Jahannam

Tags

Australian poet, Hell, islam, Islamic hell, Italian sonnet, Jahannam, Petrarchan sonnet, poem, poetry, sonnet

Jahannam

The hell of Islam — seven levels deep.
To one of these all nonbelievers go.
All those who won’t submit descend below,
To where their tortured wraiths will never sleep.
The hypocrites at level seven creep;
They are the very lowest of the low.
At level four those who choose not to know
Of Allah and his messenger, they weep.

Two levels hold the Christians and the Jews:
So near the bottom, down at level five,
Those of the prophet Moses find their fate.
At level six, perhaps on red-hot pews,
Sit Christians who no longer are alive.
(Construction work goes on at level eight).

— D.N. O’Brien

A Special Place in Hell

Tags

Ancient Greek Mythology, Australian poet, Elysian Fields, Elysium, Hades, Hell, Italian sonnet, Petrarchan sonnet, poem, poetry, sonnet

A Special Place in Hell

Each day is perfect, and each night divine.
Sometimes a misty shower comes on the breeze.
No storms with thunderbolts — calm are the seas.
Upon a hillside graze contented kine.
My emptied bottle soon refills with wine.
My dog, I’ve noticed, is devoid of fleas.
My hay-fever has gone, I never sneeze.
It’s always springtime. On rich food I dine,
And never exercise, but am I fat?
No I’m as fit as any man could be!
And what about the whisky, beer, and rum?
It’s all too neat, too perfect — Is it that
There’s something seriously wrong with me?
Is there a doctor in Elysium?

— D.N. O’Brien

The Meadow of Asphodel

Tags

Acheron River, Asphodel meadows, Australian poet, Australian traditional poetry, Cimmerians, Circe, Erebus, Formal poetry, Greek Mythology, Hades, Hell, Homer, Ithaca, Odysseus, Persephone, poem, poetry, River of Flaming Fire, River of Lamentation, Styx River, Teiresias, The Odyssey

The Meadow of Asphodel

Said Circe of the lovely hair,
The goddess with the tresses fair:
“Odysseus, go and set sail,
For in your quest you must not fail.

I will provide a strong north breeze
That will propel you o’er the seas
To where a land is bathed in mist;
That Dawn’s soft rays have never kissed;

Where dreadful Night has spread her cloak.
Cimmerians, unhappy folk,
Live there, close to the gates of Hell.
A meadow clothed in asphodel,

A grove of slender poplar trees,
(They are august Persephone’s)
Two rivers mingle in a gyre –
The Lamentation, Flaming Fire.

The first has waters of the Styx.
Around a towering rock they mix,
And with a thundering are gone –
They pour into the Acheron.

So when this mournful land you reach,
And on its shore your boat you beach,
Then dig a trench a cubit broad,
A cubit long, with your fine sword.

Around the trench pour offerings,
To all the dead, to slaves and kings,
Then barley, white, all over spread,
And say your prayers to the dead:

At Ithaca, when you return,
A heifer you will kill and burn,
And treasure heap upon the pyre,
So all will be consumed by fire.

And to Teiresias the seer,
The blind, the ghost who dwells quite near,
You’ll sacrifice the finest sheep,
So that the sage in peace may sleep.

When prayers are done, call to your crew
That they must bring a ram and ewe,
Jet-black, no others will suffice –
Two victims for the sacrifice.

To Erebus then turn each head,
But look away till they are bled.
And when the trench is filled with blood;
When death has staunched the surging flood,

From Erebus there’ll come a swarm
Of all the souls in ghostly form;
But take your sword, and let none pass
Till you speak with Teiresias.”

Trump the Devil (‘s servant)

Tags

Australian poet, Donald Trump, Evil Trump, Fake news, Hell, limerick, Limerick poem, Limerick poetry, poem, poetry, satire, Trump the Devil

Devilish News for Donald

The Donald, he visited Hell,
And choked on the sulphuric smell.
Old Nick, a vial gripping,
On acid was tripping –
The fiend said: “A secret I’ll tell:
It gives me much joy to confess
That I now control the U.S.,
And hour upon hour
Increases my power;
It’s Hell Trump, for I own the press!”

Breaking News! – One of our reliable sources has reported that Donald Trump recently had a secret meeting with the Devil, aka Old Nick, Beelzebub, Satan etc.. The meeting was held at the Devil’s headquarters, commonly known as Hell. It appears that Hell is located directly under the White House and not under the Kremlin as previously thought.

We’re not disclosing anything, but some speculate that our source, who for obvious reasons will remain unnamed, is embedded with the White House staff, and is carrying out a clandestine surveillance of Trump’s every evil move. Whilst observing Trump, who was at the time dressed in bright red pyjamas with “MAGA” emblazoned on the back, at or around midnight on a date that we won’t disclose, the source saw (but could not record unfortunately, due to a mysterious malfunction of his video camera) Trump enter a secret passageway deep in the bowels of the White House. (According to the source this secret passageway was personally excavated by Richard Nixon in his spare time back in the early ‘70s.)

Luckily Trump failed to lock the passageway door behind him, and the source entered and followed at a safe distance. The winding and steeply descending passageway soon became a narrow, dank, and slippery tunnel, dimly lit with a reddish glow. Gradually the air in the tunnel became warmer; the glow became redder and the source began finding it more and more difficult to breath; the smell of brimstone permeated the fetid miasma and the source had to try very hard not to choke and cough and so alert Trump, who was now some 20 yards in front of him and striding along at a rapid pace. The worse the air got the more sprightly Donald seemed to become.

Gradually the tunnel widened until at last it began to open out and the source saw Trump, still some yards ahead of him, enter into a blazing cave brightly lit by flames which seemed to emanate from the floor, the walls, and the roof. The flames engulfed Trump but he did not catch fire. The “MAGA” emblazoned on his pyjama-top began to pulse with some sort of demonic energy and Trump let out a maniacal laugh – “Hi honey – I’m home!” he ejaculated.

From out of the flames came a short figure all dressed in red. He had two horns protruding from his head and a long forked tail; he was carrying a pitchfork. “Cut the Hollywood inspired humour Trump! Call me honey one more time and I’ll have you replaced by Mike Pence before you can say: ’That’s sad!’” spat the Devil.(Well he was obviously the Devil.)

“Sorry Satan,” said Trump “It’s just my twisted sense of humour, which by the way, half of America, and most of the rest of the world doesn’t understand either. But that aside Nick – what are your latest instructions?”

“Come closer and I’ll tell you,” said the Devil. Trump did as he was instructed, and the Devil began whispering in his ear. The source, still cowering in the tunnel, close to the caves entrance, strained to hear the devil’s whispers, but due to the distance and the constant screaming in the background, he could only pick up the odd clear word and some syllables here and there:

“B???? that f???ing wall! – L??k up the ???ican babies in cages – nuke ????? Korea – Climate change is ????shit – shoot ???lary – Trudeau is a ????wit”. The source got the gist of the conversation.

Soon the meeting was over. Trump shook hands with the Devil. (Another thing he is frequently accused of.) This was followed by high-fives (well, mid-fives) and a brief rap performance by Satan, at the conclusion of which Donald applauded enthusiastically and encouraged the Devil to keep practicing.

The source had seen enough; he turned and retreated as fast as he could back up the tunnel, into the passageway, through the doorway and back to his quarters. He smelt strongly of brimstone and corruption (but mainly corruption.) He showered, put on his blue pyjamas and crawled into bed. It took what seemed like ages for him to get to sleep, and even then he only slept fitfully. He awoke as if from a nightmare, but he knew it had all been very real!

We’ve set down here in print what this totally reliable and honest source saw on the night in question. We suspected that Donald Trump was in league with the Devil and now we have the undeniable proof. Our sources are brave, resourceful, dedicated and above all else – imaginative.

This incredible, fantastic, almost unbelievable story shows that these courageous men and women, our reliable sources, will literally go to Hell and back, so that we may bring you – THE TRUTH.

© Fabricated Articles Keeping you Entertained News

Mo Pens a Letter to Jesus

Tags

Heaven, Hell, Old Nick, poem, poetry, sonnet

Dear J, you still say turn the other cheek?
I thought by now you would have learned
That such is folly, and be more concerned
With self defence – you know I think you weak;
That I despise your children, mild and meek.
You’ve had your day – the tables now are turned.
Your future, let’s be honest J, is bleak.
I’ll reign supreme, and you J, will be spurned.
But on a lighter note, how are you J?
It’s an eternity since I last wrote.
How is the weather there? I’m sure it’s swell.
Down here it is oppressive every day.
Just now I was assaulted by a goat
We call Old Nick – my bottom hurts like hell.