doluya koydum almadı boşa koydum dolmadı*
an enigmatic bait that has given rise
to ceaseless compulsion
preoccupation
infatuation
fascination
obsession
addiction
fixation
overused misused abused
glorified nevertheless
embraced by tens of thousands
multiplying at warp speed
subjecting no one to discrimination
intoxicating billions
with the other eternal charge . . .
what would their first utterance be
if the dead were to confess
those babies deserved nothing but a tender caress
or
love came onto our path disguised as dedication to hate . . .
© hülya n. yılmaz, 7.30.2016
*A colloquial Turkish phrase, equaling in English to: “I could find no solution for it.”
Related reading: WHO-World Report on Violence and Health
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“I can feel this heart inside me and I conclude it exists. I can touch this world and I also conclude that it exists. All my knowledge ends at this point. The rest is hypothesis.”
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~ ~ ~
sözün bittiği yer…
wenn worte* versagen…
when words fail…
~ ~ ~
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The number of the countries in the world today is said to amount to 196 (195, if Taiwan were to be not included in this total since many countries do not accept it as an official country). According to the Global Peace Index 2016, only ten out of the 196/195 countries are identified as being “completely free from conflict (Adam Whitnall, Senior Reporter in: The Independent, June 8, 2016)”: Botswana, Chile, Costa Rica, Japan, Mauritius, Panama,
Qatar, Switzerland, Uruguay and Vietnam. If you find the prognosis for world peace as disturbing as I, the article below is a helpful step to take toward being well-informed about related facts first. The report also serves as a motivator toward more determination: namely, to exhaust all feasible venues in order to extend this tragically impoverished list.
“Global Peace Index 2016: There are now […]”
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People who are psychologically involved with the pain and suffering of others – not only of those in their immediate circles but of complete strangers as well – are not a foreign phenomenon to me. I am one of them. To the extent that some may define my involvement as an exaggerated level of compassion. Any news on lives destroyed in carnage of the innocent during peacetime prompts in me the need to mourn (the reality of war deserves an entirely different discussion). The sorrow I feel over untamed and indiscriminate onslaughts on humanity at large encumbers my tolerance to face the daily arena of mundane struggles. I then resort to writing poems.
Acts of horrific human-to-human decimation have been everything but rare all around us this year alone, with too many of those vicious brutalities having secured their lifetime blood supply in hatred (as opposed to greed, personal or political ambitions and psychological disorders). Hatred is also the subject matter of my verse below. While my “1” has not materialized by cause of the most recent atrocities in numerous parts of the world, its focus is – as devastating a reality as it may be – as up-to-date as it has been since the beginning of humanity.
a child is born
from the nature’s womb at its rawest
onto the new snow of virgin scents
in victorious roars
world’s notorious beast robs it aside
before the tender cells begin to self-abide
hatred is molded
© hülya n. yılmaz, October 12, 2015
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
From: An Aegean Breeze of Peace. Demetrios Trifiatis and hülya n. yılmaz. Inner Child Press, Ltd. October 12, 2015.
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Last week, I had shared with you a poem I was considering to submit as one of my three contributions to The Year of the Poet – a monthly anthology of international sustenance published by Inner Child Press, Ltd. (and thanks to the encouragement I received from you, I have sent my “afloat” to its destination). You are invited to my “picnic on a rainbow” today, the second of the three poems I have submitted this month to address the theme of summer. Imagine what you will get to see next Sunday . . .
the new day is breaking
sleepily it seeps through my bedroom window
then stretches on my bed rests on by my side
i brew tea
dried rosehip
(my no-longer-a secret-addiction)
and inhale both aromas
taking my time
my companion is in no hurry either
then i spot a snowflake
it travels in through the screen
begins to tap dance
on the tip of my nose
its pals end up on the tip of my tongue
they feel the same as before
long before i had orphaned the i in me
how i would insist on keeping them
from melting inside my mouth
so i could taste their delicate crystals
my favorite season was not winter back then
long ago though it has won me over
but summer arrived anew
again
it always does
the more the merrier
folklore dictates me to say . . .
alright then i reply
after all progressive holiday parties are hip
and under our noses often enough
why not throw one for the seasons and me
bury your hatchets everyone
we’ll all have a picnic on a rainbow
the new day is also coming along
i’ll bring my collection of snowflakes
one of you will gather the autumn leaves
the other one will be responsible to bring in grass
nothing but freshly-cut
what a lovely blanket they would all make
after we eat drink and dance
we’ll tell funny stories of yore
then we’ll ride on a sleigh of beach
and out of fright the tidal waves will screech
© hülya n. yılmaz, 6.17.2016
![rainbow-wallpaper-1[1]](https://hulyanyilmaz.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/06/rainbow-wallpaper-11.jpg?w=500)
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atop the gentle ripples
of today’s calm Black Sea
on the edge of that picturesque town
of my insatiable yearning
my face kisses the burnt-orange sun
a push-over wave pats me on my shoulders
(our new neighbor must be on the go
with his sailboat again)
i shoo away my childhood fear of jelly fish
in their territory am i now after all
the largest ones i ever saw
live right here i believe
always bloating over
the small skinny hands of the same little boys
(or so i still trick myself to think)
beach-combing free-spirits
tossing those pulsating bells back and forth
their version of volleyball
they are overly active now
it looks like the entire medusa population
gathered around the lads
i’m safe i’m safe yes i am . . .
no
oh no
it can’t be . . .
don’t you whirl around my feet
what are you doing under my lilo
eek
double eek
triple eek
. . .
moooom!
mooooooooom!
© hülya n. yılmaz, 6.18.2016
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While my decision is not yet firm, I may submit this poem as one of my three contributions to The Year of the Poet, a monthly anthology of international dynamics, published by Inner Child Press, Ltd.
![the-girl-at-jellyfish-lake-by13277[1]](https://hulyanyilmaz.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/06/the-girl-at-jellyfish-lake-by132771.jpg?w=500)
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With a smiling heart, I greet you right by the entry door to my home, see you in, guide you to my only comfortable eating corner where several distinctly Turkish baked goods await us. Once you are seated, I steep tea or make coffee – through the ritualistic steps they are prepared in Turkey, and just must accompany any pleasure-food served to welcome guests into the hearth of lengthy delightful conversations . . .
You, dear readers and dear followers, are my special guests to this virtual get-together today, as I attempt to express my long overdue thanks to you for your loyal interest in my writings. The fact that you let me know of your presence here by opting for a “Like” or by leaving a comment is a gift from you that I don’t take for granted. And, this time around, I would like to draw in the help of a maxim by William Arthur Ward in order to better articulate my appreciation of you for your visits to my blog site:
May the rest of your Sunday and your new week bring you only the pleasant kinds of life experiences. ~
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. . . overlooked the rating
my fatal mistake
too old indeed for this cliché
alas
mental age
a mere PG-13 as yet
apologies galore
self-acceptance
an unknown tongue
a pre-natal giver
compensation for the self
a baneful embryo
beyond the reach of life and death
on the edge of the salty drops for evermore
. . .
no more!
no longer willing to carry
emotional baggage for two
that of the old and the new
rendezvoused thus
the first with its end
. . .
sleeping naked tonight
stripped off of the fabric of my favorite clinging
or the so-called events of the past
the big wall clock across my bed
lightened now as it is disassembled
my cleansed head resting on the big hand
the small hand covering me ever so tenderly
come to me tonight oh sweet embrace
you desperately awaited rate of G
. . .
ah!
© hülya n. yılmaz, 4.21.2016
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This poem came to me as an inspiration after a wonder-filled opportunity I had a while back to view – among many others – one stunning painting by the remarkable artist of international acclaim, Helene Ruiz. My heartfelt thanks to you, dear Helene. You will know to which one of your memorable painted art pieces I am referring.
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