Tag Archives: Inner Child Press International

Poems, continued . . .

Come Closer!

I am known as “The Girl with the Pierced Eardrum”.
I have embraced my fame.
If you are the same, we all have everything to gain.

Come closer! Much closer! Do not fear!
I am here for you to see.

Can you not hear the beatings of my heart?

Listen to that which is inside me,
and you will know right away
we are, in fact, not that far apart.

*This poem was one of my three with which I had contributed to the January 2021 issue of The Year of the Poet VIII, published by Inner Child Press International.

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“Emory Douglas”

Emory Douglas

1968
Summer Olympics
The medalists’ podium for the 200-meter race

America’s own two Black athletes,
Tommie Smith and John Carlos –
One, the recipient of the gold medal;
The other, a silver-medalist

Visual history depicts these winners’ fists
Inside black gloves as they raise them into air

To bring to the attention of the world
The centuries-long oppression of Blacks,
AKA the good ole American way

As Smith and Carlos make their unspoken voices heard,
Their medals are being taken away

Standing against the brutally discriminatory
and fear-, hatred- and violence-filled white-domination
is enough reason to strip them both
of their justly earned honors,
you say?

Nay!

A white Australian runner, Peter Norman –
A silver-medalist, chooses to stay with his fellow athletes,
Though sans fist, to show solidarity
He thus lends hope to humanity
And reminds us all of the foundation of our existence:
Unity within diversity. Unconditionally. All-inclusively.
Watching unjust actions unfold for even one of us silently
Is, after all, complicity. Put simply.

Still . . .
The Black athletes
Get their Olympic medals stripped off
They had, however, earned them justly

Promising careers, ruined . . .
In the hands of the white powers that be

How about the rights to practice Civil Rights advocacy?

Huh, what a laugh!

Such freedom for Blacks does not come for free!

In the year of 2014,
A visual art project, “We Can Be Heroes”,
Makes waves across the borders of many a country
The piece is crafted collaboratively
Between the Australian artist Richard Bell
And the American graphic designer Emory Douglas

Bell and Douglas not only eternalize
For the 1968 Olympic medalists
Their moments of protest on an Olympic-athlete stage,  
The stance they took against discrimination and inequality;
But also demonstrate injustices to be witnessed globally

As it is evident throughout the volume in your possession,
Our collective efforts geared toward poeticizing
Some segments of the once diligently-recorded reality
Jointly, we are anon sharing the marvel of a phenomenon;
Namely, how Bell’s concept of ‘Liberation Art’,
Coupled with Douglas’ talent in design and illustration,
Grew larger than life and entered the annals of history
In the form of a silent yet utterly vocal iconography

*This poem is one of the three I have submitted to the February issue of The Year of the Poet VIII published by Inner Child Press International.

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“A Simple and Silent Gesture” – New Poem

A Simple and Silent Gesture

It is August 26 in the year of 2016
in the good ole US of A.
Colin Rand Kaepernick sits in the bench
during the anthem in San Francisco
to raise awareness . . .
because “the country oppresses black people
and people of color.”
He was known not to have stood for the anthem before.

That date passes by.

Writers of headlines get busy,
when Kaepernick sits down again a day later.

Reactions are two-fold: some condemn him,
and others applaud.

The NFL speaks up,
citing the lack of any requirement on their behalf
for their athletes to stand up for the anthem.

After three days, former NFL player
and ex-Green Beret Nate Boyer has a suggestion
for this young man of higher consciousness:
“kneel rather than sit.”

Kaepernick kneels before a game on September 1st, 2016
and goes on record with his plan for a donation
of $1 million to organizations that support his intent,
as I have noted earlier, “to raise awareness”
for the centuries-long systemic racism in the country.

September 11, 2016 marks the first full day
of the regular season.
Several players kneel during the anthem.

On Sept. 27, 2016, Kaepernick becomes the subject
of harsh criticism from the Republican presidential candidate Donald Trump.
The young man responds: “He always says make America great again.
Well, America has never been great for people of color.
That’s something that needs to be addressed.
Let’s make America great for the first time.”

Kaepernick plays his final NFL game on January 1st, 2017.
The 49ers plan to cut him.
He opts out of his contract instead.

The month of September of the same year
witnesses players’ kneeling before
and / or during the anthem
without the civil rights activist in the league.

In the following month,
Kaepernick files a grievance against NFL team owners.
He cites collusion to keep him out of the league.

The powers that be, unfortunately, have a final say.
NFL season ends on December 31, 2017,
having made certain that this epic role model
for equal justice remains unemployed.
Less than a year afterward, NFL owners construct a rule
banning kneeling during the anthem.
It is ‘president’ Trump now . . . as he has made it
into the People’s House. He applauds the divisive initiative.
NFL owners soon retract the rushed rule
because of its divisiveness.

As the second straight season begins –
sans the name “Kaepernick” on a roster,
some players still kneel . . .

The third NFL season enters the world’s calendar,
and ends eventually.

No Kaepernick.

Following the murder of George Floyd, a black man,
on May 25, 2020, nationwide protests begin.
Numerous other sports organizations
join the cause of awareness,
to include the NBA, Baseball, and many more.
Kaepernick offers support.

A few months later, the NFL apologizes, denounces racism
and delivers a promise to further promote social justice.

Thank you for your simple and silent gesture,
dear Mr. Kaepernick.
Your gentle voice was and continues to be
loud enough to stay at the core
of many an equality-for all-seeking soul.
Hopefully, for us all, generations to come
will embrace your contribution to humanity,
understanding and knowing that social injustice
is our common enemy.
Thank you for showing this ‘white’ woman
that which we all-inclusively must fear.
So, in humble solidarity,
I, too, kneel.
Ever so respectfully.       

*This poem is one of my three submitted for the February issue of The Year of the Poet VIII to be published by Inner Child Press International.

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“Daddy”

Daddy

in the tongue i learned from you and Mommy . . .

kaç kere gördüm kendimi
o kaşığı ve çorba tasını tutarken titrek ellerimle
her seferinde senin beni
kah tam tanır kah başkasıyla karıştırır
ama o bana hep sevgiyle bakan
öpüp koklayan okşayan
senden aldığım renkteki
anlayış şefkat dolu gözlerin üzerimde
Hülişim! Nasılsın kızım?
hayatının belki de en zor o gününün akşamında
nasıl oldu da diyebildim ki ben sana
“Sakın gelme baba!
İnan, ikimiz de perişan oluruz sonra.”
tamam sen hastaydın hem de epeyce
çoğumuzun ruhu duymuyorken
yaşlanmıştın çok hem de pek çok
her sevenimizin bildiği o keskin hafızan
artık değildi bize en yakın dün kadar
bana gelince . . .

tamam
kronik hastalığımdan edinmişim bir yoldaş
beni hiç bir zaman eski halime bırakmayacak
tamam
kendim ancak kendime yetebilen
ruhen bedenen madden
olsun!
ne olduysa olsun!
ne olursa olsun!

nasıl oldu da çıkabildi ağzımdan
o upuzun yoluna ta okyanus üzerinden
nankörlükle yoldaşlaşan
telefonumun o buz gibi ahizesine
sana doğru yola çıkan
o kalbimden silinesi kahrolası sözlerim?
senin nefesini duyabilen
iyice çökmüş ciğerlerinin
neredeyse üzerinde deri kalmamış
bedeninin üstündeki aciz iniş çıkışları gören
her bir hemşireye nasıl imrendim ah bir bilsen!
hele ki sana yemeğini verene
hem sana her gün bakarken hem de arkandan . . .
ne zihnim ne de kalbim
bana rahat nefes aldırmaz oldu
aldırmayacak da canım babam
hele ki ağabeyim senin o son resmini
bana gönderdiğinden beri

ölesiye üzgünüm hala Babacığım

beni affet ne olursun!
seni çok sevdim hep
hep seviyorum
seveceğim de hep
ne de olsa hala
senin her zamanki „Hüliş“inim ben
sana kendi son nefesine kadar minnettar
sana minikliğinden beri yolunu hiç şaşırmadan
hayran mı hayran „Hüliş“in

in the tongue of another . . .

how many times have i imagined myself
holding that spoon and the soup-bowl
caressing your occasionally cognizant
but mostly unaware eyes
seeing in me someone else
your eyes that always glowed
with love, compassion, understanding,
and forgiving me, giving me hugs
in warmest soul-comforting kisses
those My Daddy-eyes
which gifted mine
with their hazel-color

Hülişim! How are you, my girl?
. . .

how could i possibly utter those words
in the night of your most-troubled day?
Don’t come over, baba.
Believe me, we will
Both be miserable.

true

you were seriously ill

true

your mental you-ness
was declining so fast

true
your routinely sharp and expansive memory
famed among all our beloveds
was no longer intact

true
my by now-loyal for life-companion
that chronic physical dis-ease
would not even for a second
leave my side
true
i barely was enough
for my own self
psychologically
physically
financially
still!

how could i utter those cursed self-cursing curse-able
     words?
those damn-able haunting ungrateful words?
words that frivolously escaped my heart
and seeped through my iced-up receiver
on to their troubled self-troubling path
all the way over the ocean
to those My Daddy-eyes
. . .

i wish you knew, Babişim
how i envied then and after you passed
each one of your nurses who was there for you
who heard your faint yet still-breathing breaths
who saw how under your barely there-skin
your lungs still pumped their instinctive air faintly

i covet still today
in times of my grave despair
that one particular nurse
the one who is busy beaming happily
while she is feeding you your soup

as the photograph of you
has related succinctly to me
the second to last photo that is
the one that my brother sent to me
neither my mind nor my heart
lets me take a guilt-free breath anymore
i am so sorry, canım Babam!
please forgive me!

i have always loved you

i love you today

i will love you every day
i am after all still your “Hüliş”
the one who has always been
your unwavering devoted admirer

i am in eternal gratitude for you
a fact that will never ever sway
even then when my last breath
is finally on its way

From: this and that, published on January 5, 2019 by Inner Child Press International

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“A Pained Yearning”

A Pained Yearning

The Sun and I talk to each other every day about you and how I stayed away. I never had much to offer in terms of worldly gifts. My love for you, however, is forever there. Unlike my words, it never hesitates. It is thunderous. It is wondrous. It is here to stay.

Fast and furious, the urge to be around you roars over me once more. One more evening has arrived after another day without you. 24 more hours have come and gone. Yet, my old frame is still the same one.

Though I loved and will love you infinitely, my outer Self is known for its negligent expressions. Of this flaw, even my One-and-Only had her share. My thoughtless ways of the past undress my soul today, leaving it totally bare.

Forgive me for my phone calls’ rarity! Forgive me for all those times when I was absent from your lives! Forgive me for who I am not and have not been able to be.

You have loved me unconditionally. I know, I have missed my chance to be with you as often as I could. I wish wholeheartedly once again that I would be understood. 

From my Letter-Poems from a Beloved (published on June 21, 2020 by Inner Child Press, Ltd.)

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“a balancing act”

she has been tip-toeing
through a magical garden
of her innocence and imagination,
oblivious to her surroundings

all around her, sorrow persisted tirelessly   
only a few had the luxury to live in her bubble
everyone was facing a fatal struggle
she stayed put in her safe world

then came the word
that she had to grow up

she thus met life’s reality
and began to dwell in agony
anguish turned into a steady companion
the entire globe was fighting for a breath

the vile hands of death suffocated the ordinary
those who reigned still luxuriated in good health and joy
their ploys poured down on the common folk as acid rain,
and boasted about their power to inject grief-laden miseries 

countless souls were drowning in pain
while some people took delight in opulence,
their future intact – with not a single worry,
others faced a violent end, day after day

those heedless of the real danger of the times
complained, for they had to remain self-confined
sensible rulers were scarce across the globe

to act promptly in the face of threats to health

facts about the dead and the dying
failed to have the human race unite
under their clueless leaders, masses opted to ignore
the necessity to keep the continental divide

as days grew old and nights signaled despair
medical staff everywhere
endangered their lives with no fear
even then when essential supplies were bare

for the survivors on Earth
to breathe anew for another day
emerged as an erratic gift from the grim reaper,
one that too many could not spare 

*This poem was published in Corona . . . Social Distancing, an international anthology made available to the field of literature by Inner Child Press International on May 5, 2020.

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“convoluted”

convoluted

sitting still,
contemplating;
body, numbed,
knowing that neither a taser
nor a bullet touched it . . .
yet
feeling safe in the color of my skin
no one has despised or violated
any aspect of my external humanness . . .
yet

sitting still,
contemplating;
spirit, in grave despair,
crying me the longest river on Earth
the at-my-face pain and suffering
of my co-human beings
have eras ego been the writing on the wall for me –
a succinct display of one of the ugliest barbaric timelines,
of a collective guilt- and shame-canvas,
cloaked in a hooded “patriotic” cape
of the palest hue of white
a sight, i no longer can bear  

sitting still,
contemplating;
mind, convoluted,
incapable of making any sense of it all –
all that which is taking place
again and again
and then . . .
once again

as i sit still,
mind, body and spirit
immersed in convolutions,
my decades-long readings
come back to haunt me repeatedly;
for, those supposedly learn-ed
and often-regurgitated pages
cannot even begin to compare
to anything that has been unfolding
right before my eyes in this century,
as long as i have lived consciously
for a considerably extended period of time, that is,
and not just once, twice, thrice . . .
but again, again and again

what continues to dominate
the stance of the willfully ignorant –
ordinary people as well as the powers that be?
an age-old prejudice,
words of unconditional condemnation,
extremely negative stereotypes,
blatant injustice in the name of justice,
self-justifying acts of discrimination,
self-justifying acts of selective violence,
a wholehearted condoning of brutal murders
that are being committed against each soul
who happens to not share
my skin’s particular hue

on and on, i ponder the events that transpire here and now
in the hope that a poem will eventually emerge
from the innermost turmoil
which each of my living cells senses to the core
having become a second skin,
my anguish weighs heavily on me,
it tears up and cries me the longest river on Earth
while my petite, fragile external frame
is faced with the onus of climbing a mountain
so massive that nothing which had prepared my self
mentally, psychologically, emotionally,
and spiritually in many a period of time before
comes even close to sufficing to serve
as a source of comfort for me anymore

i then remember a calming fact,
namely that there is also a most powerful side of me:
an all-empowering monozygotic pregnancy!
it doesn’t take me long at all to realize
that only the true “i” in me can carry my twins full-term
as can you through the “i” in you!
once born, our twins, Aequitas and Justitia
will begin their peaceful reign of goodness and truth
whatever is needed for an all-inclusive humanity,
they will instill in the hearts and minds of our youth

i am not the one to judge
if a poem has, indeed, materialized from my words
as for their impact – if any – it will remain unknown
but of one outcome i am absolutely sure:
i no longer feel any despair;
for, that self-defeating state of existence
is replaced by a boldly deep resolve
in which i unhesitatingly let myself dissolve
it is there where Ludwig Uhland’s painless joy
cuddles me with a kissing breeze:

“Oh fresh scent, oh new sound!
Now, poor heart, fear not!
Now everything, everything must change.”

convoluted?
no more!

*This poem represents but one of the dynamics within humanity that is screaming for a need of change . . . bias, bigotry, racism.

~ ~ ~
This poem has appeared in W. A. R. ~ We Are Revolution, an international anthology of poetry and critical essays published on September 20, 2020 by Inner Child Press International.

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“Survival”

Survival

I imagine a garden, a gated community, surviving on its own . . . never opening its padlock to those who under their clothes tag along determined drones, ready to elicit an army of loners with clapping hands of “rahs” and “hurrahs”, reproducing at wharp speed to outsource peace . . . in their dire hope for love to be forgotten soon.

*I am aware that “Survival” is about one run-on sentence. Please, do not call the grammar police on me, as this structure was and is intended.

~ ~ ~

*From my book of prose poetry, Letter-Poems from a Beloved (published on May 5, 2020 by Inner Child Press International)

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“minds, contaminated”

minds, contaminated*

female virginity
eternal purity 
its lack: the primary taboo
before during after matrimony

timeless obsession
ageless restrain
tireless phobia

true loves chained
vibrant lives ruined

oh, my sweet home country
depossess your manhood already
conceive your women in whole
remember the wisdom they wore
countless centuries before

see the substance beyond the frame
stop being a fool of inordinate fame
make yourself a new name
the bodies are never the ones to blame

~ * ~

*A poem from my first poetry book, Trance, a collection of poetry in English, German, and Turkish (published by Inner Child Press, December 12, 2013)

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“Undressed”

Undressed

The fragile soul had never been undressed to this ultimate extent. Back then, she had decided to be a once-only lover. She should have known all along not to attempt such a fatal risk. Still, she does not regret being left this bare. Nor does she resent the one for whom she had stripped herself of expectations, guilt, fault, and blame.

The yet-innermost turbulence trashed her apart many a time. A violent slash tore her into a blindness of the temporary kind. The ego cast guilt, fault and blame on the other. But it also dared to expect. Not even massive masses of tears mended the scars. Nor did they suffice to revive the spirit from its raging death. The fragile soul had against all odds resolved to pace steadfastly its torturous path.

From the beloved then, she borrowed a new breath to ensure an absolute stillness of the heart. She tried in vain to regain her courage toward a gate that is opened ajar at best. She sought peace and salvation from the lover’s final request: not to expect, nor to blame; not to assign fault, nor to designate guilt . . .  just to be dead.

*From my latest book of prose poetry, Letter-Poems from a Beloved

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