Tag Archives: new poem

“ripples”

i am but a tiny ripple
in the water of life, oft moving too fast

“moving too fast”,
as Ryan Montbleau was singing
a few days ago on the road to New Mexico
i had heard that song before,
but its impact this time was profound
as i had been doing some soul-searching
for quite a while amid nature’s gorgeousness
his words reached deep within . . .

moving too fast as a tiny ripple
in the raging waters of life,
facing along the way many a strife
yet also many a sunshiny smile
countless ones given as a gift to me
and those i have been gifted with
to give unto others

still . . .
moving too fast as a tiny ripple
on the raging waters of life,
wishing all along that i had taken
each of my breaths only one sip at a time

(c) hülya n. yılmaz, 7.5.2019

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“picnic on a rainbow”

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]

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“afloat”

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

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
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]

 

 

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…warring mentalities…

while dining with its kin and companions

the carcass-serving beast made a fatal mistake

it relied on its incurable lack of brain

hence it belittled you my peaceful child of love

concluding you will always remain infinitesimal

check mate

Lappetfaced_vulture

Photo Credit: Temple Illuminatus]

Together with two other poems, this one was published under the title of “pre-natal visions” in the July 2015 issue of The Year of the Poet, a monthly book series published by Inner Child Press, Ltd.

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…reminiscing our beloved through poetry…

Welcome, dear reader! Also today, I am sharing with you a new poem. This one comes to you as one of my three contributions for the January 2015 issue of The Year of the Poet – the monthly book series published by Inner Child Press, Ltd. of which I have informed you last Sunday. I want to hope that you will come back next week to accompany me for yet another one. My best wishes for your new week!

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“The Twist” and Tunç dayım*

 

a pre-natal fascination it must have been

not only for him, for me too, when on my own

lured by the unheard-of piper’s glamorous tune

coveting a First World culture’s tempo-precision

falling into the magic of his feet’s swing-succession

 

1960s, for pity’s sake!

i, a mere wonder-detecting-eyed toddler

he, a tall cool-dancing swift-footed prince

with an affable smile on his handsome face

removing remarks from his balding greyed head

laughing hard at his pants for their bowlegged dent

those “futbolcu bacakları”* are insured, his pride would allege

for a rare high amount, and upon invitation at that!

by whom? we never learned enough to pledge

 

in 1941, awing the world, Chubby Checker gets born

Tunç dayım had thus far been moving fairly along

to witness the year 1960 for an album’s dramatic release

extracting joy from his music-filled youth of disease

“The Twist” had arrived – an all-American song

competing against his magical feet so strong

inside his shiny all-American shoes

 

that year saw in me a toddling and toodling little fire

my often sickly eyes lain on the twists and turns of his legs

leaving me behind in my sick-bed within a safe distance

frequenting his visits in sets of carnaval-colored attire

to balance my weakness with his weakened substance

 

in 1970s, self-centered-to-the-limit was i

the world-is-solely-about-me-all me-i was i

he – sentenced to an early death at birth

danced in grace to his reserved time’s drum

taking me always to a felt-deeply-inside-mirth

at each of my moments of the slightest glum

having lived with us for years when young

an attentive brother to me is what he had become

his selfless love and care had since often been sung

from me for him however, there was not a thing to come

 

he died, we learned afterward – on the stairways to his office

one late night in his attempt to rush to answer a call

 

late 1970s

1980s

1990s

2000 to the present year

the youngest and a most precious darling of the Erguens

gets forgotten

by me

the universe-turns-around-me-i of me

 

then a friend’s public post the other day

lends me a ticket to that now valued past

its stub shouting a valid grist,

“Come on, baby, let’s do the twist!”

Liked.

Shared as well.

In my chamber’s core canal.

 

“Take me by my little hand and go like this.”

Once more. To tell me you forgive me

for forgetting you this long.

Your brother is among us still,

caring for me since you have left.

And i…

have learned,

have finally learned

not to let him slide by

while he is among the living yet.

 

*”dayım” equals “my uncle from the mother’s side” and “futbolcu bacakları” means “legs of a succer player” in Turkish, my native tongue. Crooked legs in men used to receive a light-hearted description while I was growing up in Turkey, succer being the country’s national sport and one that supposedly caused men the less-than-straight look in their lower body. This younger uncle had been a succer player since his very early ages, and always proudly referred to his legs under this common excuse, while he would don a huge sneaky smile for those of his happiest childhood times.

© hülya n. yılmaz, December 16, 2014

 

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“a woman of Anatolia”

a woman of Anatolia

Ve-kadınlar

thousands of years

numbers of civilizations

splendor in built-in riches

artifacts

nature

social, economic, religious reforms met the onset of 1923

Mustafa Kemal in Turkey – the infant republic’s first president

over night, the gentle father of his country for her people

 

she led a prosperous life since

enviable by the then world powers

jealous of his immense success

from the ruins of the Ottoman land

 

women became free

not in public merely

but also in their privacy

in her unrivaled bosom

the honor the pride of countless cultural icons

immersed in precious peace-filled diversity

self-differing faiths settled safely inside her

attained in his honor her long overdue legacy

tolerance

acceptance

co-existence ruled

 

decades later…

 

corruption

disruption

deconstruction

religion’s unreligious re-construction

of a merciless tyrant raped and is still raping her

unrelenting in its destruction of her glorious past

harmonious present

having robbed her of her dazzling future

 

monstrosity rules today

with its brutal violation of Turkish women’s fate

with no drop of hope for any left behind to date

 

© hülya n. yılmaz, February 16, 2015

This poem is one of my three contributions for the February 2015 issue of The Year of the Poet, a monthly book series published by Inner Child Press, Ltd.

 

mustafa-kemal-ataturk_175874

 

 

 

 

 

 

Mustafa Kemal (Atatürk) Photo Source

 

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Nazım Hikmet Photo and Spoken Poem Source

 

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when time stood still

For 8.31.2014 Blog Post.1326030

 

are you chlostrophobic

you did very well the last time

 

staples nausea feverishness anxious about that intruder

acutely aware now of that overly tight of a loneliest space

breathing hurts regardless

 

the better choice, mri not doable, too early to discard the stitches

surgical endoscopy under general anesthesia a must

setback

not major, considering

a setback nevertheless

 

 

when have i become this fortunate, dear Drs. C, A, D, P, Thu, S, Tho

to have you circle around me

not giving up

though perplexed from the onset

 

how do you manage

to turn nighttimes

into bearable patches

you beautiful sweet Ma, A, Me, S, T, D, B, L

 

and Alice, oh sweet Alice

your aged yet capable body catering to the troubled vessel of mine

those clear-sky-blue gorgeous eyes reading my face with caring intent

you are a unique woman – your soothing voice rises high

it’s the least i can be

amid you wonder-generating women of various ages

after all

when time stood still for me

wrapped in the silence of death

a precious offering from you all would not

 

love

 

hülya n yılmaz (August 25, 2014)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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