Tag Archives: Gail Weston Shazor

“…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’d better cave in
to the pain and suffering etched ever so resiliently
in your past, present and future memories
when it’s 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
which learned to utter only the tongue of love
their aura will entice you into a burial ground of ashes
where to lay to rest your ire and your innermost fears
to shed all your chains to be free of also the tears
which have been fiercely carved on earth
on its every hidden nook and cranny
since the birth of humanity

. . . be a break from life . . .

i want my poetry to weld 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 won’t let you once 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

. . . be a break from life . . .

i want my poetry to hold your hand
every time you must weather a storm
so that you know i too have been marred
the craftiest kind left me barren with 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

. . . be a break from life . . .

i want my poetry to waft 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 cometic 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 don’t sing of elation alone . . .

© hülya n. yılmaz, 11.2.2016

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Dear Gail Weston Shazor: I am afraid of heights. With you, I wouldn’t mind standing on top of a cliff. Because you instilled that much trust in me since the first time we met in the virtual world. That bright smile of yours I get to see whenever I drop in on our shared social media platforms, the love for life your every word reflects in each of your posts, all your comments and announcements, the genuine tone of attachment to the art of poetry in every segment of your poems and many other traits of you have given me such confidence in you long ago. No matter how rarely we communicate in this or that manner, a lifetime friend is what I saw and continue to see in you. But then again, I had the wonderful opportunity to read at least one of your books of poetry quite up close. Thank you, sweet Gail, for this memorable project, i want my Poetry to . . . a collection of the Voices of Many inspired by . . . Monte Smith. Yet another publication by Inner Child Press, Ltd. that tirelessly continues to take the lead in spreading the poetic word.

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“i want my Poetry to . . .” Volume III, Another Inner Child Press Publication Underway

With my thanks to Inner Child Press, Ltd. for creating through its “Anthologies” another poetic platform under the guidance and leadership of  Gail Weston Shazor, I share with you  the poem of my contribution to Volume III of i want my Poetry to . . . (kindly note the short video-recording by Gail Weston Shazor following the end of my name down below).

i want my poetry to…

burn tears in your hearts
then bring them to the surface
before you decide you’d better cave in
to the pain and suffering etched ever so resiliently
in your past, present and future memories
when it’s 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
which learned to utter only the tongue of love
their aura will entice you into a burial ground of ashes
where to lay to rest your ire and your innermost fears
to shed all your chains to be free of also the tears
which have been fiercely carved on earth
on its every hidden nook and cranny
since the birth of humanity

. . . be a break from life . . .

i want my poetry to weld 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 won’t let you once 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

. . . be a break from life . . .

i want my poetry to hold your hand
every time you must weather a storm
so that you know i too have been stained
the craftiest kind left me barren with 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

. . . be a break from life . . .

i want my poetry to waft 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 cometic 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 don’t sing of elation alone . . .

© hülya n. yılmaz, 11.2.2016 (The inspiration came to me in installments: First, about a month ago; then two weeks later, and finally, last weekend.)

 

 

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Join us in our passion for poetry!

Whitman_at_about_fifty

(Photo: Free Online)

To have great poets, there must be great audiences too.

Walt Whitman (1819-1892)

Good Sunday!

If you are here right now, then you are a reader – regardless of how much of my text you will read (imagine: I arrived at this no-brainer-conclusion all by myself…gives out a sneaky smile…). Then, of course, there is the writer in you.  And as one, you know how the mysterious concept called “inspiration” works at times (or how it doesn’t). William S. Peters Sr. to whom I am proud to refer as my publisher has done it again; namely, envisioning and implementing together with Jamie Bond the Year of the Poet – monthly poetry books birthed through collaboration between Inner Child Press Ltd. (ICP) and The Creating Calm Publishing Group.

In 2014, the permanent contributors from among the large number of the ICP authors had included Jamie Bond, Gail Weston Shazor, Albert ‘Infinite’ Carrasco, Siddartha Beth Pierce, Janet P. Caldwell, June ‘Bugg’ Barefield, Debbie M. Allen, Tony Henninger, Joe DaVerbal Minddancer, Robert Gibbons, Neetu Wali, Shareef Abdur-Rasheed, Kimberly Burnham and William S. Peters, Sr. In the new year, there will be several new names, including Ann White, Keith Alan Hamilton, Teresa E. Gallion, Katherine Wyatt and myself. I know the remarkable penmanship of all these dear individuals and our shared passion for poetry is evident in every communication we have within or outside the territories of the books of mention. Then, there are featured poets for each month outside the “Core” contributors to poetry, all of whom have the same dedication to this literary art. As the ICP web page states, “[t]he objective is to bring the poetry community together with the various cross demographic representations found in gender, religion, geography, culture and ethnicity. We hope you enjoy the myriad of perspectives represented here (The Year of the Poet).”

2015 will be filled with writing and reading poems for me each month (if not far more often). I want to hope you will be a reader of these poetry books that are bound to surprise you with the promised beauty of one poem after another, month after month.

May the new year be and become all that you wish it to be and become for yourself and your loved ones! I look forward to your visit in 2015.

Yeni-Yıl-2015

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