Category Archives: Poetry


sitting on the porch
breathing in the soft breeze

a rare occurrence these days

fierce wind storms forced
the age-old trees in the back to bow down
so much so that the property owner
started to cut them off of the ground
that frail human attempt failed miserably
the branches, as thick as a tree stem, stayed strong

for the time being . . .

lately, they are gasping for air, maybe their final ones
another explosive storm
will surely make its way

exhausted, those trees are doomed to cave . . . 

hülya n. yılmaz

This poem is one of my three contributions to the monthly book, The Year of the Poet, published by Inner Child Press International.

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“I Want My Poetry to . . .”

i want my poetry to
be a break from life

i want my poetry to
burn tears in your hearts
then bring them to the surface
before you decide you had better cave in
to the pain and suffering, etched ever so resiliently
in your past, present and future memories,
when it is time to have that wail explode
letting out that desperately patient standby, “enough!”

i want my poetry to

ease you then
into the arms of a selfless child-bearer
whose lullaby will tuck you in safely
under a snuggle-obsessed blanket-sleep,
after having raised you from a darkest deep
together with the gentlest touch of other souls
who learned to utter only the tongue of love . . .
their aura will entice you into a burial ground of ashes
where to lie to rest your ire and your innermost fears,
to shed all your chains to be free of also the grim tears
which have been fiercely carved on Earth
on its every hidden nook and cranny
since the birth of humanity

                                                i want my poetry to
be a break from life

welding with steel
the vital holes on your pails so frail
for you to be on your steadfast way,
to flood in the universe with no delay
its tamest of waters on nature’s path
will gather for you to help you cleanse
your self-unforgiving self-foremost
but will not let you forget all else
which you may have cursed in wrath . . .
they will amass for you serene drops of bliss
to bathe under each the bitter ghosts of your ills
chafing away your immense boulder’s mass
for a modest few little whiles at last

i want my poetry to
be a break from life

holding your hand
every time you must weather a storm
so that you know i too have been marred
the craftiest kind left me barren in all its might,
hail rushed and wedded bloodcurdling thunders . . .
lightening was only watching from afar at first,
but then it exalted their union in a raucous roar
even snow flurries of my most loyal delight
showered the procession in a sliest twist

i want my poetry to
be a break from life

wafting you in the end
inside a cloud that is mate to the mild zephyr
to undiscovered lands as well to the Seven Seas
to the faraway councils of breath-taking skies
to the communes on the many luminous moons
to the comet-ic homes of ancient curiosities
in pursuit of the suns of the Egyptians,
of the Hindu, the Chinese, the Japanese,
of the Greek, the Aztec, the African,
of the Navajo, the Inca, the Inuit,
of the Sumerian, the Roman

even though
i do not
sing of elation alone . . .

~ * ~

“Be a Break from Life” has first appeared in I Want My Poetry To . . . Volume 3, an international anthology published in March 2017 by Inner Child Press, Ltd.


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Religion, a Personal View as a Poem

religion . . .

a controversial subject
in religious studies,
with scholars failing
to agree on any one definition

the Oxford Dictionary defines it
as “the belief in and worship of
a superhuman that controls power,
especially a personal God or gods.”

cohesiveness . . .
and rationale

‘believing in’ and ‘worshipping’
a controlling “power”,
one that is conceived to be “a superhuman”
“a personal” one, at that . . .

that “belief”,
energy spent on ‘worshipping’,
does, as evidenced time and again,
permit humans to destroy human lives
in unspeakably barbaric ways and means,
while justifying their senseless brutality

not believing in humans,
but rather ‘worshipping’ “a superhuman”,
“a personal” one, at that,
which allows massive mass-murders

the innocent, the bystander,
children not excluded . . .

not believing in humans,
but rather ‘worshipping’ “a superhuman”,
“a personal” one, at that,
which yields to continous fatal attacks
with the intent to eradicate humans
without remorse,

the innocent, the bystander,
children not excluded . . .

where do we, ordinary humans, ‘fail’?
wherein lie our “super” traits?
in killing one another?
in the name of an utterly vague
conceptualization of a “belief”,
of an urge to “worship”?

a phenomenon
we all have been conditioned with;
a phenomenon
for which a single definition
evades us repeatedly,
while it rips us all apart violently,

seeking a ‘personal’ “superhuman”
to “believe in” and to “worship”,
seeking one or more of it to feel entitled
to destroy unconditionally
the very same human on whose shoulders
that ‘personal’ “superhuman”
is bound to stand . . .

cohesiveness . . .
and rationale


(c) hülya n. yılmaz, May 31, 2019

Din hakkındaki bu şiirimi kısa bir süre içerisinde Türkçe’ye çevirmiş olmayı umuyorum.


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“because of me”

Dedicated to my OneandOnly (sic), Gizem

You might be smiling right now,
even laughing heartily.
Still, I am reminded of your tears.

Of course, you shed many
because of others.
I could not, cannot
wipe those away.

I have never meant any of them
to come your way
because of me.

At the core of my soul, however,
I will tell you time and again
the truth, my lifeblood,
before my days come to an end:

I beg you
for your forgiveness
for every salty drop
falling from your
clearest-sky-blue eyes
because of me.

I loved you before you were born.
My love for you will be there
beyond eternity.

Annen/Your Mom/Mommy/Mama

hülya n. yılmaz, June 21, 2022

benim yüzümden ~ BirTanem Gizemime

Şu an belki de gülümsüyorsun,
hatta gülüyorsun kahkahayla.
Gene de ben senin
gözyaşlarını hatırlıyorum.

Tabii ki, başkaları yüzünden de
döktün bir çoğunu.
Onları silmem mümkün değil.
Benim yüzümden akıttıklarının ise
hiç biri gerçek olsun istemezdim.

Ruhumun özünden,
can kaynağım Gizemim benim,
günlerimin geri kalanı tükenmeden yani,
sana tekrar tekrar şunu söylemek isterim:

Benim yüzümden
senin o apaçık bir günün gökyüzü-mavisi
gözlerinden akan her bir tuzlu damla için
özür dilerim.

Ben seni
sen henüz doğmadan sevdim.
Bil ki, sana sevgim
ebediyetin ötesinde
hep yanıbaşında olacak.

Annen/Your Mom/Mommy/Mama

hülya n. yılmaz, 21 Haziran, 2022

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Gorillas? Thank You, I’ll Pass!

Gorillas? Thank You, I’ll Pass!

Please, oh please!
Let me never run into one,
Unless he is on TV,
An e-gadget,
Or inside a magazine.
Better yet,
In a menagerie,
Most preferably.

Even his much smaller kind
Is hostile in his squabble.

Oh, yes! We two siblings
Do still remember the battle
On that wet afternoon in 1961.

The entry of a supposed ‘Petting Zoo’
Outside a friendly German town
Is all where it started.

The back of my brother’s raincoat
Had suddenly left for the cage in strips.
The culprit was a seriously little monkey.
It must have waited to test his powerful grip.

I doubt that there were gorillas somewhere nearby.
Would any of us little escapees have wanted to reveal
A private compound for them?
No way!

Even if it were today,
I would shout out:
“Thanks, but no thanks. I’ll just pass
Today, and any other day!”

hülya n. yılmaz, June 6, 2022

This ekphrastic poem is one of the three with which I have contributed to the July 2022 issue of The Year of the Poet, published by Inner Child Press International.

Photo Credit: Max Pixel Mammal Nature Monkey Animal Monkeys Cute Baby
Photo Credit: Max Pixel Ape Baby Gorilla Mountain Gorilla Hand Monkey


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“a concert” ~ A New Poem and Its Turkish Version

a concert

yes, there are cars zooming by,
with a serious disregard of the speed limit
but this place is waking me up
to a precious delight

a concert of birds i am unable to name
that’s okay, as they are after no fame

some come in pairs and perch on the cables
right across from where i live

they sing their unique tunes,
not expecting me to recognize or to applaud
they generously gift me with their presence

hey, one just flew on the concrete
beneath my feet

another one landed before the mailbox
it found some nest supplies on the ground,
picked them up with its tiny beak
and then flew away,

not too long ago, i was in their situation,
making a home out of that which was there
i toiled and labored to make it all happen
what was missing with me was a happy song

getting acquainted every morning
with these little avians’ contendedness
is bliss, a gentle reminder of life’s small pleasures,
daily experiences too many are forced to miss

a concert of birds i am unable to name
that’s okay, as they are after no fame

ahh, what a fresh breath of air!

hülya n. yılmaz, June 3rd, 2022


Arabalar uçarcasına geçiyorlar, evet,
üstelik te hız limitine zerre kadar aldırmadan.
Fakat bu yer beni
pek kıymetli bir tada uyandırıyor,

isimlerini listeleyemeyeceğim
kuşların konserine.
Önemi yok benim bilmeyişimin.
Zira onlar değiller ün peşinde.

Kimisi çift olarak konmuşlar
yaşadığım evin tam karşısındaki tellerin üstüne.
Kendilerine özgü çınılarını ötüyorlar,,
beklemeden benden
ne tanımamı ne de alkış tutmamı.
Cömertçe bana varlıklarını sunuyorlar sadece.

Bak, bak! Bir tanesi ayaklarımın dibindeki
asfalta iniş yaptı!

Bir diğeri de
posta kutusunun önünde durakladı!
Yuvası için malzeme bulmuş da
(kesilmiş çimlerin kurumuş olanları).
Aldı onları minik gagasıyla ve uçtu gitti,
hedefine varmışlığın gururuyla.

Çok olmadı henüz. Ben de onlar gibiydim,
elimde ne varsa onlarla
bir ev kurma çabam içerisinde.
Ben de didindim, ağır çalıştım ki
çıkabilsin ortaya elle tutulur bir yuva.
Ama bende bir eksiklik vardı:
Sevinç içeren bir şarkı.

Her sabah bu minnacık pilotların
tatminkarlıklarını yeniden izlemek
başlı başına bir neşe kaynağı.
Çünkü bu anlar hayatın küçük doyumları,
birçok, hem de pek çok insanın
eline hiç geçemeyen bir olgu.

Isimlerini listeleyemeyeceğim
kuşların konseri.
Önemi yok benim bilmeyişimin.
Zira onlar değiller ün peşinde.

Ah, nasıl da taze bir nefestir bu!

hülya n. yılmaz, 3 Haziran, 2022


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these hands . . ., a poem

these hands

held a handset
for many a traumatic call

these hands

pounded the head
in despair plenty of times

these hands

struggled and still struggle
under the relentless ire of RA
inside a fragile frame,
along with their inseparable companions

these hands

penned elegies
when the soul pained beyond faint sounds

these hands

wiped away tears
that streamed down
onto anything on their path

these hands

caressed a dying mother in her last hours
on her only accessible body part,
her forehead


these hands also

touched the rarest of life’s gems
they embraced the magical arrival
of the priceless light of a daughter,
beautiful inside and out,
of her two little precious beauties as well


these hands also

touched those of dearest close friends
through countless splendid memories
but during trying times, in particular,
the falling and fallen self being lifted
to its intact version anew

friends far away did not see these hands,
but their caring spirits
warmed up the soul at the core
whenever it was feeling down and cold

friends, never encountered in person –
‘social media acquaintances’ to some,
also knew to lend an ear to the trials and
tribulations of the vessel of these hands

regardless of their confines,
these worn hands tremble now
with the gratitude of their traveler
on her journey from and to life’s offerings

whatever there is to come,
these hands will greet it,
along with their inseparable companions

hülya n. yılmaz, April 23, 2022

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“A Crappy Poem for a Crappy . . .”

a crappy poem for a crappy planet maintenance

lately, i have not written poems
poetry, however, has always been my go-to

i feel crappy inside, and look thus on the outside
negative thoughts have been piling up in me
for too long of a while,
and they spread like fire of the wild

our planet’s state of being leaves me in despair
no care for tomorrow, no care for today
a gigantic dumpster is what we are turning it into
the forests, the valleys, the oceans, the rivers,
all of them get their shabby share

i know, i know
this poem is utterly crappy
but i cannot help writing it for each of us to see
how we supposedly maintain our planet
is being done ever so lousily

what are we leaving for our children,
for our grandchildren,
for our yet-to arrive fellow humans?

a crappy planet

not unlike these crappy lines

an egregious chunk of disarray!

​© hülya n. yılmaz

This poem is one of the three with which I have contributed to the April 2022 issue of The Year of the Poet published by Inner Child Press International.

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“. . . a grim reality . . .”

when the gravity of a grim reality
hits you, you don a mask
of an awkward laughter
at times, internal tears
become a trusted companion

the warning signs were there all along,
screaming from the top of their lungs,
only to be silenced under the pretense of
“Everything will be alright.”

what a gathering of meaningless words,
of make-believes with no end!

giving up your hard-attained abode
is nothing to smile about


you do
yes, you do
bitterly so

and life

goes on
and on and on
with all its heaviness,
it passes you by

only a small breathing room is allowed,
one that is now on lease

so, you sit in one remote corner,
now on loan with a high interest rate,
you stay in its old, familiar comfort
for a moment or two,
hoping against hope
not to be noticed
for being seen in your nakedness
humiliates you even more

sure, life will go on
it always does

but it leaves you
under the gravity
of a grim reality

to deal with the debris!

hülya n. yılmaz ~ February 4, 2022 

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have all leaves parted
how do they live with their angst
their branches as dust

​hülya n. yılmaz, February 2, 2022

In Turkish . . . not in HAIKU form, however . . .

dağıldı mı yaprakların her biri
bir yere tutunma çabası içinde ne yapar onlar
üzerinde barındıkları dallar bükülmüşken

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