Skip navigation
Sidebar -

Advanced search options →

Welcome

Welcome to CEMB forum.
Please login or register. Did you miss your activation email?

Donations

Help keep the Forum going!
Click on Kitty to donate:

Kitty is lost

Recent Posts


Do humans have needed kno...
Today at 06:51 PM

اضواء على الطريق ....... ...
by akay
April 28, 2024, 06:41 AM

Lights on the way
by akay
April 27, 2024, 01:26 PM

New Britain
April 27, 2024, 08:42 AM

What's happened to the fo...
April 27, 2024, 08:30 AM

Qur'anic studies today
April 23, 2024, 02:50 AM

Do humans have needed kno...
April 20, 2024, 08:02 AM

Iran launches drones
April 13, 2024, 05:56 PM

عيد مبارك للجميع! ^_^
by akay
April 12, 2024, 12:01 PM

Eid-Al-Fitr
by akay
April 12, 2024, 08:06 AM

Mock Them and Move on., ...
January 30, 2024, 05:44 AM

Pro Israel or Pro Palesti...
January 29, 2024, 08:53 AM

Theme Changer

 Topic: Poetry time - Favourite poems by others

 (Read 30848 times)
  • Previous page 1 23 4 ... 6 Next page « Previous thread | Next thread »
  • Re: Poetry time
     Reply #30 - May 20, 2010, 06:01 PM


    One ball sags, the other is a twister.
    If you don't believe me, just ask your sister.


    "we can smell traitors and country haters"


    God is Love.
    Love is Blind. Stevie Wonder is blind. Therefore, Stevie Wonder is God.

  • Re: Poetry time
     Reply #31 - May 20, 2010, 06:01 PM


    Are we running the risk of being too laddish?

    OK sorry if so.


    "we can smell traitors and country haters"


    God is Love.
    Love is Blind. Stevie Wonder is blind. Therefore, Stevie Wonder is God.

  • Re: Poetry time
     Reply #32 - May 20, 2010, 06:02 PM

    It's art, man...I'm sure it's okay

    fuck you
  • Re: Poetry time
     Reply #33 - May 20, 2010, 06:08 PM

     Cheesy
  • Re: Poetry time
     Reply #34 - May 20, 2010, 06:10 PM

    Time for a bit of culture.


    I got culture out the fuckin ass, kid.

    fuck you
  • Re: Poetry time
     Reply #35 - May 21, 2010, 02:34 PM

    My Balls by Q-Man


    My Balls...

    With vicious power, they deflower

    My Balls...

    A warm haven, they stay shaven

    My Balls...

    In the summer, they hang low because it's hot
    But in the winter they stay close, nice and taut

    My Balls...

    One hangs lower than the other
    If you don't believe me, just ask your mother

    My Balls...

    Bring the whole world to righteousness

    *Bows* Thank you.


     Cheesy Cheesy Cheesy
  • Re: Poetry time
     Reply #36 - May 21, 2010, 02:56 PM

     Cheesy

    Q-Man, you're a natural!  Afro$

  • Re: Poetry time
     Reply #37 - May 21, 2010, 03:03 PM

    My Balls by Q-Man


    My Balls...

    With vicious power, they deflower

    My Balls...

    A warm haven, they stay shaven

    My Balls...

    In the summer, they hang low because it's hot
    But in the winter they stay close, nice and taut

    My Balls...

    One hangs lower than the other
    If you don't believe me, just ask your mother

    My Balls...

    Bring the whole world to righteousness

    *Bows* Thank you.


    This is entertaining. Pop out some more.

    "If intelligence is feminine... I would want that mine would, in a resolute movement, come to resemble an impious woman."
  • Re: Poetry time
     Reply #38 - May 21, 2010, 03:05 PM

    One ball is bruised  the other has  damage
    if you look real close they resemble mohammed





    oh , and while your down there.................................... whistling2

    According to the polls only 1.6 % of Americans are athiests. So what gives you the right to call the other 80% morons?'
  • Re: Poetry time
     Reply #39 - May 21, 2010, 03:25 PM

    Thread winner  Cheesy

    My Book     news002       
    My Blog  pccoffee
  • Re: Poetry time
     Reply #40 - May 21, 2010, 10:13 PM

     Lmao

    "A good man is so hard to find but a hard man is so good to find"
  • Re: Poetry time
     Reply #41 - May 21, 2010, 10:14 PM

    One day someone should compile a book about the Great Islamic Writers, Scholars and Scientists throughout the ages that were actually Atheists, Agnostics, Heretics or skeptics.
    I don't think there would be many actual "Muslim" Islamic scholars left lol


    Ali Sina wrote on some of them:
    http://www.faithfreedom.org/Articles/sina/freethinkersislam.htm

    "A good man is so hard to find but a hard man is so good to find"
  • Re: Poetry time
     Reply #42 - May 22, 2010, 10:54 AM

    Saathiya , thats a very interesting piece, thanks for the link

    According to the polls only 1.6 % of Americans are athiests. So what gives you the right to call the other 80% morons?'
  • Re: Poetry time
     Reply #43 - June 09, 2010, 10:13 AM

    ركعتني يا خِل
    انا الذي للخالق بالركعات ابخلُ
    روضتني يا خِل
    وجعلت من الضرغامِ كبشا مدجنا
    بقدمك يا خِل
    دُست على قلبٍ يصرخ إليك و يتوسلُ
    اسقني يا خِل
    من خمر اذلالك ولا تبخلَ


    بغمزة
    أنا بغمزة من دبره
    أصبح حالي كالغريق ممسكاً عوداً من خشب
    وهو حينما مس عودي
    أصبح حاله كالقطيع
    منه ذئب يقترب
    وهكذا بات الحمل
    بين مطرقة الذئب
    وسندان الفراش
    يثقب صمت الليل بثغائه

    באוהלך
    מתוך ערפל סמיך הופיע לי אוהלך
    ועל ארבע זחלתי וביקשתי להכנס
    פתחת לי מהר ומשכת אותי אליך
    ובנשיקות מטורפות הלילה התחיל
    כמה מתוק להיות לצדךאך
    בצדק אומר שלא באתי להתנשק
    הגיע הזמן שתשכב על צדך
    ואת גורלך תקבל
    אז תפתח לי לאט לאט את שערך
    הכניסה אל גן-עדן קשה, ככתוב
    קשה לי לראות את הגיהינום על מבטך
    אך ברגע אחד כל הכאב יעלם



    My style is impetuous, my defense is impregnable and I'm just ferocious. I want your heart. I want to eat your children. Praise be to Allah." -- Mike Tyson
  • Re: Poetry time
     Reply #44 - June 09, 2010, 11:42 AM

    Time for a bit of culture. A gold star to whoever identifies the author and the poem.

    The Koran! well, come put me to the test--
    Lovely old book in hideous error drest--
    Believe me, I can quote the Koran too,
    The unbeliever knows his Koran best.

    And do you think that unto such as you,
    A maggot-minded, starved, fanatic crew,
    God gave the Secret, and denied it me?--
    Well, well, what matters it! believe that too.

    Why didn't I come across that one in the Arabic translation?

    "In every time and culture there are pressures to conform to the prevailing prejudices. But there are also, in every place and epoch, those who value the truth; who record the evidence faithfully. Future generations are in their debt." -Carl Sagan

  • Re: Poetry time
     Reply #45 - June 09, 2010, 11:45 AM

    My Balls by Q-Man


    My Balls...

    With vicious power, they deflower

    My Balls...

    A warm haven, they stay shaven

    My Balls...

    In the summer, they hang low because it's hot
    But in the winter they stay close, nice and taut

    My Balls...

    One hangs lower than the other
    If you don't believe me, just ask your mother

    My Balls...

    Bring the whole world to righteousness

    *Bows* Thank you.



    i want 2 rape u

    Iblis has mad debaterin' skillz. Best not step up unless you're prepared to recieve da pain.

  • Re: Poetry time
     Reply #46 - June 11, 2010, 06:26 AM

    ركعتني يا خِل
    انا الذي للخالق بالركعات ابخلُ
    روضتني يا خِل
    وجعلت من الضرغامِ كبشا مدجنا
    بقدمك يا خِل
    دُست على قلبٍ يصرخ إليك و يتوسلُ
    اسقني يا خِل
    من خمر اذلالك ولا تبخلَ


    بغمزة
    أنا بغمزة من دبره
    أصبح حالي كالغريق ممسكاً عوداً من خشب
    وهو حينما مس عودي
    أصبح حاله كالقطيع
    منه ذئب يقترب
    وهكذا بات الحمل
    بين مطرقة الذئب
    وسندان الفراش
    يثقب صمت الليل بثغائه

    באוהלך
    מתוך ערפל סמיך הופיע לי אוהלך
    ועל ארבע זחלתי וביקשתי להכנס
    פתחת לי מהר ומשכת אותי אליך
    ובנשיקות מטורפות הלילה התחיל
    כמה מתוק להיות לצדךאך
    בצדק אומר שלא באתי להתנשק
    הגיע הזמן שתשכב על צדך
    ואת גורלך תקבל
    אז תפתח לי לאט לאט את שערך
    הכניסה אל גן-עדן קשה, ככתוב
    קשה לי לראות את הגיהינום על מבטך
    אך ברגע אחד כל הכאב יעלם





    Wut teh hell is this jibberish?  Tongue
  • Re: Poetry time
     Reply #47 - June 11, 2010, 10:11 AM

    try waxing your balls next time.  oh the fun! no doubt would inspire you to even
    more profound prose  Afro  better yet.. get a piercing   bunny

    When one door of happiness closes, another opens; but often we look so long at the closed door that we do not see the one which has been opened for us.
    Helen Keller
  • Re: Poetry time
     Reply #48 - June 11, 2010, 10:18 AM

    Translations for Bobonaut:
    1st poem.

    I knelt before you
    I knelt before you, oh lover
    me, who barely kneels before The Creator
    you have trained me, oh lover
    and made of the lion, a humble lamb
    with your foot, oh lover
    you stomped on a heart that cries and begs for you
    Allow me to drink, oh lover
    from the wine of humiliation and do not be stingy

    2nd poem.
    By a Wink
    I, by a wink of his anus
    became as a drowning man
    holding on to a piece of wood
    He, when he touched my wood
    became as a lamb that has been cut off from his herd
    being approached by a wolf
    And that is how the lamb spent the night
    between the hammer of the wolf
    and the anvil of the bed
    piercing the quiet of night with his bleating

    3rd poem
    In your tent
    Through a thick mist, your tent appeared to me
    and on all fours towards you I crawled and asked to enter
    hastily you let me in and pulled me towards you
    and with passionate kisses the night has begun
    How sweet it is to be by your side
    but in all honestly I tell you that I didn't come to hug
    the time as come for you to lay on your side
    and for you to meet your fate
    Ever so slowly, open your gate for me
    it is written that the entry to heaven isn't easy
    it's hard for me to see hell on your face
    but in a few moments the pain shall dissapear

    My style is impetuous, my defense is impregnable and I'm just ferocious. I want your heart. I want to eat your children. Praise be to Allah." -- Mike Tyson
  • Re: Poetry time
     Reply #49 - June 11, 2010, 12:26 PM

     Cheesy
  • Re: Poetry time
     Reply #50 - December 07, 2010, 06:15 PM

    Just thought I'd share a particularly brilliant sonnet of Shakespeare's for the sake of anyone who's interested:

    SONNET 18

    Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
    Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
    Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
    And summer's lease hath all too short a date:
    Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
    And often is his gold complexion dimm'd;
    And every fair from fair sometime declines,
    By chance or nature's changing course untrimm'd;
    But thy eternal summer shall not fade
    Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest;
    Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade,
    When in eternal lines to time thou growest:
    So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
    So long lives this and this gives life to thee.
  • Re: Poetry time
     Reply #51 - December 07, 2010, 06:53 PM


    A poem that Dylan Thomas wrote as his father was dying.


    +++++


    DO NOT GO GENTLE INTO THAT GOOD NIGHT

    Do not go gentle into that good night,
    Old age should burn and rage at close of day;
    Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

    Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
    Because their words had forked no lightning they
    Do not go gentle into that good night.

    Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
    Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
    Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

    Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
    And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
    Do not go gentle into that good night.

    Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
    Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
    Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

    And you, my father, there on the sad height,
    Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
    Do not go gentle into that good night.
    Rage, rage against the dying of the light.



    "we can smell traitors and country haters"


    God is Love.
    Love is Blind. Stevie Wonder is blind. Therefore, Stevie Wonder is God.

  • Re: Poetry time
     Reply #52 - December 30, 2010, 02:23 PM

    The Walrus and The Carpenter

    Lewis Carroll

    The sun was shining on the sea,
    Shining with all his might:
    He did his very best to make
    The billows smooth and bright--
    And this was odd, because it was
    The middle of the night.

    The moon was shining sulkily,
    Because she thought the sun
    Had got no business to be there
    After the day was done--
    "It's very rude of him," she said,
    "To come and spoil the fun!"


    The sea was wet as wet could be,
    The sands were dry as dry.
    You could not see a cloud, because
    No cloud was in the sky:
    No birds were flying overhead--
    There were no birds to fly.
    The Walrus and the Carpenter
    Were walking close at hand;
    They wept like anything to see
    Such quantities of sand:
    "If this were only cleared away,"
    They said, "it would be grand!"
    "If seven maids with seven mops
    Swept it for half a year.
    Do you suppose," the Walrus said,
    "That they could get it clear?"
    "I doubt it," said the Carpenter,
    And shed a bitter tear.
    "O Oysters, come and walk with us!"
    The Walrus did beseech.
    "A pleasant walk, a pleasant talk,
    Along the briny beach:
    We cannot do with more than four,
    To give a hand to each."
    The eldest Oyster looked at him,
    But never a word he said:
    The eldest Oyster winked his eye,
    And shook his heavy head--
    Meaning to say he did not choose
    To leave the oyster-bed.
    But four young Oysters hurried up,
    All eager for the treat:
    Their coats were brushed, their faces washed,
    Their shoes were clean and neat--
    And this was odd, because, you know,
    They hadn't any feet.
    Four other Oysters followed them,
    And yet another four;
    And thick and fast they came at last,
    And more, and more, and more--
    All hopping through the frothy waves,
    And scrambling to the shore.


    The Walrus and the Carpenter
    Walked on a mile or so,
    And then they rested on a rock
    Conveniently low:
    And all the little Oysters stood
    And waited in a row.
    "The time has come," the Walrus said,
    "To talk of many things:
    Of shoes--and ships--and sealing-wax--
    Of cabbages--and kings--
    And why the sea is boiling hot--
    And whether pigs have wings."
    "But wait a bit," the Oysters cried,
    "Before we have our chat;
    For some of us are out of breath,
    And all of us are fat!"
    "No hurry!" said the Carpenter.
    They thanked him much for that.
    "A loaf of bread," the Walrus said,
    "Is what we chiefly need:
    Pepper and vinegar besides
    Are very good indeed--
    Now if you're ready, Oysters dear,
    We can begin to feed."
    "But not on us!" the Oysters cried,
    Turning a little blue.
    "After such kindness, that would be
    A dismal thing to do!"
    "The night is fine," the Walrus said.
    "Do you admire the view?


    "It was so kind of you to come!
    And you are very nice!"
    The Carpenter said nothing but
    "Cut us another slice:
    I wish you were not quite so deaf--
    I've had to ask you twice!"
    "It seems a shame," the Walrus said,
    "To play them such a trick,
    After we've brought them out so far,
    And made them trot so quick!"
    The Carpenter said nothing but
    "The butter's spread too thick!"
    "I weep for you," the Walrus said:
    "I deeply sympathize."
    With sobs and tears he sorted out
    Those of the largest size,
    Holding his pocket-handkerchief
    Before his streaming eyes.
    "O Oysters," said the Carpenter,
    "You've had a pleasant run!
    Shall we be trotting home again?'
    But answer came there none--
    And this was scarcely odd, because
    They'd eaten every one.
  • Re: Poetry time
     Reply #53 - December 30, 2010, 03:37 PM

    A Dream Deferred
    LANGSTON HUGHES

    What happens to a dream deferred?

    Does it dry up
    like a raisin in the sun?
    Or fester like a sore--
    And then run?
    Does it stink like rotten meat?
    Or crust and sugar over--
    like a syrupy sweet?

    Maybe it just sags
    like a heavy load.

    Or does it explode?

    Against the ruin of the world, there
    is only one defense: the creative act.

    -- Kenneth Rexroth
  • Re: Poetry time - Favourite poems by others
     Reply #54 - December 30, 2010, 04:17 PM

    she described this poem as "a girl with the electra complex" although i have never felt this way about my father still understood where she was coming from .......

    Daddy by Slyvia Plath


    You do not do, you do not do
    Any more, black shoe
    In which I have lived like a foot
    For thirty years, poor and white,
    Barely daring to breathe or Achoo.

    Daddy, I have had to kill you.
    You died before I had time--
    Marble-heavy, a bag full of God,
    Ghastly statue with one gray toe
    Big as a Frisco seal

    And a head in the freakish Atlantic
    Where it pours bean green over blue
    In the waters off beautiful Nauset.
    I used to pray to recover you.
    Ach, du.

    In the German tongue, in the Polish town
    Scraped flat by the roller
    Of wars, wars, wars.
    But the name of the town is common.
    My Polack friend

    Says there are a dozen or two.
    So I never could tell where you
    Put your foot, your root,
    I never could talk to you.
    The tongue stuck in my jaw.

    It stuck in a barb wire snare.
    Ich, ich, ich, ich,
    I could hardly speak.
    I thought every German was you.
    And the language obscene

    An engine, an engine
    Chuffing me off like a Jew.
    A Jew to Dachau, Auschwitz, Belsen.
    I began to talk like a Jew.
    I think I may well be a Jew.

    The snows of the Tyrol, the clear beer of Vienna
    Are not very pure or true.
    With my gipsy ancestress and my weird luck
    And my Taroc pack and my Taroc pack
    I may be a bit of a Jew.

    I have always been scared of you,
    With your Luftwaffe, your gobbledygoo.
    And your neat mustache
    And your Aryan eye, bright blue.
    Panzer-man, panzer-man, O You--

    Not God but a swastika
    So black no sky could squeak through.
    Every woman adores a Fascist,
    The boot in the face, the brute
    Brute heart of a brute like you.

    You stand at the blackboard, daddy,
    In the picture I have of you,
    A cleft in your chin instead of your foot
    But no less a devil for that, no not
    Any less the black man who

    Bit my pretty red heart in two.
    I was ten when they buried you.
    At twenty I tried to die
    And get back, back, back to you.
    I thought even the bones would do.

    But they pulled me out of the sack,
    And they stuck me together with glue.
    And then I knew what to do.
    I made a model of you,
    A man in black with a Meinkampf look

    And a love of the rack and the screw.
    And I said I do, I do.
    So daddy, I'm finally through.
    The black telephone's off at the root,
    The voices just can't worm through.

    If I've killed one man, I've killed two--
    The vampire who said he was you
    And drank my blood for a year,
    Seven years, if you want to know.
    Daddy, you can lie back now.

    There's a stake in your fat black heart
    And the villagers never liked you.
    They are dancing and stamping on you.
    They always knew it was you.
    Daddy, daddy, you bastard, I'm through.

    "its fashionable to be an ex Muslim these days"
  • Re: Poetry time - Favourite poems by others
     Reply #55 - December 30, 2010, 04:33 PM

    They all err—Moslems, Jews,
    Christians, and Zoroastrians:
    Humanity follows two world-wide sects:
    One, man intelligent without religion,
    The second, religious without intellect.

    Al-Ma'arri
  • Re: Poetry time - Favourite poems by others
     Reply #56 - December 30, 2010, 05:07 PM

    The Large Gifts of Death

    Who'll rescue me from living in a town
    Where I am spoken of with praise unfit?
    Rich, pious, learned: such is my renown,
    But many a barrier stands between me and it.

    I admit to ignorance, yet wise was thought
    By some—and is not ours a wondrous case?
    For truly we all are good for naught:
    I am not noble nor are they not base.

    My body in life's strait grip scarce bears the strain—
    How shall I move decay to clasp it round?
    O the large gifts of death! Ease after pain
    He brings to us, and silence after sound.

    Al-Ma'arri

    "Life is not a matter of holding good cards, but of playing a poor hand well."
    - Robert Louis Stevenson
  • Re: Poetry time - Favourite poems by others
     Reply #57 - December 30, 2010, 05:10 PM

    أفيقوا أفيقوا يا غواة فإنما دياناتكم مكرٌ من القدماء
    فلا تحسب مقال الرسل حقا ولكن قول زور سطّروه
    وكان الناس في يمنٍ رغيدٍ فجاءوا باالمحال فكدروه
    دين وكفر وأنباء تقص وفرقان وتوراة وإنجيل
    في كل جيل أباطيل ، يدان بها فهل تفرد يوما بالهدى جيل


    Wake up! Wake up! Oh you Deceived for all your religions are but the deceit of the ancients
    Do not think the sayings of the Prophets are true, they are fabrications they made up.
    Mankind was fine and well, then they came with the absurd and spoilt it
    Religion and disbelief and tales told and the Criterion (the Qur'an) and the Torah and the Gospels
    In every generation lies are believed in - so will a generation one day finally find guidance?

    Al-Ma'arri

    (My translation)
  • Re: Poetry time - Favourite poems by others
     Reply #58 - December 30, 2010, 05:15 PM

    I did not know of Al-Ma'arri until now, and can't imagine there being other brazen thinkers like him from the age of Islamic expansion.

    "Life is not a matter of holding good cards, but of playing a poor hand well."
    - Robert Louis Stevenson
  • Re: Poetry time - Favourite poems by others
     Reply #59 - December 30, 2010, 05:16 PM

    Sappho


    Some say thronging cavalry, some say foot soldiers,
    others call a fleet the most beautiful of
    sights the dark earth offers, but I say it's what-
                ever you love best.

    And it's easy to make this understood by
    everyone, for she who surpassed all human
    kind in beauty, Helen, abandoning her
                husband--that best of

    men--went sailing off to the shores of Troy and
    never spent a thought on her child or loving
    parents: when the goddess seduced her wits and
                left her to wander,

    she forgot them all, she could not remember
    anything but longing, and lightly straying
    aside, lost her way. But that reminds me
                now: Anactória,

    she's not here, and I'd rather see her lovely
    step, her sparkling glance and her face than gaze on
    all the troops in Lydia in their chariots and
                glittering armor.

    So once again I'm left with the classic Irish man's dilemma, do I eat the potato or do I let it ferment so I can drink it later?
    My political philosophy below
    http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bwGat4i8pJI&feature=g-vrec
    Just kidding, here are some true heros
    http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dBTgvK6LQqA
  • Previous page 1 23 4 ... 6 Next page « Previous thread | Next thread »