Skip to main content

Abeed Al-Biet

Terror’s teeth lunges for the leather whip that cracks the tense and shackled light.

We’ve enough of that, screeches the slave. Feared enough, roars the wounded slave. Pity, you’re caged by your own foul tongue, captured by your will to stir darkness, spent of courage that would mock a fair beast sending what’s been dead for what hasn’t lived.

What should we do with you, cries the slave. When shall we begin, shouts the bold slave. What shall we do with my fear, shrieks the master!

Terror’s teeth pierces the sheath that houses the whip and sets free its trembling.


© 2008 mrp/tpm
Labels:

Comments

  1. handmaidenNovember 20, 2008 at 5:12 PM

    Great poem.
    I'm so sick of war mongers!

    handmaiden aka concerned citizen

    ReplyDelete
  2. mandtNovember 21, 2008 at 10:18 AM

    Forever slouching toward Bethlehem----well done poet!

    ReplyDelete
  3. thepoetrymanNovember 22, 2008 at 9:00 PM

    handmaiden,
    "Sick" might well be an underwordment...

    ReplyDelete
  4. thepoetrymanNovember 22, 2008 at 9:01 PM

    MandT thank you and if we're lucky we will slouch less and begin walking upright as the good Darwin spake.

    ReplyDelete
  5. Pagan SphinxDecember 2, 2008 at 5:15 PM

    This is a really good one, PM. I think you should include it in the next volume. :-)

    ReplyDelete
  6. thepoetrymanDecember 11, 2008 at 9:03 PM

    In that case...I will be sure to include it.

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

sdrawkcaB nruT (Turn Backwards)

I have been witness to the four pillars and see no reason to carry death there. Doesn’t the world know that life moves for more than just the sons of Abraham? O! I see the stunned throats floating by in the dusk to their stiff-limbed sleep as metal rains down over the Jordan’s western prophet, children dying there. I am here, waiting, breathing in the dusk under the shadow of the patriarch, asking, can we again build the shrine inside the soul and leave our flesh to time? © 2008 mrp/thepoetryman
32 comments
read the poem

SKYFALL

Skyfall... We continue to play along with an unnatural game that has serious consequences, soon we'll find ourselves enslaved without recourse to the system. (Is that true of local charades?) Yes. (Why can't we free ourselves from the system?) The madness of money. (It's not money, it's people, right?) It's both, money and us in tandem, thus assuring money's might and our adherance to its loudness. (Madness...) Indeed. © 2017 Mark Richard Prime
1 comment
read the poem

THE ROCK HOLDS

The rock holds the soil in and from the soil springs the tree, the green of LIFE rolling from the blue, rising to the occasion of itself. . “Be!”, the (H)eartH declares, “Be what you are!” . (We thought we were!) . (We think we are!) . “You are, but not freely, therefore, only a thought, and a thought without much thinking, as if you were scared into it.”, the (H)eartH added. . [a quietude begins, the truth being heard and heeded, grooving to the flow] ~ © 2017 Mark Richard Prime
Post a Comment
read the poem