four weird stuff poetry

[Curaezipirid]

These are weird because there was three but the second one in the sequence here mysteriously supplanted itself for the third, and so now they both are in, but with an improvement of a name change to their third, and new ending to the second.

They are all boring and worth nobody's while reading, but I fear that could make somebody read of. Hello to the moderator, perhaps you could get another mod to help if it is burdensome. My Islam is heavier than any other I know.

Believe

World of belief in God
Is just so not
What those whom fail it
Suppose us believers believe
God to be

Judge faith not
For belief is by definition
True to reason
In experiential conditions
So defy not
What your own life’s transitions
Have so far failed to provide of

And if you can not yet believe
In God
And every he bequeath
Then just believe in life
Being sustained by
A mysterious unity of energy
For what else is He
If not singularity
Too large for us to imagine
Too minute in action
For our detection
Too loving of our being
To let us end with existing
If only we forget momentarily
In Him need

For it is of us
Those parts
We have to have for love
In God above
Which fail to believe
In constance existing
Which are causal to existence ceasing
And yet within
The key is
That every
Perfect unity
Of Faith in Love
Of God above
Of reason
Of science and belief
Of hope to make the Earth our home a better place
Is the aspect of us
The Soul in living unity with
What will not cease
Without God recreating us
Once again
Every moment
So well we are beloved
In the face of the worst that has become of us



Was

Was he too attractive
To be talking to me
What was He believing about me
And why had he approached me
For while I tried and tried
To make him take me
As I am
Just a bit too daggy
For what he likes of his own manhood
So therefore
Thought I
Right from the start
Of our conversation
I am just not his type
As attractive as he might be
So if he will see
That I had not tried
To get him to like me
Then perhaps he might
Realise he knows not yet
What there is to like
About me
Because I was
Sitting outside in the city
Alone at night
And did not
Want
To be approached by any man
No matter how attractive
Nor matter that his mind
Beautifully intelligent
He describes and self defines
His Spirit alike
To mine
Giving no indication of why
But to my mind
Might he find
That of course I am above all too daggy
When approached on the city street at night
By a complete stranger
With a too far too sexy mind
That seems now to have adhered to mine
In love like
Just that he said to find
Unbelievable
And so had I
Until without his phone number
All I could think to was cry
And poetry aplenty write
When other work calls
Is that I once before was alright
Being the person who met him
But now am too daggy for even my self to like
So his attractive personality might
Just return his mind into
Bizarre un-kissed night
For to gently remind
An advertisement I did write
And semblance like
A public announcement
Of the well to do men's
Brothel opening night
Is that my anger is formidable
Because there at
Our parting had
I shown him what
The nights walk
Might have painted me as
And in permanence if
He is not who
Answers the ad just right
Is that was I a dag
Lacking only social regard that
Or just too fat
Because to my mind
His intensely attractive
Approach to me
Was only
Too likeable to trust
To specially pretty for love
Or was I only too ignorant of
But in his real esteem
Why the ******* made me want to scream
Of formidable endurance in ice cream
Who could but Dream
That an accident
Of our coincidence
Would have caused that between
We have found ourselves relating
Within Kiri Elaison
Bringing new meaning
To a marriage of convenience
This is the Dance
. . .



Was it of Non-believers only that this is Me

The kaffir
Though migaloo
Their name
Our language has too
And less shame
But hasnamuss those who
Seem to have sprung up amongst us
Can not believe
Themselves not originally
So are able to believe
Yet without only constance
And sadly detrimentally
To who can do them to be
Is the hasnamuss key
The kaffir not so able
To be managed well
While migaloo
Just prepared to be
Their own body
Letting our will do their wants and needs
Occasionally inhabiting
So sharing in accountability
Is this my linguistic analysis
Correct also to you
For the migaloo
Is an unusual beast
Who is gladly being proved
In Animist cultures
To want to accept
What is love’s consequence
So when it came to
Who but the migaloo
Aspiration to be
So insensitive to me
As kaffir be
So forming hasnamuss ideas
Of the reality including queers
Of potential possibility
Well what they tried to cause
To me to be
And perhaps you also
Was that they built a glass house
In their own imaginations
Fuelled of course by our own
Tricked into their beliefs
A glass house in the sky
For the minds
Of any person whom did not like
Their way to be
Of refuting time
But yet admired by them of mental capacity
As though our brains of nobility
Became baked into a great big pie
Of our own selves to eat
From which impossible it can be
To Dream at night
Without their taking a bit
Of our Human identity
And persecuting our memory
With false ideology
As though able to make us believe
We had no Islam in deed
Could not remember our own mind to read
And that whose mind
An open book to this seed
An open house
For any body who buys it
Their games of self hate
To take a look
To see what denies it
Yet in Human mentality please
For what sort of people are these
Relying upon a glass house of leaves
Dropped by the trees
Of Human wood
Knowing we should
Never forget these
And never be letting it pass
That any migaloo so much as farts
Or breaths
But the kaffir who
Have no worth in mind
Why the hasnamuss favour them to do
Us all into oblivion
For these so Human like
Whose heads are well read
Just simply don’t like
That a Human gets time to stand in
And their mind reading fees
They demand of us with no please
No thankyou
No informing
So fail us of our memory
That at any moment
We are in mind open to them
To the forgivers
Of our Humanity
And those who so did
Are as ridiculous a lid
As to have made up their dreams
From the types of commodities
That with they identified
When they decided
To turn away from Animist faith
So in a tupperware party
Arrived the containment of dreams
Combined with
A toilet and sugar show stream
With a floor and door show
Type of restrainment
The enforced upon
Those in their tupperware glass
Assuming of us
That when without
Sweets in the mouth
**** and urine coming out
Then what we leave on the floor
Or let through the door
Might be what we owe them
As though they are the only
Folk with access to any
Particle of what is in my memory
But to that tune rich
Have they stitched
Their own fanciful interpretive
Meaning
While portraying my self
As theirs for bleeding
Locked into the Tupperware shelf
Or somebody’s glass teapot
Perhaps the one with a cosy
For it shed the wool that
Maybe myself is too dozy
To have believed
In those Dreams with them
In which they train Human children
To be like them
And then seem to sell
To policemen
Off whose false interpretations
They breath in
Imposing
Yet so faulting
Only their own life
In their mysteriously
Well practised
Yet sadly poorly skilled
Timing drills
The whole electronic media
In its displacements
Of locations
Seems to have been caused so as to stabilise them
For what form of life could this
The call of a hassnamuss
That a banana in pyjamas
Came down some stairs
Only because
They imagined of me to be
Very politically
Defaming them
Which I am actually
As a consequence
Of a need to flush out their
Assumptions of me
It seems to be
Our way to know
What of us they suppose
Yet for my money
Who lives off their greed
Of managing to be
Who closed all the doors
Except that they imagined control of
Against me
Rather be in poverty
For it seems to be
The hasnamuss of course
Whom are yet obtaining money in blaming me
For no idea other than their own existences
Yet could any child have stopped them
Proving only that no child should be
Able to own and spend any money
And with that key
Just thank them
For the lesson in
Never imagining




The World Telling Me Its End

What will the world
When being Muslim became
Subjugated and defamed
In seeking truth
By Arab’s imagination
That the culture of Arabia
Is the only Islamic way
That my efforts to attain
An identity in belief to sustain
Of my own people’s place
In Islam no disgrace
Are being prevented
By Arabs insisting I need
The language of Arabia
To portray myself as a believer
While the policing of this place
Governed today by invaders
Imposed upon me
That it could be seditious
And imprison-able
To so learn to be
Able to speak in Arabic
Yet being an Aborigine of Australia
I know my own language word
Stands as well in Allah
My indigenous comprehension
Of Religion
Surpassing through ancient memory
My other schooled in keys
Which save me daily
From the police
Projecting upon me
That if it is not the sedition of
Speaking the Arabic tongue
Then indeed must it be
Seditious
To claim to be Muslim
This wing to sing from
Long sung but
We are who knew not of
Until it had begun
Among those of us
Not yet converted
Before our land was invaded
Is arisen
In decisions
Of what is the law we must deal with
What marks us ever to be Muslim
Regardless of any police diversions

[Silver Pearl]

:salamext:

Wow Mashallaah I loved them, I liked 'believe' the most. What does hasnamuss mean? I know what migaloo is and I presume you used it as a metaphor? Mashallaah excellent poems! It is worth a read for anyone who likes to write or read poetry :)

[moheyuddin]

:sl: Excellent Poetry!

Keep it Up:thumbs_up

G. Moheyuddin

http://moheyuddin.tripod.com

[Curaezipirid]

Hasnamuss is sort of a bit like to word kaffir, but more similar to a migaloo

But then, I am a whitefella to whom a black family confessed that the word migaloo in the local indigenous language is not exactly meaning just any whitefella, and perhaps a few too many blackfellas are too

A bit like how the meaning of kaffir has been corrupted in the minds of a few folk, so has migaloo,

But a hasnamuss is not a kaffir because their mind is not so ignorant, but also more enabled in Humanity than a migaloo, but somehow missing a basic conception of constance in time. Sort of like a migaloo who was put into the position of holding esoteric knowledge over a Human Imam.

thanks for asking and I am glad you like my Believe poem, the poem called "Was" that had sort of inserted itself among the others, now has a few new lines at the end,

Who could but Dream
That an accident
Of our coincidence
Would have caused that between
We have found ourselves relating
Within Kiri Elaison
Bringing new meaning
To a marriage of convenience
This is the Dance



I think it still needs a resolution though, don't you?


Salam