With the recognition of this truly blessed month

Whose measure is the same in its coming and going

A pure sighting from the reliable ones

No matter what land space or time one occupies

It brings the chosen ones to the fore

With this obligation they all come knowing

That soon the self will be protected from indulging

This strengthens the senses from all its craving

As the accursed one is chained up and not interfering

Making intentions clear before beginning

At the emergence of dawn till the period before night falling

It is out of submission that brings this division

Between man and his appetite which secures a remission

The Book is recited throughout this period from beginning to ending

By special ones chosen for its preservation purely by memorising

During which hearts are filled and made tranquil

While limbs succumb to standing, bowing, sitting and prostrating

In the last third of the night before the day is dawning

Generosity and reflection is the mark of this month

Prayer lines are many and apathy is not about

Apportioned into three parts is the duration of the fast

Mercy is requested in the first third; ten days it lasts

Entering the Garden without it is an impossible task

Two thirds through is pleading for forgiveness

From all wrong actions, illusion and otherness

Within the last third rests freedom from the Fire

For some seclusion is chosen while others admire

Along with a vigil on the Night of Power

Its essence more excellent than a thousand months

When heavenly hosts descend from their abode

By the authority and ordinance of their Lord alone

And peace is experienced by all those concerned

So once again it draws to a close

In a way we begin to feel expose

But not without hope and repose

Hoping and praying that the fast was accepted

At the end of it all comes the celebrating

While eagerly awaiting and anticipating

Facing life’s challenges with this new energising

Trusting that life will be spared God willing

Once again to witness the month of blessing

All gratitude and praise is for Him

Who has guided us to this

We would not have been guided had He not guided us

Sending a message and messenger with absolute proof

Both are inseparable and with nothing omitted

All that remains is to ask blessings and peace on Muhammad

Without whom nothing would have been created

Had I not believed You know
My every secret and everything I show
I too would have penned and sung
A love song to You
For on the moon’s bright face
Your Name, my Lord, is written large
Clearly seen by all true lovers’ eyes

But You, my Lord,
Yours is the love song to be listened to
For You are He who created every being
So no string in the love lyre can be ours

Do we need to escape politicians
Run from wrath like scared beasts
Fear the needle of physicians
Or holy water of high-priests

Do we need usury
Or a banker’s bonus
To live a life of luxury
The weight of debt upon us

Do we need the riches
That go with cars and clothes
Spells of wicked witches
To know our friends or foes

Do we need guns and knives
Or our own destruction
Do we need to beat our wives
Or officers’ corruption

Do we need drugs and syringe
Metal spoon and belt
To watch the little baby cringe
At the thousandth blow he’s dealt?

Do we need graffiti on walls
Drawn by angry youths
Ten year old girls at men’s calls
Prostitution in phone booths?

Do we need pollution of the planet
Or our greenhouse gasses
Standing stones made of granite
Students shooting classes?

Do we need bombs and battle
Or a first black president
Illness spread by dead cattle
Men murdered by accident?

Do we need blood diamonds
Or blood of child soldiers
Do we need private islands
Or poor broken Afrikaners

Million dollar pension plans
Coffee from the mountain blue
Do we need these hoodie clans
Or pandemic of swine flu

Do we need black or Asian
Or to teach freedom of speech
Indian or Caucasian
Or power within one man’s reach

Do we need a thousand questions
To produce the right answers
Or have asinine suggestions
To make us become thinkers

For pleasure of being on earth,
Justice, freedom, what do we owe
Fear of what appears at birth?
Or can we just say ‘No’?

My body is for my self, a city,

The great estate, my inner faculty.

Ministry and monarchy, my intellect,

Appetite tries to steal from the elect.

Malice is a policeman on the beat,

Foul slave to false state, a poisonous treat.

To the front, imagination is a treasury,

To the rear, the store of recorded memory,

In the middle, is the riddle, of my thinking

The tongue, interpreting, interlinking.

My five senses, alive to me like spies,

My fingers, nose, mouth, ears and eyes.

Each play a part, in living as art,

Overseen by the director, my heart.

Voice, colour, perfume, craftwork and cooking,

Convey the ways my self should be looking.

I remain informed by these keepers at the door,

And negotiate my inner state in times of war.

My livestock flock around their shepherd,

A sound man, bound to the king’s word.

But his soundness depends on his safety,

From greed, ambition, and misery.

If any of these vices, should up and erupt,

They’ll take the city by storm, and make it corrupt.

Van Gogh’s Boot from the Sunday Symposium What is Art For? The film is by Maria Rayhana Silvano

As-salaam ‘alaikum
Apparently I was very moved by Hajj Abdal-Haqq’s verbal struggle to identify the mystery and grandeur of Van Gogh’s painting of boots in that labyrinthine symposium you spoke at on “The Spiritual in Art” (actually the title of a Vassily Kandinsky treatise, I believe), because this morning this poem came, and I’ve dedicated it to you, Abdal-Haqq, with all due respect.
ma-salaama
Abdal-Hayy

OLD BOOT

for Hajj Abdal-Haqq Bewley

There’s an old boot
battered and raw

It could be Van Gogh’s boot
It could be the world

Killed and revived over and over
its sole bent up and its

heel crooked
as if beaten by trees

Traipsed over great clumps in fields
or dodging strafe-fire and

shrapnel
a boot that’s seen too much in its

short leathery life
yet soldiers on

brutishly bootish
Presumably for a foot

though it’s taken on a life beyond
shoeing something as

ephemeral as a foot
it now seems to fit all feet

and none

More a boat than a boot
More a ship than a shoe

braving earthly waves

Sitting here alone now
beached in a dark brown light

radiantly dark
(it could be God’s boot

though God has no foot
nor needs a boot

It’s just that it’s that kind of boot
no human foot could be so

adorned)

as it sails in
utter stillness

having reached
its end of usefulness

and now will not go anywhere
that is not where it

already is

Abdal-Hayy Moore 12/29/2008

So many abused, so few to avail.

It’s not so pretty, this little city scene,

One man stands, one sits, by a machine….

Where am I goin’? Where’ve I been?

I’ve forgotten my PIN, for the bank machine.

Who’s that there? I’ll put this straight.

Your P.I.N.’s 3328.

That’s my personal identity number,

It took a bum to remind me? That’s a bum-mer.

Hey, I’m taking none of this cheek!

How long you been there?

Including this week?

I don’t know, I keep losing sleep.

I’m starting to count in sheep that beep.

Lazing about here, all of your days,

Nothing but God gonna mend your ways.

Actually, sir, I lack belief,

If God existed, why all the grief?

Everyone in their heart agrees,

With the hardship, comes the ease.

The grief’s there cause you do as you please,

Get up off your ass.

And down on my knees?

Can I inform you, as you go berserk,

Of what exactly is my line of work?

Well, lookin at you, I can probably guess

- you work in Transport, doing pavement-tests?

Or used to take drugs, but then you kicked them,

So now you stunt-double as a crash-victim?

Agreed, it’s an unlikely time and place,

May I proceed to make a brief case?

Don’t worry, I won’t go into detail,

But lend an ear to this point of retail.

Now I know something’s not right,

I never seen a tramp with a Samsonite.

My motto is: Buy not Beg.

I sell money.

You’re pulling my leg.

It’s undercover philanthropy,

I use liquidity to ease poverty.

It’s best I address those most in need,

So I dress like a bum, in order to succeed.

I can tell you, then, that I’m not your man,

As you can see, I’ve enough money to hand.

But I guess you’re aware of the situation,

What’s going on now with inflation.

And you wonder about what you’ll do,

When your money starts to lose value.

As that machine keeps pumping cash,

It’s about to dump us in a crash.

Quality, not quantity, brings ease.

It’s not true what they say, this does grow on trees!

But as they’re cutting up the woods,

It takes more paper to pay for goods.

So, in turn, what you come to seek,

Is more pounds for your working week.

Man, oh, man, that’s kind of drastic,

Does it make a difference if I switch to plastic?

Not really, they’re kind of the same,

You can stick to paper, but change the name.

Right now, we’ve the pound and dollar,

I propose we switch to ‘Squollar’.

We divest from money in place,

And outflow of the Squollar gains pace.

We supplant the current regime,

And bring in a new monetary scheme.

Now, I’m blue-collar, I got to say “What?”

Ain’t living in squalor like diddley-squat?

This is an issue, I had to ponder,

I first thought to call it the ‘Squander’

But I encourage spending, not waste,

That attitude is not to my taste,

So when I thought about it more,

I suddenly remembered: ‘Blessed are the poor!’

What is it you’re out to achieve,

With Bible quotes which you don’t believe?

Are you a phoney, trying to tease us,

Playing games with the sayings of Jesus?

With the old money, being rich is poor,

I say let’s not take it anymore

I’m out to change your heart and mind,

And show that the blind are leading the blind.

That’s not like falling off a log,

I hope you’re more than just a guide dog.

What we need’s an alternative,

Greed can’t feed the way that we live.

If their way is a hole-in-the-wall,

It’s a case of when, not if, it’s gonna fall.

That’s a great lesson, I’ve just been told.

Say, there, maybe you got me sold!

What do I do, to run with your crew,

And buy into this new revenue?

Dollars cents, pounds and pence,

All make sensible investments,

In return for that currency,

You get your share of new reality.

Man, let me in! Oh, I can’t wait!

Hold up a min… what’s the exchange rate?

I’ve valued it against the dollar,

It’s .00003 to a Squollar.

That’s less than one thousandth of a cent!

But I thought you said… I thought that meant…

Don’t think with your head, think with your heart.

To have a hand in a brand new start,

There’s no point us just sitting, waiting,

Let’s get this thing circulating.

Yeah! You’re right, let’s get this movin’,

Remunerating Revolution!

Time to get things looking thrifty,

What do I get if I give you fifty?

You know, bro, if we’re to make a stand,

I’m thinking more like a couple o’ grand…

Is this your idea of a joke?

That’s all I have, man, I’ll be flat broke!

Don’t you get it? You’ll be wealthy.

The pound ain’t sound, the Squollar’s healthy.

Apologies, of course you’re right,

It’s been a hard week, I’m real uptight.

Well, let those days of tightness end.

With the Squollar, spend, spend, spend!

Well, can you accept a cheque?

Sure, and that thing round your neck.

Judging by that jewellery there,

I see you are a squillionaire.

To anyone with half a brain,

There’s no value in a new gold chain.

And if anyone, out of us two,

Has half a brain, I’m betting it’s you.

I’ll give you one thousand per troy ounce.

Wow! Here’s that cheque. I’m sure it won’t bounce!

I always do this, I don’t know why,

But I trust you, you seem such a good guy.

I don’t have all my cash this trip,

So I’ll write out an I.O.U. slip.

What!? That don’t make sense to me.

Let’s meet again, then exchange money.

That devalues day by day,

So if I was you, I’d get it away.

And, look at it, what does it say?

It just says here: ‘We Promise to Pay’.

It’s an IOU, of the worst kind,

That’s the big difference, that you’ll find.

Now, I’m not here to see you done wrong,

I buy up weak IOUs for strong.

I may be dumb, but I’m not insane,

How am I to see you again?

I mean, I see you almost every day,

But who’s to say you won’t up and away?

On the note, I wrote a number to phone,

A mobile!? I better get a dial tone!

Well, let’s just put that to the test,

Go on, call it, be my guest.

I’m sorry, I’m sure that it will work,

I didn’t mean to be a jerk.

No, that’s fine, I understand,

Ring it, while your phone’s to hand.

Ok, here we go, it’s buzzing…

I should hook you up with my cousin…

Mine’s not ringing. Well, that’s strange…

I guess I must not be within range…

Call me tomorrow, or the next day,

It’ll work then, when I’m miles away.

By the way, no hard feelings?

I just like to be straight in dealings.

Like I say, that’s fine, no prob.

Looking out for you is my job.

Thanks for the cheque, the chain, the 50 quid note,

You did the right thing, to stay afloat.

But now what will you do with it?

When the crash comes, it’s you who gets hit.

That problem’s my part of the deal,

I invest it in something real.

Meanwhile you spend that, and then,

It comes round, to me again.

I’ll probably buy some real estate…

And I buy it off you! Man, I can’t wait!

Thanks for this opportunity,

To get back at this economy.

I’ll tell all of my congregation,

I’m sure it’ll catch their imagination,

Maybe one day, I’ll find you at church!

If things go as planned, it won’t be a long search…

So was his son moulded from birth,
To have his frame carve out on earth.
Faced always with the daily grind,
Innocent mind, trying to unwind.

Childhood clung to a microphone,
Countertenor to popular drone,
Worldwide-eyed boy brought to fame,
Lead progeny of the family name.

Steeltown, Motown, swing to the Strip
Club after club and keep it hip,
Hop to the circuit, chitlin’ Kid,
Do that damn dance that we never did,

Step it up, like pepsi, pop to that jive,
Make a name, it’s not a game, no time to take Five,
Joy and rage uncaged, and brought to the stage,
Of a boy-king never come of age.

Opaque coal, translucent gem,
Fine fault-lines separate them.
That thing we have come to treasure,
Was brought about, under pressure.

The High-Hope mount he came to climb,
And stand up to the test of time,
And from this summit, the upper peak,
It was stardom he would come to seek.

Records made and smashed in trade,
Leather-clad Bad man masquerade,
And thrill us with his billie jean tune,
And a few smart steps to walk the moon.

Control, contracts, long-stints, fine print,
Full-coloured face soon starts to lose tint,
Now a man, Peter Pan starts to lose flight,
Yet billions of eyes uphold him in sight.

Tears shed years for the modern boy-king,
Belief and grief beneath the unmaking
But as the heart beats strong, his life will be led,
It’s only said in the head: the King is Dead.

the pivotal practice of the final deen,

the cornerstone of every day’s routine,

protecting shield of every Muslim’s heart.

Its regular dispersal through the day

ensures the conduit to our Lord remains

uncluttered, and that every Muslim gains

five points of stillness in the daily fray.

The physical nature of the form of prayer,

to stand, bow and prostrate repeated times,

involves the whole being and makes us aware

that we are bodies just as much as minds.

Yet it lifts us up beyond both time and space

to the timeless spaceless realm of Allah’s Pure Face.

And I’ve concluded not that these birds these
great-to-the-nth-power grandchildren of membrane-winged lizards
are cold beady-eyed opportunists after all instead of
Shelleyan skylarks singing God’s praises and poets’ ambitions
but that they’re just that way with each other
the way cats like to bite to express themselves

Because many times I’ve also seen one bird bringing seed to another
full-grown bird that waits patiently at the window ledge to be fed
maybe its grown son or daughter maybe its
arthritic mother or shy brother God knows
but the seed purveyor would go back and
forth repeatedly and hop down and poke it down the
other bird’s throat with no
change of expression on its face a true servant

So that to say one thing or another based on purely
surface observation is actually
slippery ground both ontologically ornithologically and
even theologically since really
God is god to all things equally in their
own peculiar way even the

worm goes about being a worm the
only way it knows how

that is
until a robin finds it

laughter, much abound, promise full of hollow song
promise unhonoured, dishonoured, another son ‘n daughter
drank deep, oh hide! dark empty world, full!

In senses hid, dark despair! Oh dark despair!
Sing! Sing! Empty unhonoured song
Hollow notes deep deep despair, fill long nights,
long days vacuous wailing songs, sensual dancing hides shallow
never deeper than despair

Awake son ‘n daughter, no sleep lies on despair’s shore
within you lies an ocean, swim!
for outside, within you lies contained
drink