I've posted the entries to our Saddam Hussein Poetry contest in the extended entry. We're going to do a qualitative collection this time: read the entries and post the name of your favored entrant in the comments. Thanks to everyone who entered.

I’ll be out soon,
In a month at the most.
And then I’ll be free
To read Command Post!

Posted by: Alan @ TCP at July 25, 2004 11:29 PM

Roses are red (pause),
Violets are blue (pause),
ahem…..pause…..
I’m the president of Iraq (pause) and
I hate George W. Bush,
Why don’t all of you?

Pansies can be purple (pause),
and crude oil is black,
Send Georgie to me ,
So I can give him a smack.

ahem…..
Muffins are good
And gardening is fun, too,
don’t ask me about the mass graves (pause),
or I’ll have to murder you.

A poet, I’m not
But I gave it a shot…..teehee!

Posted by: Ziggy at July 26, 2004 01:45 AM

shooting at planes, and kurds lives i would take
toying with inspectors, and african yellowcake
it took over ten years
now i’m everyone’s worst fears
me or kim il? in a poll, who would you take?

u.n. sanctions had a glitch
oil-for-food made me rich
bush declared war
why’s he so sore?
ever since then life’s been a bitch

the memories fade like a dream
historical revisionism it would seem
but my sides split with laughter
when they say it was wmd they were after
wasn’t the goal to change my regime?

they got the two boys they called thugs
was it their fault they grew up without hugs?
but they killed uday the older one
and qusay the prodigal son
funny their best work is being food for bugs.

they drug me out of my hole
eight months sure took their toll
now i look sinister
unlike my information minister
a little like manson, with a less cheery soul

this is injustice! from that point i will not budge
it’s like that bush family carries a grudge
i really wouldn’t hurt a flea
a kitten is how i describe me
as i wax nostalgic when i would just kill the judge

Posted by: wafflestomper at July 26, 2004 02:09 AM

The French shield is broken,
Is there a woodchipper for me?
Iraq is now unbridled.

Posted by: Brian at July 26, 2004 07:54 AM

Hush, Hush ,
Whisper who dares
Sad old man
lies out on the stairs
With fur on ceiling and
Blood on the mat
Nasty old Saddam
was castrating a cat.

Sadly for Saddam
The feline he choose
was one of young Uday’s
he’d starved in his zoos
now tigers all smiling
(and Iraqi is to)
It’s the old Tikriti left
Singing the blues!! (Metzo Supranno, but I couldn’t get that to scan).

Posted by: max at July 26, 2004 09:43 AM

I killed so many
And yet so few
I blame my plight
On the Jews.

Rotting corpses
Blood on the floor
And yet some of my victims
The U.S. abhor.

“No WMD’s!”
My allies cheer
Traitors in the bosom
Of Freedom appear.

Just as they have
So many times before,
Dupes fail to discern
Between true tyranny
And Democracy at war.

Posted by: Yankee Zionist at July 26, 2004 09:45 AM

There once was a man like a Tiger
who sought cakes of yellow from Niger
It was his great pride
he was able to hide
any stuff that would set off a Geiger.

Posted by: SarahW at July 26, 2004 10:37 AM

Sadaam Hussein al’-Tikriti

When they pulled me out of my hole,
the wags in the Courthouse laughed and said,
“Well, I guess they will finally hang him.” But I know
who will laugh last. No rope will bear the weight of my magic pebble.
I swam the Tigris under heavy fire, come back from worse,
worse than this.
When the Thunder Run ran through town, and even Ali gave
up, I told the boys, “Boys, who fished you out of the Spoon River when you,
you and Roger Heston fell in?” And when the Excursion Train to Peoria wrecked,
who got us out when Allen and Hainsfeather burned?” The said “You, Dad.”
But they didn’t listen when I told them, “Give up when caught,
or they will shoot you down.”
Waiting for Kofi is what I am doing. I said,
“Americans don’t know torture if it bit their ass, Jacques will be in on the 8:03.”
Did they wait?
Rotten kids, I hope Daisy Fraser will wait for me.

Posted by: jones at July 26, 2004 10:45 AM

In my daft and bloody art
(with apologies to Dylan Thomas)

In my daft and bloody art
Exercised in the still night
With only my loony rages
And my enemies, who are dead
With all their heads in their arms,
I labor by swinging light
My population broken and bled
And my palaces full of arms
And various missile stages
Not to mention the cages
Where my sons would cut out hearts.

Not for the proud man who shrinks
From my raping goons I write
On these blood-stained pages
Nor for the towers of dead
Who were buried sans ceremony or psalm
But for the Kurds, their arms
Round their murdered generations,
Who paid no praise or wages
To Allah or my art.

Cheers…

Posted by: AlexPGP at July 26, 2004 11:54 AM

Saddam Haiku

Once head of Iraq.
Now nothing. I wish that I
could vote for Kerry.

Posted by: Eugene McGovern at July 26, 2004 01:11 PM

It’s rather dull in town, I think I’ll take me to Paree.
Mmmmmm.
The Tyrant wants to open up
The castle in Capri.
Me doctor recommends a quiet summer by the sea!

All I want is a palace somewhere
Far away from from the Baghdad air
Where I can live without a care
Oh wouldn’t it be loverly!

Lots of servants for me to beat
On a whim I’ll lop off their feet
then their children I will eat
Oh wouldn’t it be loverly!

Not so loverly sittin’ abso-bloomin’-lutely still.
Stuck here in this lousy cell
and knowing I’m going to hell!

Someone’s ‘ead is going to roll,
for letting spill I was in that hole,
like an enormous mole!
Oh wan’t that not loverly?
Loverly, loverly, loverly, loverly

Would it be loverly!

Posted by: spd rdr at July 26, 2004 01:31 PM

The Iniquitous
(‘translated’ from the Arabic by D.P.)

Unfair! unfair! you surely go too far!
You steal! bestowing titles never earned.
To call him ‘Hitler’—such a pale czar!
Who never chopped or shredded, raped or burned.
Pretexts; the Holy Book, Jew, and Jihad
To keep the power for men of sword and gown.
Whose murder squad? ‘tis still a murder squad,
For true it is; uneasy lies the crown.
‘Twould curl a sneer at any despot lip
To see how far from what be truth you lie.
Unfair! unfair! To place him with the whip,
And thus my place in history deny.
I would this week in Boston, as a guest,
Thus speak to our Sadheeaqat* in the West

• friends, allies

Posted by: Stephen at July 26, 2004 01:32 PM

The Saddam haiku.

I’m like Fidel Castro
Only not as powerful
And with more B.O.

Posted by: PatrickH at July 26, 2004 02:35 PM

For months I have cried out to the U.N.iverse,
“Sirs, I still exist.”
“Obviously”, replied the now wealthy from riding my back, stinking, U.N.iverse,
“and you rolled on us like a crackhead in de-tox.”

Posted by: kenneth at July 26, 2004 03:36 PM

Do you know The Muffin Man
The Muffin Man, The Muffin Man?
Do you know The Muffin Man
I had him tortured and killed because he gave me a stale muffin.

Posted by: Laurence Simon at July 26, 2004 04:02 PM

It’s not my poem, but I think this one deserves wider readership than it’s going to get on my otherwise unnoticed blog.

http://sobekpundit.blogspot.com/2004/07/too-good-not-to-blog.html#comments

Posted by: Aaron at July 26, 2004 05:15 PM

“Violets are blue,
Roses are pink,
The US invaded,
Now I’m in the klink”

“I think that I shall never see,
A poem lovely as at—
Oh screw it, I’ll never even see the outside world again.”

Posted by: Barry at July 26, 2004 05:21 PM

There once was a man from Tikrit
Whose spider hole measured five feet
He hated the Jews
and Americans too
But their muffins sure were a treat!

Posted by: Faithiepoo at July 26, 2004 06:23 PM

Please keep in mind that I am not a poet, nor do I pretend to be one.

Ode to Martha
by Saddam Hussein

Rays the color of gold bullions streak across my garden
The petals of the roses so soft and soothing, so neatly folded
just like your towels on the shelf at K-Mart.
The smell of gardenias give me pause;
I think of the time you made a boutonniere
and gave it to Larry King
He seemed so touched at your generosity
But then, aren’t we all?
Oh, I hear the faint buzz of the oven,
like a honeybee whispering in my ear;
My muffins are done.
We are destined to be, Martha
Our souls and lives intertwined
Unjustly accused, unjustly imprisoned
but still warmed by a simple recipe
or charmed by a pine cone place card
Do not let your heart be trouble, Martha
Do not let your soul become black like the oil
I used to worship
Before I worshiped you.
I have found inner peace and when I escape my dark place
I will find you, Martha
and together we shall be the new age
Mickey and Mallory
driving around in your BMW
mowing down the proletariat
later, we will plant a date palm in front of our palace
and plot to kill George Bush.
Such is love.

Posted by: Michele at July 26, 2004 06:57 PM

Stockholm Syndrome

By Saddam

To Sgt. Chad, that he might know my heart.

Holy words flood my mind,
But they cannot slake the fire
In my soul and loins.

What am I to you?
A dictator? A prisoner?
Or a man, another man?

I see your muscles ripple,
Corn-fed bounty
In the Fertile Crescent.

Just a search?
For sharp objects?
Or more, as I hope?

I steal glances,
I steal memories
Those are my crimes.

Verse fails me,
But love shall not
When stern eyes meet mine.

Posted by: Hubris at July 26, 2004 08:17 PM

Honestly, you people are infecting my brain. I had to get out of bed to write this down, because as I drifted to sleep, all I could do was think Saddam Lymerics. A pox on you all! And now, my poem…

Osama and I had a pact
If we ever got caught in the act
He would not snitch
That I was his bitch
And my WMDs stay in tact.

Posted by: Faithiepoo at July 27, 2004 01:13 AM

Fathers and Sons

Ah, how strange,
The web of destiny.
Bush the Younger, Bush the Elder,
Uday, Qusay and me.

My sons and I
Stood strong.
We might have been kings
Of all the Arab world before long.

The Elder Bush
Stood weak.
Not even for four more years,
Could he extend his winning streak.

The Younger Bush -
Ha! Even weaker still.
Hanging chads and Court decisions:
He had not even his people’s will.

Me - my people loved me!
At my statue, their eyes filled with mist.
People love to be ruled
With an iron fist.

Stupid Americans think
That people will respect
A ruler
Whom they must elect.

A true ruler will find
That his people will respect him
Only after he has killed
Several thousand of them on a whim.

In that,
My sons and I excelled.
In their dreams, the Bushes
Could not hope to do so well.

But somehow -
Oh cruel tricks of fate!
(I must have erred -
Made my move on Israel too late!)

- somehow, our plans
Of world domination
Were thwarted -
Ah, what an abomination!

Thwarted by a father
And his son.
There were eight years between them
When I thought I might still have won -

Allah curse
The American Electoral System!
I would surely be in power still
Without them!

Instead we ended
In such ignominy -
Uday, Qusay
And illustrious me.

I was captured -
In a filthy, stinking hole!
And Uday and Qusay -
Allah give peace to their brave, strong souls -

Slaughtered!
In a gun battle
With American soldiers
Like a couple of cattle!

How in a just world
Could it possibly be
That two weak Americans
Could bring down the incomparable me?

Now I sit
In a tiny cage
My only amusement
Tending my sage.

But oh, you mustn’t make
any mistake -
The evil despot in me
Is still awake!

(And the rats and roaches
That live in my cell,
I assure you,
Know that quite well!)

It’s the Bushes,
Surely everyone sees -
They are, without doubt,
My nemeses.

I sit and tend to
My flowers quite patiently
Waiting only for
The American people to elect John Kerry.

If only the Bushes
Were out of the way
You’d see Hussein rise
To rule another day!

Posted by: Nicole Griffin at July 27, 2004 02:35 AM

-*

” May I West ? “

. ” çÖÖçÜüing ” ( : implied : )

brought to you by / ” The free still true pure precepts. ” as applied by au +

by me a B. M. \/\/. / au / Cadillac Preferred

Phone: GESG911 , Address: West of east L. A./ nord

” May I West ? “

RE: ” Is That A Rockette In Your Pocket ? ” , “… : ) or are you just glad to see me ? “

Gold: ” Yes,…. yes it is and I am glad to see you too, it has been a while… : ) Is that a throbbing clitoris in your pocket ? “

Mae: ” Oui ” : ) ” and I’m glad to see you too, it’s been awhile. ?.|.? “

Gold: ” May I West ? “

Mae: ” Yes you may. “, ” The West is the best. ” . )

Gold: ” Bliss me baby. “

Mae: ” You are blissed. “

Golden: ” The West is the very best. “

By His Hippiness’R

aegisi@sympatico.ca

Post Script Afterburner Thought: ) ” Perceptions of a Sadman ” /! in prog.

)— - - - - -? /
Laserbow to counter death arrows - over.

GES*

Posted by: augurwell at July 27, 2004 06:12 AM

I’m the President
Of Iraq, Iraq
The President of Iraq
Accept no Imitations! I’m
The President of Iraq!
Just ask my friend
George Galloway,
Or even Jacques Chirac
The War it was Illegal!
I’m the President of Iraq

It’s not easy being a
Despot of Oriental Kind
You need a streak of Ruthlessness
And Psychopathic Mind
Of Sadism, a plethora,
Humanity, a lack
I qualify on all accounts,
I’m President of Iraq!

I’m the President
Of Iraq, Iraq
The President of Iraq
Accept no Imitations! I’m
The President of Iraq!
Just ask my friend
George Galloway,
Or even Jacques Chirac
The War it was Illegal!
I’m the President of Iraq

The Good Old Days
Of Yesteryear
Are not so far behind
Of Kurds exposed to Mustard-gas
and Nukes being designed
Red Herrings fooled the CIA
And put them off the track
Of course I am a Genius, I’m
The President of Iraq!

I’m the President
Of Iraq, Iraq
The President of Iraq
Accept no Imitations! I’m
The President of Iraq!
Just ask my friend
George Galloway,
Or even Jacques Chirac
The War it was Illegal!
I’m the President of Iraq

I’m captain of my Destiny,
The Master of my Fate
It’s just a minor nuisance
That in prison now I wait
For what you see
Is temp-ra-ree
A triv-i-al setback
I’m Saddam Al-Takriti
And the President of Iraq!

I’m the President
Of Iraq, Iraq
The President of Iraq
The ICJ must intervene, I’m
The President of Iraq!
Just ask my friend
George Galloway,
Or even Jacques Chirac
Vote Kerry in November and
Then I will soon be back!

Posted by: aebrain at July 27, 2004 07:10 AM

I’m poor Saddam, I am , I am
And with my muffin I’ll take some jam.
I’ll walk in my garden in the bright sunlight
And compose my poetry in the dim moon night.

I’ll be back, you see, and that’s a fact,
My childhood explains the way I act.
Mom didn’t love me, dad was a drunk,
And my school just really stunk.

Pity me, pity me, the way I used to be
I’m reformed now, can’t you see?
I promise I’m changed, I’ll be nice,
Oh, with this tea, can I please get some ice?

Just let me go, and things will be better,
All those I enslaved I’ll unfetter,
They’ll see how my bad childhood
Made me gas their Kurdish neighborhood.

I’m poor Saddam, I am, I am
And about the UN I don’t give a damn.
Set me free, and soon you’ll see
Just how bad I can really be.

Posted by: Mona B. at July 27, 2004 08:30 AM

DESPOTS
I think the world shall never see,
a despot more murderous than me.

I acted as any tyrant should,
I gassed their villages,
I killed them good.

I sank my fangs into their breasts,
as I torched their little robin’s nests.

It’s said only God can make a tree,
but only the greed, malicious agendas, and absolute lack of concern of those who profited from my rampage,
could create a despot as murderous as me.
thank you.

Posted by: kenneth at July 27, 2004 03:10 PM

I am Saddam.
Dam sad I am.
Sad man I am.
Wish I am Sam.

Dam sad and mad I am
At that dam Dubya Bush.

Bombed me out of my palace.
Made me live on the run.
Iraqi GI dragged me
From latrine hole. Dam.
Cuffed me. Sad. Dam.

Dam spitting mad I am.
Iraqis will hang me.

Not Sam I am.
Sad I am.
Dam. I am
Saddam.

Posted by: caribsea at July 28, 2004 03:44 PM

In the room the muffins come and go
talking of Michelangelo

The yellow fog that rubbed its back upon the window-panes
The yellow smoke that pressed its cheeks on the window-panes
Licking its tongue and rolling its eyes
was probably a kurd IN the yellow fog..

. . . . .
Shall I say, I have gone at dusk through narrow streets
To watch the feet lowered into shredders

Of screaming men in manacles, leaving lots of widows? . . .

I should have been a pair of tiger claws
tiger claws beat paper.

Posted by: SarahW at July 31, 2004 12:13 AM

This very nearly just wrote itself:

There once was a man from Tikrit,
Who felt himself truly legit;
Protected by wonks,
And ignored by the Donks,
He refused any wrongs to admit!

Cheers…

Posted by: AlexPGP at July 31, 2004 01:24 AM

Born in the small village of Tikrit,
now I’m confined with only muffins to eat.
My people loved me and my sons,
I wish Allah would give me some sticky buns.

The vile President Bush started an illegal war,
that’s why I’m voting for Kerry in ’04.
My friends in France deserted me in my time of need,
I thought I could win the UN over with greed.

From palaces and riches to a rat hole held together by duct tape and glue,
all I can do now is read about visiting Machu Pichu.
Soon I will be freed on these false charges,
and will once again drive my luxurious cars out of my many garages.

The great Allah will prove I’m the victor,
hopefully soon because Bin Laden is getting sicker.
For this was truly a war about oil,
and that’s now why I exercise digging carrots out of soil.

Posted by: Chad Evans at August 4, 2004 11:35 AM

Posted by Alan at August 5, 2004 08:36 AM | TrackBack