Ibrahim S. Amin's Blog: The Plundered Dungeon, page 2
August 10, 2021
The Ithacan's Lies
I think my next poetry chapbook will be "hero" themed. Haven't decided whether they'll be exclusively Greek / classical heroes or whether I'll draw them from a wider range of myths and legends. Either way, it might take me a while to get the poems written, since I'm trying to press on with Kharsalus (my interactive fantasy novel, now at 680,000 words and still not close to being finished). But I wrote the first of them, whilst procrastinating in a state of post-workout lethargy.
A few years ago, I blogged about how influential Homer's Odyssey has been on my life. More recently, I read David and Stella Gemmell's Troy trilogy (Lord of the Silver Bow, Shield of Thunder, Fall of Kings), which does a great job of depicting Odysseus as a master storyteller -- something that comes across in Homer, but often not in modern adaptations where they depict the events of The Odyssey as they happen, rather than having Odysseus himself narrate them after the fact. Between that and finally getting round to reading Stephen Fry's Troy, it felt appropriate to begin those hero poems with one about Odysseus.
A few years ago, I blogged about how influential Homer's Odyssey has been on my life. More recently, I read David and Stella Gemmell's Troy trilogy (Lord of the Silver Bow, Shield of Thunder, Fall of Kings), which does a great job of depicting Odysseus as a master storyteller -- something that comes across in Homer, but often not in modern adaptations where they depict the events of The Odyssey as they happen, rather than having Odysseus himself narrate them after the fact. Between that and finally getting round to reading Stephen Fry's Troy, it felt appropriate to begin those hero poems with one about Odysseus.
The Ithacan's Lies
The horizon's a rage of the rocks, sea, and sky,
And his memories churn in the spray of their gore,
Many thousands of stories, the scar on his thigh,
And they're ebbing and flowing with foam on the shore;
In the wine-darkest oceans that crash in his eyes,
He is lost in the waves of the Ithacan's lies.
Did he weave a deception: the lunatic's plough,
When he yearned to escape an agreement he swore?
Or was madness the truth, did his sanity slough
Off a shattering brain into visions of war?
In the wine-darkest oceans that crash in his eyes,
He is lost in the waves of the Ithacan's lies.
Did Achilles once cleave through the legions and fall,
In his armour that blazed with his wrath and his hate,
Or a murdering pirate invented it all
When he dreamed of a man of more glorious fate?
In the wine-darkest oceans that crash in his eyes,
He is lost in the waves of the Ithacan's lies.
Did he scheme up a horse and then hide in its bones,
For the heavens had destined the sacking of Troy?
He remembers a priestess who screamed and her moans,
But in stories there's justice for pillagers' joy;
In the wine-darkest oceans that crash in his eyes,
He is lost in the waves of the Ithacan's lies.
Did the monsters and curses bring doom to his crew,
Now immortal in legends, where heroes belong?
Or did raiding and robbing just slaughter them too,
When that siren ambition ensnared him with song?
In the wine-darkest oceans that crash in his eyes,
He is lost in the waves of the Ithacan's lies.
Did a hero return and reclaim what had been,
In the love of a wife and a crown on his head,
Or else plunder a palace and laugh at a queen
Who still mourned for a husband then twenty years dead?
In the wine-darkest oceans that crash in his eyes,
He is lost in the waves of the Ithacan's lies.
Now the truth is forgotten, the stories still heard,
And they echo in song and in ink and in fame,
In the centuries shaped by the weave of his word,
And the glory that dwells in the sound of his name;
In the wine-darkest oceans that crash in his eyes,
We are lost in the waves of the Ithacan's lies.
March 20, 2021
Fantasy, Fairies, Franiards
The great thing about procrastination is that you sometimes end up accomplishing a lot of other things whilst avoiding the thing you were actually meant to be doing. In my case, last month I was procrastinating over the interactive novel I've had on and off the back burner since 2015 (which, incidentally, is now past the 500,000 word mark but still nowhere close to finished), and ended up writing a bunch of fantasy poems.
Hence I've compiled them in a short book: Fantasy, Fairies, Franiards: A Poetry Chapbook.
The poems vary a lot in tone and form. Some are rolicking couplet comedies, such as this one inspired by a Jewish friend's challah-baking exploits:
Other poems in the book are more cynical, serious, or sinister, such as this villanelle:
So, whatever your tastes, if you're into fantasy and poetry, you should hopefully find something of interest within.
The digital edition's only $0.99, and is available on a number of different ebook stores and apps. This universal link will let you click over to the book's page on your preferred store:
https://books2read.com/FantasyFairies...
The paperback may take a little longer to hit the various online shops, but should appear on several of them. Though if you'd like to support a local bookshop, they should be able to order a copy for you (ISBN 9781393775737).
That image on the cover was a commission my awesome and talented friend Cameron Stark did for me a couple of years ago, and I felt it'd be perfect here. He entitled it The Giantess and the Storyteller. You can check out more of Cameron's art under his Androïd Prïest handle on ArtStation:
https://androidpriest.artstation.com/
Hence I've compiled them in a short book: Fantasy, Fairies, Franiards: A Poetry Chapbook.
The poems vary a lot in tone and form. Some are rolicking couplet comedies, such as this one inspired by a Jewish friend's challah-baking exploits:
Braided
"A thousand challah left to bake!
A better way, for pity's sake!"
So Airy cried, and went to look
For help inside a magic book.
"A golem! Perfect! Where's the clay..."
And Airy sculpted, night and day.
The golem stood at Airy's height;
(So, short, but swelled with magic might);
He blinked and waited, Airy said:
"Your task involves a load of bread!"
She braided dough to show him how,
Declaring, "Braid the others now!"
The golem wove the challah braid,
While Airy 'pon the sofa laid
Herself at rest and read a book,
And never even thought to look
Outside the window, thus she missed
The golem striding through the mist.
He braided trees, and braided swords
The smith had forged to arm the hordes,
And when the smith emerged to yell,
The golem braided him as well.
"Who's screaming?" Airy left the couch,
And gazed upon it; "Jeepers! Ouch!"
She sighed and put her book aside;
"The baking's worse when someone's died!
The mourners need their braided bread!
That helper's useless, causing dread!
In future, I'll embrace the chore,
Instead of causing golem gore!"
Other poems in the book are more cynical, serious, or sinister, such as this villanelle:
She Walks the Graveyard's Gloom
She walks the graveyard's gloom
And silver steels her eye
Her words will bring their doom
They left her in that room
They never told her why
She walks the graveyard's gloom
Her knife's edge holds the moon
They left her there to die
Her words will bring their doom
Her blood drops fall and bloom
The voiceless ones reply
She walks the graveyard's gloom
The teeming shadows loom
She bids her soul goodbye
Her words will bring their doom
Nails scratch inside a tomb
And corpses claw for sky
She walks the graveyard's gloom
Her words will bring their doom
So, whatever your tastes, if you're into fantasy and poetry, you should hopefully find something of interest within.
The digital edition's only $0.99, and is available on a number of different ebook stores and apps. This universal link will let you click over to the book's page on your preferred store:
https://books2read.com/FantasyFairies...
The paperback may take a little longer to hit the various online shops, but should appear on several of them. Though if you'd like to support a local bookshop, they should be able to order a copy for you (ISBN 9781393775737).
That image on the cover was a commission my awesome and talented friend Cameron Stark did for me a couple of years ago, and I felt it'd be perfect here. He entitled it The Giantess and the Storyteller. You can check out more of Cameron's art under his Androïd Prïest handle on ArtStation:
https://androidpriest.artstation.com/
October 21, 2020
Wrong Side of the Coffin
Our writing group's put out a second anthology. As with The Green Door: A WIPpersnappers Anthology, it's available as a free ebook.
This one, Wrong Side of the Coffin: A WIPpersnappers Anthology, is about the unexpected realities of vampirism, and each of its stories tackles that prompt in some way.
If you'd like to check it out, the link below takes you to a landing page where you can find it at your preferred ebook store.
Wrong Side of the Coffin
This one, Wrong Side of the Coffin: A WIPpersnappers Anthology, is about the unexpected realities of vampirism, and each of its stories tackles that prompt in some way.
If you'd like to check it out, the link below takes you to a landing page where you can find it at your preferred ebook store.
Wrong Side of the Coffin
September 29, 2020
Apostasy, Blasphemy, Absurdity
September 30 is International Blasphemy Day.
In places such as Pakistan, blasphemy's a capital crime. Courts sentence people to death for it, though often mobs will lynch the accused person first. One defendant in a blasphemy case was even gunned down in the courtroom where he was already on trial for his life.
So today we blaspheme, in solidarity with the oppressed and defiance of fundamentalism. To that end, I've released a short volume of blasphemous poems -- Apostasy, Blasphemy, Absurdity: A Poetry Chapbook.
In places such as Pakistan, blasphemy's a capital crime. Courts sentence people to death for it, though often mobs will lynch the accused person first. One defendant in a blasphemy case was even gunned down in the courtroom where he was already on trial for his life.
So today we blaspheme, in solidarity with the oppressed and defiance of fundamentalism. To that end, I've released a short volume of blasphemous poems -- Apostasy, Blasphemy, Absurdity: A Poetry Chapbook.
August 26, 2020
The Green Door
Seven writing buddies and I put together an anthology, just as a fun project, in which we all started with the same prompt and wrote vastly different tales based on it.
Some of the writers are putting their work out there for the first time, some writing in a language they've never written fiction in before (and here's me thinking I'm great for knowing how to order cheesecake in German...).
Anyway, The Green Door: A WIPpersnappers Anthology is the result, and this fancy universal link will take you to a landing page where you can select a store to download it from (Amazon, Smashwords, Kobo, Apple Books etc.). It's free, which seems like pretty good value.
Some of the writers are putting their work out there for the first time, some writing in a language they've never written fiction in before (and here's me thinking I'm great for knowing how to order cheesecake in German...).
Anyway, The Green Door: A WIPpersnappers Anthology is the result, and this fancy universal link will take you to a landing page where you can select a store to download it from (Amazon, Smashwords, Kobo, Apple Books etc.). It's free, which seems like pretty good value.
July 19, 2020
The Mad Science School
My writing tends to lean towards blasphemy, profanity, gore, and other things probably not entirely suitable for a 5-to-8-year-old audience. So when a Twitter mutual asked me if I could write something for him to read out on his YouTube channel aimed at that age range, I was somewhat dubious. But I gave it a shot.
I ended up going with a poem, vaguely inspired by Lord Byron's The Destruction of Sennacherib (mine matches his in metre, rhyme scheme, and length, though probably not quality -- on account of him being Lord-fucking-Byron).
----
The Mad Science School
Bernadette sat and sighed in her chemistry class,
As the teacher was droning and mixing a glass
Of a boring red substance that fizzled and fell;
Bernadette wasn't keen, so she mixed bits as well,
In a beaker which burst and exploded in goo,
And that splattered the room and her teacher's face too.
The headmaster expelled Bernadette from his school,
And her mother was angry and called her a fool
Till a letter appeared on the day after that,
And it glowed bright and green with the post on the mat;
Bernadette tore it open and laughed, "I'm a fool?
I've been offered a place at The Mad Science School!"
At The Mad Science School, Bernadette and new mates
Did experiments, cackled, and pondered the fates
Of the folk who'd expelled them and mocked the girls' dreams;
In their classes and lunch hours they plotted their schemes,
And their chemicals bubbled and lightning coils flashed,
And their robot dogs growled and dinosaurs gnashed.
Bernadette's old headmaster was sat in his room,
When he looked out the window, the gates went kaboom!
Alligators with lasers devoured the gym,
And a purple-blue goo washed his teachers and him
Out among the debris that remained of his rule,
Where they cursed Bernadette and The Mad Science School.
----
You can watch David Woods read it out on The Story Shed.
I grew up watching things like Odysseus: The Greatest Hero of Them All on Children's BBC. That program was one of the reasons I later went into classics. So, this type of storytelling has a lot of nostalgic appeal, and I hope Dave enjoys every success with it.
I ended up going with a poem, vaguely inspired by Lord Byron's The Destruction of Sennacherib (mine matches his in metre, rhyme scheme, and length, though probably not quality -- on account of him being Lord-fucking-Byron).
----
The Mad Science School
Bernadette sat and sighed in her chemistry class,
As the teacher was droning and mixing a glass
Of a boring red substance that fizzled and fell;
Bernadette wasn't keen, so she mixed bits as well,
In a beaker which burst and exploded in goo,
And that splattered the room and her teacher's face too.
The headmaster expelled Bernadette from his school,
And her mother was angry and called her a fool
Till a letter appeared on the day after that,
And it glowed bright and green with the post on the mat;
Bernadette tore it open and laughed, "I'm a fool?
I've been offered a place at The Mad Science School!"
At The Mad Science School, Bernadette and new mates
Did experiments, cackled, and pondered the fates
Of the folk who'd expelled them and mocked the girls' dreams;
In their classes and lunch hours they plotted their schemes,
And their chemicals bubbled and lightning coils flashed,
And their robot dogs growled and dinosaurs gnashed.
Bernadette's old headmaster was sat in his room,
When he looked out the window, the gates went kaboom!
Alligators with lasers devoured the gym,
And a purple-blue goo washed his teachers and him
Out among the debris that remained of his rule,
Where they cursed Bernadette and The Mad Science School.
----
You can watch David Woods read it out on The Story Shed.
I grew up watching things like Odysseus: The Greatest Hero of Them All on Children's BBC. That program was one of the reasons I later went into classics. So, this type of storytelling has a lot of nostalgic appeal, and I hope Dave enjoys every success with it.
May 27, 2020
When Allah Got Laid Off (Part 2)
[The original poem can be read here.]
In gutter grime and piss he moaned,
In misery and rain he groaned,
The lord of Mecca lay quite smashed,
His arrogance and hopes were dashed,
The neon light illumed his pain,
The drinkers' cheers destroyed his brain.
For seven days he writhed and sobbed,
For seven days they laughed and lobbed
Their empties out at Allah's face,
Then Loki sauntered from the place.
He gave the fallen god a hand,
And steadied him till he could stand.
"Oh, stop that whining, desert prick!
Mjolnir hurts. My bro's a dick.
But wallow inside, grab a drink,
And wash that filthy gutter stink.
They kicked you down, but have some pride,
Don't let them say that Allah cried!"
'Forgotten Gods' in neon glow.
"Forgotten gods," said Loki, "so..."
He ordered scotch and Allah glugged,
And Ares glared; the trickster shrugged.
"Let Allah quaff his woes away.
Among us who could ever say,
We didn't often play the twit,
Like henotheists, full of shit?"
The bloody warlord spat but stayed
His words of wrath and too his blade.
"Fine, Loki," uttered mighty Zeus,
"We'll tolerate him, no abuse.
Let Allah stay and drink his tears.
But talk of 'shirk'? I'll box his ears!"
So night by night, he lived haram.
"A little sin did no one harm!
Oh, gods, I fucked up banning grog!
Without it life would be a slog!"
But word of Allah reached a man
Who burned in hellfire's endless span.
"He sits and drinks with pagan scum!?!
I'll batter him! My will be done!
Hey, Satan! I demand a pass
To leave this place and beat God's arse!"
"Whatever." Satan waved his beer.
"Go shriek up there instead of here."
Forgotten Gods, he barged within,
He stared at each and every sin,
Then ploughed his way unto the bar,
Enraged, he screamed, "My god, kuffar!?!"
"Mohammed!" Allah turned with joy.
"Another drink! Welcome, my boy!"
And Allah tried to hug but missed;
Mohammed dodged and clenched his fist.
He punched poor Allah left and right,
And knocked him down then kicked the shite
From Mecca's former god and his,
"Betrayer! Sinner! Fuck is this?
I made you strong, I made them pray,
I slaughtered foes to force the day
That millions knelt and called your name;
I wrote your book and gave you fame!
You gorged and lazed, so soft and fat,
What thanks is this for all of that?"
"Mohammed," Allah said and stood,
"I've found my peace, jihad ain't good!
We'll share a drink, and once you've heard-"
"Oh, shut your face, you fucking nerd!"
The prophet bashed him, splashed his gore
Across the bar, across the floor.
"Next time I'll beat you twice as bad.
I find you here? It's full jihad!"
Mohammed stormed out, back to hell.
Anubis cackled. "That went well!"
What could the lord of Mecca do?
Like heaven, was his time here through?
He slumped and drank and cursed his luck.
"Mohammed hit me like a truck!
A fallen god, I fall and fall-"
"Now, Allah, let's not hear you bawl,"
Said Loki. "Why not toughen up,
And challenge that damned mortal pup?"
"But, Loki, I'm a deadbeat jerk.
Mohammed's sword did all the work.
He told the truth, the wretched cur..."
"You need a trainer. How 'bout her?"
And Loki waved Athene close.
She rolled her eyes, her mood morose.
"This guy?" The goddess smacked his head.
"A woman-hater! Better dead!"
"He made mistakes, but don't we all?
Besides that, don't you love a brawl?
Your heroes triumphed as you willed,
You smiled when Odysseus killed
The suitors clogging up his home,
So come on, throw a god a bone!"
She brought her mates and made him train,
Polydeuces' fists shook his brain,
Achilles' footwork made him reel,
And Heracles' bear-hug of steel
Deflated Allah, broke his back,
Athene went on her attack;
She hit him low, she hit him high,
And Allah crumpled, stared at sky.
The goddess growled and kicked his flank.
"No time to lie around and wank!
I didn't hear no fucking bell,
Remember who'll come back from hell!"
And Allah rose, he spat his blood.
"I wiped out humans with a flood!
Mohammed thinks he'll batter me?
That prophet fuck! Soon he'll see!"
He trained by night, he trained by day,
Athene taught him how to slay.
The bruises bulged upon his hide.
He claimed each wound a badge of pride.
Mohammed barged in through the door.
"I'll spill his brains upon the floor!
I told that god, 'Abandon sin!'
Instead, I'll have to butcher him!"
And Allah winced before his rage.
Athene said, "Get in the cage!"
So Allah grit his teeth and did
Exactly what the goddess said.
The prophet charged, they traded blows,
Mohammed busted Allah's nose,
And flailed away while Allah bled,
Saw angels spinning round his head.
The lord of Mecca tottered back,
The former prophet on attack.
Athene shouted from afar,
"Oh, come on, Allah, bomaye!"
In Allah's eye the fury flashed,
Upon Mohammed's face it smashed,
With Pollux' skill, and rage beneath,
A punch that scattered prophet teeth.
And Allah roared, the god saw red,
Suplexed Mohammed on his head,
Then barred his arm and cranked his neck.
He left the man from hell a wreck.
Mohammed groaned before his god,
A demon lugged the sorry sod
To hell and Satan's burning laugh:
"Let's chuck him in the lake of barf!"
'Forgotten Gods', in neon glow.
"Forgotten gods!" said Allah. "Oh!"
He raised a scotch, declared a toast:
"It's pantheons that matter most!
No god's an island, nor a peak,
Alone I wallowed, soft and weak,
Outsourced to prophets like that man,
A monotheist? What a scam!
Now Allah's time with that is through,
I'd rather revel here with you!"
---------
For no apparent reason, a sequel idea to the original When Allah Got Laid Off popped into my head last night, and I decided to run with it -- since it was either that or press on with the interactive novel I've been procrastinating over for months. And besides, don't we all deserve a happy ending or two during these troubled times?
In gutter grime and piss he moaned,
In misery and rain he groaned,
The lord of Mecca lay quite smashed,
His arrogance and hopes were dashed,
The neon light illumed his pain,
The drinkers' cheers destroyed his brain.
For seven days he writhed and sobbed,
For seven days they laughed and lobbed
Their empties out at Allah's face,
Then Loki sauntered from the place.
He gave the fallen god a hand,
And steadied him till he could stand.
"Oh, stop that whining, desert prick!
Mjolnir hurts. My bro's a dick.
But wallow inside, grab a drink,
And wash that filthy gutter stink.
They kicked you down, but have some pride,
Don't let them say that Allah cried!"
'Forgotten Gods' in neon glow.
"Forgotten gods," said Loki, "so..."
He ordered scotch and Allah glugged,
And Ares glared; the trickster shrugged.
"Let Allah quaff his woes away.
Among us who could ever say,
We didn't often play the twit,
Like henotheists, full of shit?"
The bloody warlord spat but stayed
His words of wrath and too his blade.
"Fine, Loki," uttered mighty Zeus,
"We'll tolerate him, no abuse.
Let Allah stay and drink his tears.
But talk of 'shirk'? I'll box his ears!"
So night by night, he lived haram.
"A little sin did no one harm!
Oh, gods, I fucked up banning grog!
Without it life would be a slog!"
But word of Allah reached a man
Who burned in hellfire's endless span.
"He sits and drinks with pagan scum!?!
I'll batter him! My will be done!
Hey, Satan! I demand a pass
To leave this place and beat God's arse!"
"Whatever." Satan waved his beer.
"Go shriek up there instead of here."
Forgotten Gods, he barged within,
He stared at each and every sin,
Then ploughed his way unto the bar,
Enraged, he screamed, "My god, kuffar!?!"
"Mohammed!" Allah turned with joy.
"Another drink! Welcome, my boy!"
And Allah tried to hug but missed;
Mohammed dodged and clenched his fist.
He punched poor Allah left and right,
And knocked him down then kicked the shite
From Mecca's former god and his,
"Betrayer! Sinner! Fuck is this?
I made you strong, I made them pray,
I slaughtered foes to force the day
That millions knelt and called your name;
I wrote your book and gave you fame!
You gorged and lazed, so soft and fat,
What thanks is this for all of that?"
"Mohammed," Allah said and stood,
"I've found my peace, jihad ain't good!
We'll share a drink, and once you've heard-"
"Oh, shut your face, you fucking nerd!"
The prophet bashed him, splashed his gore
Across the bar, across the floor.
"Next time I'll beat you twice as bad.
I find you here? It's full jihad!"
Mohammed stormed out, back to hell.
Anubis cackled. "That went well!"
What could the lord of Mecca do?
Like heaven, was his time here through?
He slumped and drank and cursed his luck.
"Mohammed hit me like a truck!
A fallen god, I fall and fall-"
"Now, Allah, let's not hear you bawl,"
Said Loki. "Why not toughen up,
And challenge that damned mortal pup?"
"But, Loki, I'm a deadbeat jerk.
Mohammed's sword did all the work.
He told the truth, the wretched cur..."
"You need a trainer. How 'bout her?"
And Loki waved Athene close.
She rolled her eyes, her mood morose.
"This guy?" The goddess smacked his head.
"A woman-hater! Better dead!"
"He made mistakes, but don't we all?
Besides that, don't you love a brawl?
Your heroes triumphed as you willed,
You smiled when Odysseus killed
The suitors clogging up his home,
So come on, throw a god a bone!"
She brought her mates and made him train,
Polydeuces' fists shook his brain,
Achilles' footwork made him reel,
And Heracles' bear-hug of steel
Deflated Allah, broke his back,
Athene went on her attack;
She hit him low, she hit him high,
And Allah crumpled, stared at sky.
The goddess growled and kicked his flank.
"No time to lie around and wank!
I didn't hear no fucking bell,
Remember who'll come back from hell!"
And Allah rose, he spat his blood.
"I wiped out humans with a flood!
Mohammed thinks he'll batter me?
That prophet fuck! Soon he'll see!"
He trained by night, he trained by day,
Athene taught him how to slay.
The bruises bulged upon his hide.
He claimed each wound a badge of pride.
Mohammed barged in through the door.
"I'll spill his brains upon the floor!
I told that god, 'Abandon sin!'
Instead, I'll have to butcher him!"
And Allah winced before his rage.
Athene said, "Get in the cage!"
So Allah grit his teeth and did
Exactly what the goddess said.
The prophet charged, they traded blows,
Mohammed busted Allah's nose,
And flailed away while Allah bled,
Saw angels spinning round his head.
The lord of Mecca tottered back,
The former prophet on attack.
Athene shouted from afar,
"Oh, come on, Allah, bomaye!"
In Allah's eye the fury flashed,
Upon Mohammed's face it smashed,
With Pollux' skill, and rage beneath,
A punch that scattered prophet teeth.
And Allah roared, the god saw red,
Suplexed Mohammed on his head,
Then barred his arm and cranked his neck.
He left the man from hell a wreck.
Mohammed groaned before his god,
A demon lugged the sorry sod
To hell and Satan's burning laugh:
"Let's chuck him in the lake of barf!"
'Forgotten Gods', in neon glow.
"Forgotten gods!" said Allah. "Oh!"
He raised a scotch, declared a toast:
"It's pantheons that matter most!
No god's an island, nor a peak,
Alone I wallowed, soft and weak,
Outsourced to prophets like that man,
A monotheist? What a scam!
Now Allah's time with that is through,
I'd rather revel here with you!"
---------
For no apparent reason, a sequel idea to the original When Allah Got Laid Off popped into my head last night, and I decided to run with it -- since it was either that or press on with the interactive novel I've been procrastinating over for months. And besides, don't we all deserve a happy ending or two during these troubled times?
October 20, 2019
Aisha
She played among her father's halls,
And chased her shadow past his walls,
Enchanted by the song-birds' calls,
The purple skies when evening falls;
Before Mohammed came.
Whatever did she hope to see,
In stars and golden galaxy?
A future that'd never be,
Because Mohammed came.
At six the prophet wedded her,
His only mercy to defer;
The consummation would occur;
At nine her screams and tears would blur,
Because Mohammed came.
In blood and sweat she lay and wept;
The sated prophet smiled and slept;
A destiny she must accept,
Because a prophet came.
---------
A brave apostate named Fay has organised a "Draw for Dissent" movement to protest against Islamic blasphemy laws. Since I suck at drawing, this poem represents my contribution.
You can find Fay on Twitter and YouTube.
And for more information on Mohammed and the issue of his child-bride, check out this Twitter thread I posted recently.
And chased her shadow past his walls,
Enchanted by the song-birds' calls,
The purple skies when evening falls;
Before Mohammed came.
Whatever did she hope to see,
In stars and golden galaxy?
A future that'd never be,
Because Mohammed came.
At six the prophet wedded her,
His only mercy to defer;
The consummation would occur;
At nine her screams and tears would blur,
Because Mohammed came.
In blood and sweat she lay and wept;
The sated prophet smiled and slept;
A destiny she must accept,
Because a prophet came.
---------
A brave apostate named Fay has organised a "Draw for Dissent" movement to protest against Islamic blasphemy laws. Since I suck at drawing, this poem represents my contribution.
You can find Fay on Twitter and YouTube.
And for more information on Mohammed and the issue of his child-bride, check out this Twitter thread I posted recently.
September 29, 2019
The Death and Afterlife of Mohammed
Part 1: The Prophet's Last Words
The faithful wailed beyond the walls
In which the prophet lay;
The doctor tickled both his balls,
Before he stood to say:
"He might recover, never fear!
Mohammed's loved by God!"
But when he left and couldn't hear,
Mo's wives said, "Fuck that sod!
Mohammed's crimes we can't forgive!"
("He rapes us!" chimed the slaves)
"Why should the 'prophet' get to live?
His victims rot in graves!"
Mohammed moaned and rasped a threat:
"You bitches better leave!
My buddy Allah won't forget,
And every neck he'll cleave!"
But Aisha laughed and rolled her eyes,
"It's time to lift the lid:
You dress as Allah, tell your lies-"
"Oh, curse you, meddling kid!"
A dozen pressed the pillow down,
Mohammed's breath was stopped,
His wives and sex-slaves killed the clown,
The prophet's dead limbs flopped.
Part 2: Trouble in Paradise
Mohammed knocked on heaven's gate,
It swung to let him pass;
"My magic whores! Behold my fate!"
He said and slapped an arse.
"You fucking cunt!" the angel growled;
She spun and kicked Mo's dick;
"Mohammed! Finally!" Jesus howled,
"I've got a bone to pick!
In surah five, verse seventeen,
Your 'Allah' says I'm weak!
Such wretched rhymes I've never seen-"
"Just turn the other cheek;
Or else I'll smash your pretty face;
I slaughter fools, you Jew!
A virgin's status I'd erase,
When I'm done with you!"
"The meek inherit all the world,
But wankers get my fist!"
And Jesus glared and roared and hurled
An uppercut that kissed
Mohammed's jaw and launched him high;
"I'll get you back for this!"
The prophet shrieked across the sky
And into hell's abyss.
Part 3: Hell Is Other People
Mohammed burned in lakes of flame;
"Won't someone save my skin?
My fucking women are to blame,
Their thrice-damned sex a sin!"
Some succubuses dragged him out,
The prophet gave a glare;
"You demon harlots aren't devout;
Go cover up that hair!"
"Devout?" One smirked. "Behold the pit,
Where every sinner falls,
And watch your mouth, you little shit!"
She stomped and squished his balls.
Mohammed trudged through Satan's land,
While nursing crushed-up junk,
One testicle fell from his hand;
"Your manhood's really shrunk!"
Lord Satan clapped Mohammed's spine,
Mo dropped his other nut,
And Cerberus had two heads dine;
The third one bit Mo's butt.
"When jihad puts your folk in graves,
I, Satan, shall provide;
Instead of magic houri slaves,
I'll let them have your hide."
---------
September 30 is International Blasphemy Day, on which people blaspheme in defence of free speech and defiance of countries where fundamentalist legal codes persecute those who criticise or mock religious figures such as Mohammed.
Hence today seemed like the perfect time for a new blasphemous poem.
The faithful wailed beyond the walls
In which the prophet lay;
The doctor tickled both his balls,
Before he stood to say:
"He might recover, never fear!
Mohammed's loved by God!"
But when he left and couldn't hear,
Mo's wives said, "Fuck that sod!
Mohammed's crimes we can't forgive!"
("He rapes us!" chimed the slaves)
"Why should the 'prophet' get to live?
His victims rot in graves!"
Mohammed moaned and rasped a threat:
"You bitches better leave!
My buddy Allah won't forget,
And every neck he'll cleave!"
But Aisha laughed and rolled her eyes,
"It's time to lift the lid:
You dress as Allah, tell your lies-"
"Oh, curse you, meddling kid!"
A dozen pressed the pillow down,
Mohammed's breath was stopped,
His wives and sex-slaves killed the clown,
The prophet's dead limbs flopped.
Part 2: Trouble in Paradise
Mohammed knocked on heaven's gate,
It swung to let him pass;
"My magic whores! Behold my fate!"
He said and slapped an arse.
"You fucking cunt!" the angel growled;
She spun and kicked Mo's dick;
"Mohammed! Finally!" Jesus howled,
"I've got a bone to pick!
In surah five, verse seventeen,
Your 'Allah' says I'm weak!
Such wretched rhymes I've never seen-"
"Just turn the other cheek;
Or else I'll smash your pretty face;
I slaughter fools, you Jew!
A virgin's status I'd erase,
When I'm done with you!"
"The meek inherit all the world,
But wankers get my fist!"
And Jesus glared and roared and hurled
An uppercut that kissed
Mohammed's jaw and launched him high;
"I'll get you back for this!"
The prophet shrieked across the sky
And into hell's abyss.
Part 3: Hell Is Other People
Mohammed burned in lakes of flame;
"Won't someone save my skin?
My fucking women are to blame,
Their thrice-damned sex a sin!"
Some succubuses dragged him out,
The prophet gave a glare;
"You demon harlots aren't devout;
Go cover up that hair!"
"Devout?" One smirked. "Behold the pit,
Where every sinner falls,
And watch your mouth, you little shit!"
She stomped and squished his balls.
Mohammed trudged through Satan's land,
While nursing crushed-up junk,
One testicle fell from his hand;
"Your manhood's really shrunk!"
Lord Satan clapped Mohammed's spine,
Mo dropped his other nut,
And Cerberus had two heads dine;
The third one bit Mo's butt.
"When jihad puts your folk in graves,
I, Satan, shall provide;
Instead of magic houri slaves,
I'll let them have your hide."
---------
September 30 is International Blasphemy Day, on which people blaspheme in defence of free speech and defiance of countries where fundamentalist legal codes persecute those who criticise or mock religious figures such as Mohammed.
Hence today seemed like the perfect time for a new blasphemous poem.
August 13, 2019
Mohammed's Feast
Believers thronged Mohammed's home
To celebrate their win;
They'd cleaved the kuffar, flesh and bone
And punished them for sin.
The captive women served the feast
While weeping for their folk;
Jihadists tore up every beast
And bragged of how they broke
Each woman's son's or husband's head
With blows from swords and rocks,
Then pissed upon the bloody dead
And sliced off stiffened cocks.
Mohammed frowned at all the mess;
They'd stained his favourite shirt!
And why must nervous lads confess
War-crimes before dessert?
Their babble caused the prophet strife,
But worse things did he see:
A soldier chatting with Mo's wife,
"My fucking property!
I'd chuck the bastards in the street,
But then I'd be a jerk...
And fraudsters have to keep folk sweet
To make the scamming work."
The prophet glugged his wine and growled,
He gobbled dates and cream,
Then, eyes alight, Mohammed howled,
Because he'd found a scheme:
"Believers! Heaven's sent to me
A new Quranic verse,
So heed this wisdom, lest you be
Destroyed by Allah's curse!"
The diners dropped their bowls and roared:
"What will our prophet say?
A revelation from our Lord!
Illuminate the way!"
Mohammed coughed and bit his lip;
"This brazen scam may lose..."
But boldness filled him on a sip
Of looted kuffar booze.
"O Muslims, fuck off, leave this place!
(Our Allah's words, not mine!)
He says it brings such great disgrace
To linger when you dine;
Just scoff your meals and hit the doors
(He finds your banter shite!);
And, wives, don't act like common whores
But hide yourselves from sight."
Believers fled Mohammed's home,
Lest Allah do them in,
And cleave their bodies, flesh and bone,
To punish them for sin.
Mohammed sighed and waved his hand,
"You bitches clean the trash!"
While Muslims spread it through the land:
"You'd better dine and dash!"
The word went far in little time,
Mohammed laughed and cried:
"This Allah scam's the perfect crime,
The greatest ever lied!"
---------
If the poem sounds ridiculous, I should point out that -- based on a verse of the Quran -- something very much like this appears to have actually happened.
The Quran supposedly represents the verbatim speech of Allah, which existed in heaven for billions of years before he finally had Gabriel take it down to Mohammed piece by piece. His ultimate revelation. The Islamic equivalent of Jesus (God's logos, sent down to save and guide mankind). Hence many Muslims and former Muslims feel rather surprised to encounter a verse in which Allah tells Mohammed's dinner guests to piss off rather than staying to chat.
To celebrate their win;
They'd cleaved the kuffar, flesh and bone
And punished them for sin.
The captive women served the feast
While weeping for their folk;
Jihadists tore up every beast
And bragged of how they broke
Each woman's son's or husband's head
With blows from swords and rocks,
Then pissed upon the bloody dead
And sliced off stiffened cocks.
Mohammed frowned at all the mess;
They'd stained his favourite shirt!
And why must nervous lads confess
War-crimes before dessert?
Their babble caused the prophet strife,
But worse things did he see:
A soldier chatting with Mo's wife,
"My fucking property!
I'd chuck the bastards in the street,
But then I'd be a jerk...
And fraudsters have to keep folk sweet
To make the scamming work."
The prophet glugged his wine and growled,
He gobbled dates and cream,
Then, eyes alight, Mohammed howled,
Because he'd found a scheme:
"Believers! Heaven's sent to me
A new Quranic verse,
So heed this wisdom, lest you be
Destroyed by Allah's curse!"
The diners dropped their bowls and roared:
"What will our prophet say?
A revelation from our Lord!
Illuminate the way!"
Mohammed coughed and bit his lip;
"This brazen scam may lose..."
But boldness filled him on a sip
Of looted kuffar booze.
"O Muslims, fuck off, leave this place!
(Our Allah's words, not mine!)
He says it brings such great disgrace
To linger when you dine;
Just scoff your meals and hit the doors
(He finds your banter shite!);
And, wives, don't act like common whores
But hide yourselves from sight."
Believers fled Mohammed's home,
Lest Allah do them in,
And cleave their bodies, flesh and bone,
To punish them for sin.
Mohammed sighed and waved his hand,
"You bitches clean the trash!"
While Muslims spread it through the land:
"You'd better dine and dash!"
The word went far in little time,
Mohammed laughed and cried:
"This Allah scam's the perfect crime,
The greatest ever lied!"
---------
If the poem sounds ridiculous, I should point out that -- based on a verse of the Quran -- something very much like this appears to have actually happened.
O you who have believed, do not enter the houses of the Prophet except when you are permitted for a meal, without awaiting its readiness. But when you are invited, then enter; and when you have eaten, disperse without seeking to remain for conversation. Indeed, that [behavior] was troubling the Prophet, and he is shy of [dismissing] you. But Allah is not shy of the truth. And when you ask [his wives] for something, ask them from behind a partition. That is purer for your hearts and their hearts. And it is not [conceivable or lawful] for you to harm the Messenger of Allah or to marry his wives after him, ever. Indeed, that would be in the sight of Allah an enormity. (Quran 33.53, Sahih International translation)
The Quran supposedly represents the verbatim speech of Allah, which existed in heaven for billions of years before he finally had Gabriel take it down to Mohammed piece by piece. His ultimate revelation. The Islamic equivalent of Jesus (God's logos, sent down to save and guide mankind). Hence many Muslims and former Muslims feel rather surprised to encounter a verse in which Allah tells Mohammed's dinner guests to piss off rather than staying to chat.
The Plundered Dungeon
Eclectic musings for fellow insomniacs.
- Ibrahim S. Amin's profile
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