Friday, August 31, 2007
often come to blows
when the shit of the crow
on the mane of the lion shows
an inbox of her silence
Pirouetting on the tips of her
the heart says
try not to be firoze
click and compose
in her perfumed garden
a bit of me that glows
an Indian thorn..
lying by the side of a
Supinely Subtle Rose.
I took a break from Poem hunter after deleting 1002 poems here quite recently, , so as not to write and stay away from a sign that says Private Property Usurped by Racist Poets ..Beware of Dogs, Indians not allowed, Car tyres will be flattened, Trespassers will be Prostituted...Electrocuted...
These are poems ..older lot
Posted on 08/11/2006 8:25 Am
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
The Wheels of Death are asleep
lts a Dogs Life that is cheap..
once the driver starts the Engine
Death will take him away in a sweep
what he has grabbed
he wont be able to keep
leave behind everything and into an
your tears no more yours
others who just might
remember you and not weep
you have taken a long leap
the living dead ..
a garbage heap
also defyingly asleep.
Posted on 08/12/2006 5:12 AM
We are saffron colored Indians
We hate green Indians
a thought on Sulekha Blogs spun
my language an excuse to block me
without giving me a reason
make and poke fun..
cultural policing , creativity undone ,
clits, tits elephant dicks
jahangir art gallery
600 blogs in three days
gave an Indian blog bank run
I d rather shoot from my dick
still be Bollywoods Most Wanted Blogger no1
at Flickr Bloggerspot Wordpress Buzznet Ipernity
than a Confused Muslim
on Sulekhs Blogs
on the run..
my words poetic
wisdom .. unmuzzled
to a Racist submachine gun.
of Racial Indianess
in silence a thought I wont return...
I cant stop shooting pictures of the Mogul Masjid, with all the money in the world the Khojas can built any grandeur like Mosque , but can never recreate the ambience of Moghul Masjid , where I feel the human presence of God. Other Mosques may have a heavenly God but the vision I see here is of a kind , human loving God, every little speck at Mogul Masjid praises the bounty of this God.
I don’t enter any other Mosque, yes I am a heretic, architectural Mosques that encage Godliness never inspired me, and I come here every Friday if I drop in at the Chor Bazzar flea market, I make it a point to have a black Kava at Khushali the Iranian samovar shop, and let my spirit roam at the Mogul Masjid..I am not much of a prayer man, but yes I pray all night, to be lulled to death on my pillow.
.I don’t want to die in any other place but my home if already destined within the borders of my beloved country.
I know people among my Malang friends who always carry a shroud bought from someone who came down with it from Mecca or Medina.
The Shias are living Shrouds in Iraq and in a friendly Muslim country called Pakistan, friendly is the punishment for living a Muslim and dying as Sunni or Shia in sectarian violence.
I never understood why the hard hearted called the non Muslims Kaffir, being human is worse than a Kaffir than I am a kaffir all right , there was a time in protest I wanted to change my name to Kafir Firoze Shakir.., my mother pleaded , I gave in.. remained a man loving Kaffir from within.
I lived for a short while in Muscat Oman and saw the tragedy and travesty of being an Indian Muslim.. you are considered of the lowest rung, I fled the Gulf., I for any X amount of money in the World would not want to live in the Gulf.
And I think it is countries like ours that kept the Covenant of Allah Alive.. and here I don’t talk of those who kept the covenant of the Devil and his Satanic Verses alive by killing , humans and innocence and blaspheming the name of Allah with their dastardly acts...
Yes I am opinionated, I am not a scholar of the Holy Koran, but its spirituality remains the same for the literate and the illiterate alike.
I saw a film called the Horseman, where Omar Sharif tears a part of the Holy Scripture to apply to a wound., it stayed with me all my life, I wore Ayats in a Tawiz or talisman round my neck , but gave it up, as I sinned too much was not worthy of desecrating it with my thoughts either.
Well I digress , Moghul Masjid , is the Mosque, I am in love with, there may be may more splendoured , but this imposing Mosque in a crowded area of Bhendi Bazar.. is my address of a human loving God.
my acqua marine thoughts
sleepy waters of the Nile ..
a cat Goddess
to my words hostile
she may come around
it may take a while
to old time style
a Indian born desi
she does revile
Thursday July 27, 04:04 AM
YOU could be a 40-year-old man posing as a 16-year-old girl, a 60-year-old woman playing a 20-year-old stud-boy, a wallflower geek who becomes an adventure sports jock or a neurotic pimple-ridden teenager who turns into a super-model. Online, anything is possible.
Entering the virtual world, one can play violent games. ''The site Sociolotron allows raping and murdering in its virtual underworld and the site naughtyamerica.com clarifies that all this occurs with the consent of the browser, so it is a valid fantasy,'' says artist Sanveej Khandekar, whose collaborative exhibition with artist Vaishali Narkar, Clits, Tits and Elephant Dicks, opens at Jehangir Art Gallery on August 1.
Taking off from this virtual world where one can buy anything from dildos to life-like sex dollies, Khandekar will convert the staid gallery into a rocking underworld, filled with 12 paintings, two large installations and four glass table-tops that are faux computer monitors displaying actual and imaginary websites that cater to the huge online porn industry.
''I've cast myself as one of the real dolls serving customers like an eight limbed octopus behind the kitschy bar, tossing up a cocktail made for their fantasy,'' says the artist who positions himself through his works, both as a critic and a participant of the raunch and razz. Even his watercolours evoke a sense of the games and online sex without actually becoming a voyeuristic tour themselves.
For the uninitiated, Khandekar is a Marathi writer-poet who turned artist in 2001 with a show of watercolours at Jehangir Art Gallery. However, it was his mammoth exhibition at Pundole and The Museum Gallery in Kala Ghoda last year, that lobbed him into the big league. ''Even today, it's difficult to sell my work because of its confrontational nature, but people have faith in my work, which is why I'm having my next show,'' says Khandekar, sitting in his Chembur studio.
MUMBAI: The moral police ensured that an art exhibition, explicitly titled ‘Tits, Clits n Elephant Dicks’, did not go on uninterrupted in Mumbai on Saturday.
Following an obscenity complaint by a woman named Pushpa Vitula at the Colaba police station, 12 policemen stormed the exhibition showcasing the works of Sanjeev Khandekar and Vaishali Narkar at the Jehangir Art Gallery and took pictures of the exhibits for evaluation.
Lawyer Mahesh Jethmalani says: “The police have no legal right to enter and inspect the paintings and installations as the exhibition is being held at a private art gallery. The lady, who found the exhibition obscene, went to view it out of free will. If she was offended, she had the choice to walk out. There is no question of conflicting rights or enforcing the law here.”
At the time of going to print, the Colaba police station was yet to register the case. Officials said they were still investigating the complaint. nnnp18
“We have not still registered a First Information Report (FIR),” said the duty officer.
Police officials visited the exhibition twice but did not take away any of the exhibits for evidence after the artists told them that it would take away from the value of the exhibition, said Narkar.
Khandekar said that Vithula “did not approve of the paintings and had a heated argument with another observer. She got emotional about the issue. She walked away. Fifteen minutes later, the cops walked in.”
Friday, August 18, 2006
I complete an year
Late learner at computers
Buzznet and Bloggerspot
Joined Sulekha Blogs
Invitation mass mail
To this pictorial golliwog
Indian Hermit Crabs
In a fragile glass bottle
Crab leg pulling crabs
Mellow mouthed jabs
Fuck the body
The ass of a soul
Up for grabs
I got sweet talked
A madness of mind
Bollywoods Most Wanted Madness
And one fine July Monsoonal morning
Imported 666 blogs
From Buzznet to Sulekha Blogs
And one fine Monsoonal August morning
I am without rhyme or reason Auto blocked
Associate Director Sulekha Blogs calls me
Says your passion for blogging is amazing ,
but your language is to pornfully mod
And too many cocks cunts and fucks overstocked
Spoil the child and despoil the rod
Now in retrospection
I find Krubashankarji s reasoning
A bit overflawed
Is it because of circumscisional evidence
my poetry that is half cocked
that I was as an Indian
posing as a Desi Amerikaan
Mee Mumbaikar my site blocked
I am still fuckin Shell shocked
Like a priest who masturbates
Nightdreaming Mary Magdalene
Is inconspicuously defrocked
Goddess of Prose
Had said change Your profile Jai Hind ,..
my Muslim default identity that
As an Indian was mocked
my reply Grow up Bhamini Ravishankar
The banter, the K saws (Keshavs)
And other fucked souls
On the cleavage of my decapitated ass
a braggingly hilt of a sword..
Simple Truth hurts
Muslims who think and stink as Indians
Are not Welcome at Sulekha blogs..
And me my Hindu born Ancestors
Were mere spokes Of Moghul Pathan clogs
And so I salute You With one raised leg
The hypocrisy of being a Man
And being treated like a Dog.
At all Indian sites
And those that call themselves Sulekha Blogs
Clits tits and Elephant Dicks
Jahangir Art Gallery
Farting on our creativity
That as sensationalism
whores street walking
Mumbai mirrored and hawked..
Is a job
That does not pay well
A promissory note
From 1 to 10
You have to return as well
Or you get hate comments
From white dickhead
Racist poets a blow job
That they do well
Now I am in a conundrum
Whether to be a poet write haiku
Like Leonardo Daranjo
Or write limericks like
Allen James Saywell
Or whether to be Ted Sheridan
Or whether to be Yoonus Peerbocus
Or whether to be Indira Babbelapatti
And stop being Firoze Shakir as well.
Edward Hawk is grinning with a thought
He knows as well
Or should I become a Trader
Selling second hand clothes
Trinkets a job I could do well
Or lend my ass a commodity
On a Poem hunter stock exchange
Bulls and bears humping my ass , ass well .
axis of evil my ass imprinted on a womans behind
in an anti bush protest rally as well
you know you are right
for the oversight
smells like teen spirit
this racist fight
malice in chains
to hit and spite
a discolored war
between black and white
rape me tomorrow
racism in poetry
at its height
when the lights out
they beat you
to pulp for what you write
the young live on their milk
their warmth love
they are both slaughtered
for their flesh
by men society
of such ilk
body soul surrendered
and they bilk.
I would agree with the context of this fine poem....but we need to keep in mind how hard it is to be considered acceptable in today’s racist world. It must be even harder for someone like him who still even at his advanced age struggles with both penis envy issues and cross dresses in plaids.
Revolutionary American poet Ted Sheridan .
What I have noticed in all your work is that that you respect and have a great knowledge of all religions. Thanks Firoz. I really appreciate this.
You seem to come across a lot of racism, except my sympathy? You express yourself greatly, though, and we seem to share an opinion that people should get what they deserve, haha. Enjoyed.
-Kylie M. Lynch
Finest poet. on cyberspace
we all suffer in unimaginable ways
tagore of Mauritius
You have a new comment about your poem: Australian Racist Poet Bad Luck
from allen james Saywell
I dont know what to say except you a one sick dude, you really are screwed up
didnt'' you like my limeric
Warm regards AJS
When age catches up with you
And your claustrophobic mind
Clogged with hateful stones
Starts turning to gravel
The turning point
Of a poem within a poem
A thought I can’t say well
Its time to pack you bags
To the kind world say farewell
Your racist ruminations
As poems of hate comments
Limericks you did bare well
Grounding and gnashing
Your dentures your
Spiteful jaws your
Hate for this peace loving
you prince of evil
your satanic soliloquy
you could not mask well
God Jeohavah Allah Brahma
Has reserved your berth in Hell
Out of your flesh that you
Leave behind the aborigines
Plan to make a lamp shade
To light their world well
Out of you plaids that you
Leave behind an Indian
Bald Eunuch plans to look well
Your bones they plan to crush
With the oil cure arthritis
Painful joints that don’t work well
Out of your diseased testicles
The old widow’s home
plans to make a doorbell
So you won’t ever be forgotten
Ill begotten poem within a poem
A poem called allen james Farewell
Date & Time: 8/31/2007 2:42:00 AM Remove this comment
Poem: 8092644 - a poem called allen james Farewell
Member: Leonard Daranjo
Comment: Out of your diseased testicles
The old widow’s home
plans to make a doorbell
So you won’t ever be forgotten
I simply love these lines. What a way to achieve immortality. Firoz, you are a master craftsman with words - there is no denying that.
Date & Time: 8/30/2007 9:31:00 PM Remove this comment
Poem: 8088711 - Poem Hunter Heaven Hell and Purgatory
Member: allan james Saywell
Comment: THE INDIAN WEED, WITHERED QUITE,
GREEN AT MORN, CUT DOWN AT NIGHT,
SHOWS THY DECAY,
ALLFLESH IS HAY,
THUS THINK, THEN DRINK TOBACCO
TO CHANGE ONES COLOUR
WARM REGARDS AJS
The term pederasty or paederasty can refer to a wide range of erotic practices, generally between adult and adolescent males. Pederastic relations have been variously described - as spiritual or materialistic, lawful or criminal, loving or commercial, compassionate or abusive, sexual or chaste – and have been documented from prehistory to modern times.
Rendered as 'age-structured homosexuality', it is, along with gender-structured relations and egalitarian relations, regarded as one of the three main subdivisions of homosexuality proposed by anthropologists
“Pederasty” derives from the combination of “παίδ-” (the Greek stem for boy) with “ἐραστής” (Greek for lover; cf. “eros”). Late Latin “pæderasta” was borrowed in the sixteenth century directly from Plato’s classical Greek in The Symposium. (Latin transliterates “αί” as “ae”.) The word first appeared in the English language during the Renaissance, as “pæderastie” (e.g. in Samuel Purchas' Pilgrimage.), in the sense of sexual relations between men and boys.
The mystery of the man who fell
Into the open man hole has been
Unraveled which hereby I expound
The man of a perverted mind unsound
Was searching for little Indian boys
With protuberant posteriors dusky
Musky and round
He horny as hell to his mouth organ bound
Told the newspapers he tripped
Thereby fell into the gutter
Lost his conciousnesss
They just bought him around
He was reciting Hail Mother Mary’s
This pederast poet
on a poem hunter mound
by the identification on his person
that they found
turned out he was wanted by the Interpol
this Acidic Jurassic Shithead renowned
his miniscule member unsheathed
they did impound
for causing public nuisance
and for fooling around
he was given bail after paying
a fine in Lebanese pound
multi colored hatred on the rebound
marborough beach bondi cranulla beach
memories of racism swung around
how white s love to break colored heads
with their Hate children of a lesser god pound
humanity kicked around down under stamping ground
What goes up must surely come down
A thought what your are within its with the same venom
You your resources more info of hate resound
yes your upbringing the breeding ground a thought
Very profound..Sleeping counting
Little Bim Bombay Sheep in the ICU
I am sure this Anti-Juvenile-Specimen
Will come around expatriated home bound
God was tired and heaven was packed with good white men
And people from Iraq who had died for a good cause you can tell
So the evil few from Poem hunter he decided to pack them off to Hell
First Ivan of 1000 poems sunny side up Carsewell
But in order to give this racist poet company he handcuffed him to
Allen James Saywell in yellow jumpsuits bare feet in a Guantanamo type cell in a devils hell.
Reading the Devils backward written Gospel..
For company to these two inmates he called in a Poet Trader
Defrosted Blane and another James as well ..
Burrning in the fires of Hate you can hear how they scream and yell
Cursing Bim Bombay Little Indian Boy burning flesh and smell
Not realizing that more important than a mans colored skin
Is the betrayal of human vaues by a single rebel of a sperm cell
Now this poet he opted for Purgatory instead of heaven and hell..living in Peace with his Blog Goddess eternity like two conjoined pearls in an oyster shell . So on this note I wish you all God Speed
Hugs Take Care and Farewell
My brain gushing poems like pure water from a Bore welll .
an open air funeral casket
into nothingness sail
even truth does a mujra dance
tahzeeb adab an old forgotten
nawabi fairy tale
toaday they make you a politician
while you are in jail
kids no cholesterol no heath problems
just unloving kills them
in my country an arrested moment
called heart fail
noxious hate filled fumes of
disharmony as hindu muslim
shia sunni that in the lords house
we inhale yes we are pathetic
natural born Indians
killed before they give birth
the heartless screamless wail
on a large scale
our values our traditions of
living peacefully home food
overcooked gone stale
click fraud of emotions
the death of an unborn female
if they live they die burnt
on a dowry trail
inspired by mahfooz ali
surrender to your charms
your steamy soulless thought s
my spiritual being embalms
om padme hum
jai shree rams
ya ali adrikni
madonna and child
in your arms
beneath Indian palms
living as a poet
among other poets
in hate filled segregated
poemhunter animal farm
Cadavered cry less sleep
Capitulated careless sleep
Catatonic callisthenic sleep
Catnapped cartwheeling sleep
Characteristic, charismatic sleep
Chronometered calculative sleep
Circuitous circular sleep
Claustrophobic climactic clitoral sleep
Cockeyed,cockpitted, cock roached,
Cock tailed conceited sleep
Companion less, compulsive sleep
Conclusive conjectured, convulsive
Counter clockwise cosmic cybernetic sleep
Creative, criss crossed, cross hatched cross eyed sleep
Culpabaly cumbersome, cuckolded ,credulously
Cunninglingus ,cow licked, crevice cruising cubby holed sleep.
flickr think flickr think
for god sake wake up
from your rip van winkle like sleep
into a morass of just
cybernetic power don’t sink
between a creative artist
and your administration
create a two hand clapping link
don’t cause a ruckus of a stink
now don’t look the other way
nelsons eye at you tube
orkut facebook like don’t wink
me and others like me think
more than money
it is the soul and the heart
the heartbeat of a photographer
here the soundless pain
in a clink
What I am today as a photographer and photo blogger I owe to El Gekko ,
A white man who never ever made me feel brown or black , a great difference there is among photographers and poets who carry hate ..Wordsmiths of hate .
This poem is my solidarity with a human being with a heart of gold.
Message from the finest photographer at Flickr El Gekko
Lost in a hudge playground!
That's me in the Web... ;)
My dear friends... I'll stay around, even if not as often as before.
The thing is that Flickr is just using our work to promote itself, to gain more power, and then, more money, with our work, and now that I understood that, I'm not interested much.
A board that is administrated by some lines of code, lines of code that will -then- decide that this image, or this one, or this other again, is good enough to be put in front page...
A board that uses censorship if some pubic hair is shown...
A board like that as no appeal to me, anymore.
There are many other boards around, that have a much better, and nicer, and respectfull approach toward "artists".
What has some appeal to me, though, are people like you, that I met around, shared with, laughed with.
This is why I'll keep an eye around, and post, once in a while, an image here, a comment there, a wink over here!
But I have the intention to regain full power on what I want to show, and that will be through my own website. I don't need no robot to tell me what to show, what to promote, what to do with *MY* work.
Thanks very much for your encouragements, you all around that found some interest into my work, for a year now.
I found a lot of inspiration into your various work(s), inspiration that led me toward new creative pathes and imaginative use of imagery. This I don't want to lose.
This I wanted to thank you for, too.
fault finding firozes
A window opens
And a trembling
Life was never a
marital bed of roses
pictorial punctuated poses
a rod water parting
a thought imposes
a paper thin membrane
hands raised to the heavens like Moses
toast proposes and aaron opposes
life and fucked after life
Shah-e-Mardan Sher-e-Yazdan Quwat-e-Parwardigar Lafata Ila Ali La Saif Ila Zulfiqar , originally uploaded by firoze shakir photographerno1 ....
Ek Shahenshah Ne Banake Yeh Haseen Tajmahal Ham Gareebon Ki Mohabbat Ka Udaya Hai Mazak.. , a photo by firoze shakir photographerno1 on Fli...