Daily Archives: March 2, 2017

jaggedly insane normal days by Aad de Gids

the curly mind linguistically innovative poetry - weird & risky

dark, dark not the mindset or how we now like to percieve
the blogosphere-globosphere but the gradual at first and then
almost treacherously quick onset of prenight this all, yet sort
of mindset or how we rolled through this day with bluesy, sung
“end” “liquid spirit” well we all know what that means, to lick
the gin off the icy pole poledancer felted floorcovering Harlem
seedy porncinema and your body satiated with the stolichnaya,
gin and other juice, the brains fluidisizing their facilities short
circuited korsakovian milky ocean of forgetfulness and again,
rolling no less, through the day being tired, grievant for this
world, juiced like an in the 70s banned “outspan” orange which
were south african and the labourers plucking them treated
like you neither should treat a dog, cheap hooker or alzheimer
hedgefund park ave granny this is how our bodies and souls
get corroded, willfully often, to…

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Letter to Trump by Malka Al-Haddad

I am not a silent poet

Write down

I’m Muslim.

I’m from Sumerians who taught your ancestors to write.

Who taught me the pride of the sun

Long before I could read.

Write down

I’m Muslim.

I’m from Hammurabi

Who taught American what is law and urban civilisation

You, who were neither well-bred, nor well-born!

Write down

I’m Muslim.

My roots were entrenched before the birth of time.

I’m from the Land of Oil:

Black gold, which is your dream to steal.

Write down

I’m Muslim.

You left nothing for us

But these rocks.

So will your state take them

As it has been foretold?


Write down

I’m Muslim.

Nor do i encroach.

But if I become angry,

The usurper’s flesh will be my food.



Of my anger.

Write down

I’m Muslim.

I’m the hot sun in a desert of magic you cannot get

In your palaces of gold.

Write down

I’m Muslim

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I’m human by Malka Al-Haddad

I am not a silent poet

I’m from a country at war

I am from a country that’s bleeding

A country of anger

And revolutions

A country of martyrs,

I’m from a country once called Mesopotamia

I’m from the land of black gold

I’m from the richest land on the earth

I’m from the land of sunshine on a golden desert

I’m from there

But I’m not there

I had beautiful dreams

I had friends, brothers, sisters, sweet parents and pink hopes…

I had green gardens, tall palms and olive trees

I had a warm winter

Blue rivers

Red flowers

I was born on land before the crossing of swords on the body

Turned into a banquet table

Before Bush and Blair turned our rivers  into blood

Then they donate us millions of tents instead of roofs for our houses

The rain has died in my homeland..

They left graves in the green  grass in our…

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