care
I think of Yasir, Sumaiyah and their heir
Even when placed on sizzling ember
None but their Lord did they remember
Patience you all when paying this price
Indeed your abode is Paradise
As a reward for all that you did.As long as You are not angry with me, then I do not care
My example is Your Beloved when struck from the rear
By the sticks and stones of Taif’s crowd
Yet he did cry in a voice so loud:
“O Lord! Forgive my people for they do not know,”
And even thought I am feeling so low…As long as You are not angry with me, then I do not care.
-Babar Ahmed
Share this:
-
Like most others, I was a seeker, a mover, a malcontent, and at times a stupid hell-raiser. I was never idle long enough to do much thinking, but I felt somehow that some of us were making real progress, that we had taken an honest road, and that the best of us would inevitably make it over the top.
At the same time, I shared a dark suspicion that the life we were leading was a lost cause, that we were all actors, kidding ourselves along on a senseless odyssey. It was the tension between these two poles – a restless idealism on one hand and a sense of impending doom on the other – that kept me going.
~ Hunter S. Thompson Share this:
-
Support Independent Publishing (And Poetry!)
Get your Copy Now …
Biography
Poet- Writer R.M. Engelhardt’s work over the years has been published and has R.M. Engelhardt’s work has appeared in many journals & magazines in both print and on the net including in Retort, Rusty Truck, Sure! The Charles Bukowski Newsletter, Thunder Sandwich, The Boston Literary Review, Full of Crow, Fashion For Collapse, 2nd Avenue Poetry, The Outlaw Poetry Network & in many others.
The Resurrection Waltz is his 13th book of poetry.
Share this:
-
HELL
“If you want to understand the social and political history of modern man, study hell.”
~ Thomas Merton
It’s probably like the excitement of your first cigarette, but it lasts forever, that dizzying nausea — the Unknown: with imitation human heads on their buttocks, bats leaping from black books, dragon tails waving, monkey glands everywhere, hope dying slowly like a bad marriage, “I am nobody” the only conversation.
But then again the damned might be as unrecognizable and stupid as the living: men who use the same condom twice, women who let them, the degenerate who molested Spider-Man — everyone perpetually suing each other, holding hands in a circle whose rim clangs like a counterfeit coin.
But more likely it’s the general humiliation of being dead, realizing your own personal Beelzebub might be the least weird guy you know.
© 1997 by Peter Johnson.Share this:
-
Mignon McLaughlin
(born 6 June 1913, died 20 December 1983)
I tell you this, and I tell you plain
What you have done, you will do again
You will bite your tongue, careful or not
Upon the already-bitten spot.10 Neurotic Quotes
- Everybody can write; writers can’t do anything else.
- Most of us become parents long before we have stopped being children.
- Most sermons sound to me like commercials – but I can’t make out whether God is the Sponsor or the Product.
- We would all like a reputation for generosity and we’d all like to buy it cheap.
- When threatened, the first thing a democracy gives up is democracy.
- Neurotics are anxiety prone, accident prone, and often just prone.
- It took man thousands of years to put words down on paper, and his lawyers still wish he wouldn’t.
- No one really listens to anyone else, and if you try it for a while you’ll see why.
- It’s innocence when it charms us, ignorance when it doesn’t.
- A critic can only review the book he has read, not the one which the writer wrote.
McLaughlin was an American journalist and author. She wrote two volumes entitled The Neurotic’s Notebook and The Complete Neurotic’s Notebook . She became a journalist and write short stories for Redbook, Cosmopolitan, and other women’s magazines. She worked for Vogue in the 1940s, and was Copy Editor and Managing Editor of Glamour magazine in the 1960s and early 1970s.
by Amanda Patterson for Writers Write
Share this:
-
June 6, 1944 Share this:
-
Cabo San Lucas
Rising early to beat the heat
a little dry from last nights booze.
We’re soon out miles from land where
the big fish roam under the sun
and stars, undisturbed by time’s
wave-measured march.Slicing bonito for bait, the blood is
red against all the blue. Blue above
and below. The hook, hungering for
meat, shines blue in my hand as
I drop its feathered plume into the wake.We drink beer and wait for the line to sing,
rattling off the reel like a runaway train,
tightening under the drag, burning the leather stop.
The marlin leaps, its bill skewering the sky,
carves and dances in the blue, then twists and dives.The rod quivers in the belt. Leather biting my back
I reel and pull, the marlin leaps again,
I heave forward and rare back as fire
sweat and salt gather on my skin
A moment’s slack, a shake, the fish is free.Why aren’t all losses as lovely as this?
Quien sabe?For Reagan
He’ll go far, of that I’m sure
since grease and a smile
will get you a mile in this town.
People love him, but what do
they know? He’s just another
B-grade star with an A-grade grin
and a glad-hand ready for
any and all.Fuck them all, I say. Only a few
here are worth their salaries
and the rest are mannequins
dressed for the window show.
Jesus, maybe New York was the
place, but I’d miss the beach and
the sunsets here. I’m damn lucky
even if I can’t have it all.Out of the Past
These hills, that ocean out there, the sun
heating these roadstered streets at
noon where the young and the beautiful
pass me with their eyes empty of light
but filled with the darkness of longing.
Too often I’ve lost myself in them,
swallowed the dark draught and followed
them west, under the setting moon
to the edge of the world and oblivion
until the sun again ripples the air
above these roadstered streets
and dressed in someone elses clothes
I rise to become whoever I may be today.The Rain
I hate the rain here. On location we’re
knee deep in fake blood and mud
and the asshole director with no soul
calls for us to make another take.I’m going leave this all soon,
all the celebrity with its paper-moon
love and bulb popping phoniness.
There’s no space for anything but loneliness.Sarah Vaughn
I took the A-train uptown to hear her sing,
she said I’d be safe going in with her
but man, the looks I got. And all around
everyone looking so fine and cool
and eyes flashing out of those dark
spaces, filled with things I’ll never know.And when she sang, it was like the moon
melting down, white pearls and black satin
and a sudden silence that only she could bring.And Thunder Road….
Jimmy was slim.
I had a belly.
Lana Turner is dead.
And so’s Grace Kelly.
What does it matter
Fast or slow
Thunder Road
Or Vertigo?Share this:
-
