To My American Friend with Love

Nesreen Melek, Dec 4, 2004,

Nesreen Melek is an Iraqi woman, currently living in Canada. Her generosity and compassion can be seen in her words below. Would that all Americans had her capacity to recognize that we are all one people, Iraqi, American and from every other country - that we all suffer when any one of us suffers, that we each lose a child when any one of us loses a child, that we all die when any one of us dies.

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To My American Friend with Love

In a time when I thought all American men are without heart, you proved to me there are still some with one.

In a time when I heard the screams of women, kids and elderly coming from far away pleading for help, you told me you could hear it too.

In a time when I felt helpless watching my country being destroyed because of big lies, you told me it breaks your heart too.

In a time when I discovered they were there for the oil and not for the people, you told me you could see it the same way too.

In a time when I read the horror stories about my country and couldn't sleep, you soothed me and told me it bothered you too.

In a time when I watched them shooting wounded people, you understood why I couldn’t forgive them and you told me you wouldn’t forgive them too.

In a time when I saw them torturing, raping and kicking my people’s heads with their boots, I felt embarrassed, you told me that they were doing it by your name and you’re ashamed of their doings too.

In a time when I thought American people are arrogant and selfish, you made me feel not all of them are and they do have feelings too.

In a time when I thought our Allah is different from your Jesus, you were puzzled but you told me there is no difference between the two.

In a time when I thought your people are murderers, you proved to me that not all of them are and they do have heart too.

In a time when I thought there would be no future to my country, you told me there would be no future to yours and eventually killers will pay the price too.

In a time when I felt down, you proved to me that there is a friend who cares and that’s why I believe in you.

In a time when I felt that we couldn’t change the world, you proved to me that we could if we put our hands and hearts together and this is what we all have to do.

________________________________________________________

Poem To The Father in Fallujah Who Buried His Son in His Garden

Lift your warm son's body and scream as you haven't screamed before and ask them what has your son done to them?

Let his blood drip on the soil, don't wash it, let it stay to remember their atrocities and ask them what has your son done to them?

Dig a small hole in your garden, let your son¹s body rest in peace and ask them what your has your son done to them?

Spread his arms like a bird, let his soul fly far away and ask them what has your son done to them?

Cover his body with the fertile soil from your garden, and ask them what has your son done to them?

Plant a white flower on his grave and ask them what has your son done to them?

Water the flower with your tears and ask them what has your son done to them?

Fertilize the flower with the blood of the Iraqi civilians who were killed during their shock and awe bombing and ask them what has your son done to them?

Sit every day beside his grave, cry for your loss and ours and ask them what has your son done to them?

Pray for his soul to rest in heaven and ask Him to forgive them for their acts and ask them what has your son done to them?

Get a white tombstone, write the names of all the kids who lost their lives during their liberation and ask them what has your son and all other son other sons, done to them

Let the tombstone be as high as it should be, take a picture of the tombstone, give it to them and ask them what has your son done to them?

This Night in Fallujah: Lailat Al Qadr in Ramadan

By Sam Hamod

Tonight, in Fallujah

We wait

For the known

For the follow-up

To the fighter planes

To the rockets

To the long days of shelling

To the depleted uranium killing us slowly,

We wait

To see their tanks

Their tanks will come first

They remind us of the Israelis

They remind us American planes killed our cousins

In Palestine

Killed them with American rockets,

Now

They have come for us

We were living

Just living our lives,

With our wives and children,

Just like the Americans

They went to school, they did their lessons

They ran innocently

In the schoolyards

And on weekends the boys

Would tease the girls

In the marketplace, but

Dare not let the mother or

Father of the girl see, the girls

Would twist their

Hair, their smiles

And blush

Away from the eyes

Of their mothers

We were just living

Not looking to fight, just

Wanting to be

Left alone

But they came

Hunting us, like

Animals, like wild

Things, they came

Shooting, randomly,

Dropping 500 pound bombs

Destroying our mosques, our

Churches, our schools, our

Hospitals, our water, our

Electricity—they bombed

Us back 300 years

But, we

Just wanted to live

Just wanted to pray each day

In our mosques, raise our

Children, take care of our

Wives, our old fathers and

Mothers, we are not for

Fighting—but now

There is no

Choice—what good

Would it be to run

To be shot down

Like an animal on the run,

Now it is time, even with

The small weapons

We have, we shall stand now

To protect what we have

To claim our own homes, to claim

Our own peace

They are strange

These Christians, not like

My cousin’s wife

Who is Christian, in our

Christian churches, they say

Jesus said, “Blessed are the peacemakers,”

“God’s greatest gift is mercy,”

but these men come

with large crosses on their chests,

their ministers teach them songs about

killing and killing for Jesus, these

Americans are strange, we had

Always heard

They were peaceful people, people

Who wanted what we wanted,

Peace, life, justice,

Decency, education,

We had heard----

So now they come,

Loudspeakers on their jeeps, loudspeakers

And louder music, drums banging,

They tell us to surrender or die, they have

Iraqi slaves among them, some of whom

Will, at the last minute, turn on these

Americans, kill some

And themselves be killed,

We have on our side, Allah

We have on our side, our families,

Our homes, our thousands of years

Of having to defend ourselves

From Persians, from Greeks, from

Romans, from Mongols, from Crusaders,

From Turks, from British—now

This new evil, this new devil

Flying their flags, red, white and blue,

Blaring their music and harsh words,

We see their eyes now,

They are young, like

Us, they are afraid, yet

They want to kill us, we

Are “ragheads,” “we are animals,”

We are “<deleted>,” “we are terrorists”

And every other name you can think of

And they have come to kill us

To wipe our city off the maps of the world,

Off the map of Iraq, they say

They come at the order of the exile

The Americans sent to rule us, Iyad

Allawi, Iyad the whore, Iyad the munafik,

Iyad the devil—and yes,

We shall die, but Allah knows

Who is the evil one

And who is the one who fights in his name,

There is always that short term victory

For the devils

But their long run is not long

And they to shall die

We do not want to die, but

We understand dying is only

Part of living, death is always

Waiting, sometimes

Patiently, other times

Takes us swiftly, but we understand

This is the will of Allah

Some of us must die

So that others will

Understand

Just what is going on

So that others will see

So that others will resist even more

Our deaths will echo in Saudi Arabia,

In Kuwait, in the Muslim halls of the world, in

The cries of our women, in the history of our

Muslim people, in the Khutba’s on Friday’s

Prayers—they know

That we die during Ramadan, they know

We die gloriously at the hand of the heathens, at

The hands of the unbelievers, for the sake of

What the Qur’an taught us,

To protect our families, our homes, our country and

Most of all to protect our mosques

And Islam

So we have stayed to fight

And die during Ramadan, this

Most holy of months, this Ramadan

That requires so much

Discipline and faith, this Ramadan

That is the month of our sign of commitment

To Allah, it is a glorious month

In which to fight, and if necessary

To die

No, we are not mad

We do not wish to die

We have more desire to live

Than these devils who have invaded our land

Attacked our fathers and mothers, who

Have raped our women, who have

Tortured our cousins and brothers in their

Prisons, all in the name of

“democracy,” and “liberty,” and “freedom”—

how hollow their words

how hollow their lies

how hollow their attacks on us

they do not realize

we do not die, we

live, we live

on now, as martyrs, as

heroes, as men who

were not afraid to die, as men

who believed in the Deen, in Allah,

in the same God they proclaim but do not truly follow—

but his wrath is coming

his wrath shall be coming upon them—

if they survive our fight, they

are being poisoned, just as we have been poisoned,

the depleted uranium has poisoned their blood,

has poisoned the eggs in their sperm,

has poisoned their lives

so when they have deformed children, the

children will be witnesses to their killing

us, to their killing of their own souls,

to their killing their own families, and

what of those who will go mad, whose

nightmares will not let them ever sleep

another peaceful night

and what will their faces tell them

when they look in the mirror

when they look on their dressers

and see the pieces of metal

they were given for killing us

in our own homes, in own cities, in

our own mosques and churches,

what will their eyes say,

what will they say when their twisted

lies are uncovered, when the rest of the

world speaks of their massacres of

women and children, of old men, of

bombing hospitals, what will they

do when they see the smirking face

of their presidents, their senators, their

leaders who have allowed them to do this,

have ordered them to do this

—and

what will they say to Jesus

when he speaks to them on Judgement Day

when he asks why they killed—

why they did not say, NO

why they did not prefer prison over killing of innocent

civilians, and to the pilots who

fly freely, without concern of any reprisal, F16s rocketing

our city day after day, night after night, surely

they will not fly with the angels, but

shall burn even worse than the rest—

and so we hear the rockets and hear the bombs

during our maghrib prayer, we have heard since our fajr

prayers, we do not much feel like iftar, the food

has lost some of its taste, no one wants to die,

no one wants to leave their wife and children,

no one wants never to see their father or mother again,

no one wants to have to fight, just to live,

no one wants to have to kill another human being—at least

none of us,

we were living peacefully in our city,

we did not attack anyone, we

did not do anything worse than defend ourselves,

and for that

now we know we must die, we

know that unless Allah produces a miracle

or sends legions of angels to protect us

that the planes will attack

with the tanks that will crush us

with the rockets and snipers who

will split our bodies into pieces, whose

concussions will split our heads open,

whose noise will puncture our eardrums

until we bleed

and like our blessed Prophet Jesus, who came

before our blessed Prophet Muhammad, peace be upon him,

we shall die, just as Jesus

was martyred—we shall be martyred

by the new Roman, the new crusader army,

on this Night of Power, where Allah’s message of

righteousness and courage is clear, where

we renew our commitment to our God,

where we know he gives us everlasting life

though we may die tonight on the earth,

we shall live forever, in Allah’s hands,

We shall live

in history, and the world, yea

the world will remember

we stood and fought this day,

knowing we would die

but knowing that death is only a moment

in God’s time, in Allah’s time

and that those who kill us today

may live long and tortured lives

when they realize what evil they have done

and those evil men

who ordered them on, Allawi, Bush,

Cheney, Wolfowitz, Abizaid, Myers and the rest,

Allah will take care of them

On the earth and on Judgement Day,

And the men who did not have the courage to

Say, No,

They will suffer each hour, each day

For the rest of their earthly days,

For it is written, that whosoever kills a believer

During Ramadan, will suffer hellfire and damnation

For eternity

So we choose to stand, to die if we must,

But during this blessed month of Ramadan

There is no death to the believer

Only the knowledge that Allah’s ways

Are beyond our understanding—we may not

Be on the earth so see what will happen

From our stand, but we will be looking

Down from Heaven

And we shall see Allah visit his wrath

On those who come to kill us in our homes,

In our city, in our country, in our churches, in

Our mosques—and though we may die,

Like these days of our battle,

Our spirits

Will live forever

Glossary of terms used above:

Lailat Al Qadr: The Night of Power where God’s message is clear to the world, where God/Allah blesses the righteous and condemns the evil ones.

Ramadan: The Muslim Holy Month of fasting, prayer and renewed commitment to God/Allah (Allah is the Arabic word for God, used by Muslims and Christians alike in the Middle East).

Khutba: The Muslim sermon on prayer days in the mosques.

My Jesus Can Whup Your Jesus!

By Gary Corseri

My Jesus is a personal God!

Your Jesus turns the other cheek.

My Jesus stands with the rich and strong.

Your Jesus sits with the poor and meek.

My Jesus comes with a mighty sword.

Your Jesus comes with a heavy cross.

My Jesus is the Son of the Lord.

Your Jesus is a virgin's baby.

My Jesus sits at the right hand of God.

Your Jesus sits at the right hand of lepers.

My Jesus speaks of right and wrong.

Your Jesus teaches with parables and in whispers.

Your Jesus revives the wavering spirit.

My Jesus steels Good Soldiers for glory.

Your Jesus walks in doubt in Gethsemane.

My Jesus doubts not, questions not, ultimate victory.

My Jesus communes with Falwell and Robertson.

Your Jesus inspires St. Theresa and King.

My Jesus says, Follow me or rot in ######!

Your Jesus sees life as a blossom opening.

My Jesus forged Constantine an empire of blood.

Your Jesus washed the feet of the dreamer from Assisi.

My Jesus routed the red man from the land of his fathers.

Your Jesus weeps for all lost humanity.

Your Jesus listens, mine commands.

Your Jesus seeks, mine points the way.

"The Kingdom of God is within you," yours says.

My guy says, "Obey, obey."

hi'

My Jesus Can Whup Your Jesus!

By Gary Corseri

My Jesus is a personal God!

Your Jesus turns the other cheek.

My Jesus stands with the rich and strong.

Your Jesus sits with the poor and meek.

My Jesus comes with a mighty sword.

Your Jesus comes with a heavy cross.

My Jesus is the Son of the Lord.

Your Jesus is a virgin's baby. ... etc ...

could have been signed by gwb ...

thanks for all these words p1p

francois

How about a little Martial Poetry circa last US Presidential Election:

Bold John sailed forth in his faux scow,

Till the Swiftees fired across his bow;

And legions of irate attorneys,

Could not defend Cambodian journeys,

Nor stories of his fabled hat,

So voters sensed they smelled a rat.

And while the networks denied them prime,

The Swiftees surely got their time.

While John screamed it was all a smear,

O’Neill came across sincere,

And forced Big John to duck the press,

To run, to hide from his specious mess.

But relentless those old Swiftee guys,

They bit, hung on, exposed his lies.

These brave old warriors once again

Stood for their country, for their kin.

They made us all look one more time

At the traitor who’d charged them with crime,

And gave false witness to their deeds

For nothing more than political needs.

It’s a smear proclaimed the New York Times

Those liars all committed crimes.

Chris Matthews raged, foamed at the mouth,

Still the turncoat’s campaign headed south.

So the Swiftboat Veterans’ charges stuck

And made poor John a sitting duck.

He had no answers, no glib replies,

To cover up his treasonous lies;

That made us think, our minds aware,

The Swiftees had some truth in there;

What if he’d faked his combat valor,

Were all those medals tinged with pallor?

Dan Rather would not pay them heed,

But still the Swiftees made John bleed.

The mainstream pundits called them liars;

But no lefty slant could staunch these fires.

The blazes that these Swiftees set

Were burning John Boy’s ass you bet;

And those Swiftboat fires just burned away

Till they fried John’s ass on election day.

Now all you heroes on that Wall

Take solace seeing Kerry fall.

This scheming pol who stained your name

Has been denied his claim to fame.

The Swiftees stood and did their best,

Denied the traitor his life’s quest.

You can rest in peace our honored kin

Your honor restored by honorable men.

Russ Vaughn

2d Bn, 327th Parachute Infantry Regiment

101st Airborne Division

Vietnam 65-66

(you knew I wouldn't disappoint you, p1p)

One more excellent poem for the times Here

A cat shat

on my <deleted>' mat

I slipped, I swore, I spat;

and accidentally sat

where the <deleted>' cat

earlier on

shat

Drat!

I hope u all like that.

'bout right for the context, I'd say!

Liberal Haiku

Let's not beat

around the Bush

A direct hit

is far more

satisfying

5555555555

Let's raise the tone around here with one of my favorite poems - albeit one of a military nature...

The Charge Of The Light Brigade

Alfred Lord Tennyson.

Half a league, half a league,

Half a league onward,

All in the valley of Death

Rode the six hundred.

“Forward the Light Brigade!

Charge for the guns!” he said.

Into the valley of Death

Rode the six hundred.

“Forward, the Light Brigade!”

Was there a man dismay’d?

Not tho’ the soldier knew

Some one had blunder’d.

Theirs not to make reply,

Theirs not to reason why,

Theirs but to do and die.

Into the valley of Death

Rode the six hundred.

Cannon to right of them,

Cannon to left of them,

Cannon in front of them

Volley’d and thunder’d;

Storm’d at with shot and shell,

Boldly they rode and well,

Into the jaws of Death,

Into the mouth of he11

Rode the six hundred.

Flash’d all their sabres bare,

Flash’d as they turn’d in air

Sabring the gunners there,

Charging an army, while

All the world wonder’d.

Plunged in the battery-smoke

Right thro’ the line they broke;

Cossack and Russian

Reel’d from the sabre-stroke

Shatter’d and sunder’d.

Then they rode back, but not,

Not the six hundred.

Cannon to right of them,

Cannon to left of them,

Cannon behind them

Volley’d and thunder’d;

Storm’d at with shot and shell,

While horse and hero fell,

They that had fought so well

Came thro’ the jaws of Death,

Back from the mouth of he11,

All that was left of them,

Left of six hundred.

When can their glory fade?

O the wild charge they made!

All the world wonder’d.

Honor the charge they made!

Honor the Light Brigade,

Noble six hundred!