The beautiful and dynamic achievement of flight.
A kite flying with great height.
A curveball thrown with might.
Phenomenal “Aerodynamics” allows such sights.

The amazing structure of the human body such as the heart;
Eyes that view a visual art.
Ears that tune Mozart.
Without the extraordinary systems of “Anatomy” we truly depart

The fascinating studies of humankind.
Values help us to be kind.
Beliefs are a part of how we are designed.
The enthralling and humble “Anthropology” allowing us to be refined.

The remarkable mystery of reconstructing past societies.
Biofacts help pieces together ancient aristocracy.
Artifacts help determine historical tendencies.
Adventurous and valuable “Archaeology” traces of our ancestries.

The wonderful feeling and marvel of observing the night sky…
Planets are the starting point in charting the galaxies, nothing to defy.
Calendars, how else would you know it’s July!
The mystical stories of “Astronomy” is where our answers lie.

There is a fabulous world of the living that the human eye can not see.
Bacteria without you there would not be food on land or in sea.
Earth’s microscopic decomposer and carbon releaser, nature loves thee.
Most see it as disease I see “Bacteriology” as exquisite, maybe it’s just me!

What could be more delightful then knowing our genetic code?
DNA the carrier of our complex traits, an imperfect human mold.
Chemical processes in living organisms, a sight, if able to see, to behold!
Unbelievable and monumental is “Biochemistry” to mapping the human road.

I admire the ability to see every aspect of life in a living organism.
Classification of species helps define humanism.
Behavior the study of stimulus-response may help destroy racism!
I find comfort in “Biology” and in its explanation of this organism.

I could not be more grateful for the importance in plant life!
Oxygen is life, without it we’ll all be in the afterlife.
Medicine is the healer and prevents the surgical knife.
We all should be thankful to lifesaving “Botany” and its lab in the wildlife.

There are so many other branches of science: Climatology,
Entomology, Ecology, Marine Biology…
And this is just a poem, not a report, to marvel at science.
Beside this scientific mind has run out of rhymes

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at Science.

in a fancy drive

by this hidden city

where hearts get ceased by jealous rips

and magical carpets full of tiny lights

hiding lonely stories and innocent gossip

black gardens hanged by pearls

and stars..

hallowed by shying hopes

that’s you tonight

my home town

same old plot, new passion

two masculine mountains…

staring at each other

who frees the captured soul?

resting in between

who lives there…

who smiles here..

who wonders if someone is thinking of you..

or doubts that someone cherishes another…

in my home town

Like every week at this time..

winds from the crowded capital

blow, push me, like a sail

then steadily cradled

by welcoming breezes

in early galleys of my town

gently pulling the drive

while scanning memories

chasing far away thoughts

of an old man

driving through this highway

tonight

cross my home town

*Duhok is a provinceDownload in Iraqi Kurdistan Region

*Photo of Dohuk from internet

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at Duhok tonight.

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at God’s Mother.

healthy, kind, sincere – a little bit old fashioned – and genuinely

in love with me, as I am with him.

We have cats and dogs,

may possibly take in foster children to help them get on their feet.

He’s a poet also and we both write and read each other’s poetry all the time.

The property we live on is scenic and beautiful with little animals,

wild flowers, trees and brooks and fresh outdoor air.

We both live off the incomes of our artwork and

have nothing to do with professional or business life.

We befriend people in the community,

where there is a quaint town with all kinds of cute little stores and restaurants.

We read our poems in the cultural center and help and heal people

through our artwork, consoling them, helping them to see,

and to create their own art – feeding their souls with love, support and knowledge.

We live quietly, without too much technology,

and our relationship is honest, unconditional and trusting.

The prince and the princess, loving life, reading like a fairy tale.

In life, all is possible. I am open-minded that way.

When the doors close,

we can move on to  something just as good.

It’s called acceptance.

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at Dreamland.

The time is readying
or am I happy with the
sounds that come from
within.

Without noise, I sleep in
places secret and secure.

All my delights in this mind
of bright lights
mood divine
any time.

I’m ready to pitch in.

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at SHADOWS.

That’s who I am.
Though I’ve walked this earth, lived a life much like others;

I am poetry.

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at Poetry is for Life..

Like  someone isolated in a single  car.

Whether you make or you mar

or  you  initiate  a  healthy  war

All these  things  are  worthless  so  far,

leaving  aside  you  as  the  single  star

The day  you  die, you are  just  born

You  can  be  killed, your  spirit can’t  be  torn

Surrounded  by hypocrite friends  and  enemies  hypothetical

Making  your  every  moment  so  critical

Even  enjoyed  your deepest cuts,

remembering  that  the  darkest  hour  has  only  60  minutes

You  alone  have  to  face  the  critics

when  everything  surrounded  turned  into  bricks

Still  you  survive  in  between

a  world  which  is  so  mean -

to  take  advantage

whether  you  do  a  job  or  you  study  in  a  college

You  always  recover  from  your  past

whether  you  were  placed  first  or  at  the  last

Hardly  anyone  helps  you  rise

Still  you  fly  faster  than  all  the  flies

Like  all  the  books  in  the  library,

your  name  is  also  isolated  in  His  diary

You are  alone  even  in  a   group

though  your  life  follows  a  closed  loop

You  have  no  allies  but  only  agents

You  are  a  superpower  like   the  colourless  paints

God  is  alone. Even  He  is  isolated

You  are  the  only  one  whom  he  created

You are  your  father, you  are  your  mother

You are  your brother, you  are  your  sister

Everone  surrounded  is  only  you

It’s  you  and  you  alone  in  the  queue

Sun is  alone, so  is  the  moon

You  will  leave  your  clone  at  the  darkest  noon

With  the  same  pain, the  god  lets  you  off  the  freedom

Which  he  gave  the  day  you  were  created

and  which  you  enjoyed  during a stardom  which  was  isolated.

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at STARDOM ISOLATED.

It had been three long months and I still yearned to be with Sally, I had promised her, this time on my return we would sneak off and marry and anyone unhappy can tell us after the fact. I was so deeply in love with her I was finding this tour the hardest of them all.

This patrol was a walk in the park, take the Afghan Defence troops out and assess how they performed before they were moved onto permanent bases of their own. The patrol route was new and the brief had been vague at best, Christ I wish intelligence would get their shit together. I took bravo team 50 yards ahead to allow the assessment team to work independently with the Afghans. The drop off was routine and the progress was good, we had done this so many times but we all knew the risks to watch for.
The first burst of fire must have been devastating, I heard it from behind and immediately ordered a tactical advance in pairs, I grabbed chancley and the radio “Bravo one, Bravo one, Contact, Contact, over. I assumed it was a Taliban attack but the first sight told me all I needed and I tried to stop my guys moving forward, “Stand your ground take cover”. The first response was from the Afghans as they opened up with the .50 calibre which tore into our positions “Bravo one, Bravo one Contact hostiles two four it’s the fuckin Afghans”, too late the guys moved for cover and I knew four were hit.
The ensuing fire fight was in favour of the enemy, the .50 calibre was ripping the ground up, we struggled with our personal weapons but the SA80 was no match. Gripe was brilliant landing three grenades in the middle of them before he was shot, the numbers were now more even but that was not enough.
I don’t remember what hit me, when or where but I remember crying, not the pain I was already numb from the chest down, the blood was a sticky black pool and my leg was hanging at a funny angle.
Still I cried and I realised I was crying because I was going to break my promise to Sally and she was going to have to receive the news she feared most. We had talked about this never daring to do more than brush over the subject, now it would become a reality, there was too much blood on the ground and I was stuck without medical care.
I closed my eyes and she was there standing next to me, she looked stunning in her wedding dress and the ceremony became a bit of a blur right up to the point where I said “I do”. She was glowing with beauty and her happiness was as an aura around her. I felt so elated and our love seemed to pull my soul up from inside as I reached to take her in my arms. “You may kiss your bride” God I fell into her very being giving all of myself without reserve, then I opened my eyes and an angel said “she will come to you in time”.

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at My Sally.

Nobody hears of the Bargeman, he who ferries the Warrior dead

No one knows that he decides where, his decision carries real dread

He can take the fallen to Gloried Valhalla, the reward for the brave of war

He may take you to Satan’s Seat, a perpetual existence as a Devils Whore

A Barge that plies the rivers of blood, that spilled by those on deck

Steered by the ones who fell between, chained to a Barge torso and neck

The Bargeman charges nothing, the misery he sees is his just reward

Laughing as he commands his Barge, filled with the miserable hoard

Some say he was once himself a soldier, tall brave and strong of heart

Undone by mans one constant folly, blue eyes and red lips on a female Tart

Abandoned to his solitary misery, this Barge of death has became his home

Now he gets his pleasures, roaming rivers of blood hearing songs of moans

So take heed Soldiers of fortune, listen those who will fight for a cause

Think on of how you will battle, in war you will find no time for pause

If you spare your courage, if you lack the courage to deliver the last blow

Then when you board the Barge of death, you will be put in the decks below

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at The bargeman.

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at Walk with Mother.