Loved? *şüphesiz!
Cared for? şüphesiz!
Respected? şüphesiz!
A son’s finances: hooked to a lifetime support.
The daughter somehow must breathe without!
*şüphesiz (Turkish): “without doubt”
Tag Archives: poems
a fireball of tears (on storiesspace.com and on WritersCafe.org)
Don’t be burning, oh heart;
don’t be yearning
for those who can’t afford a love like you,
mistake life for this and that routine,
hold on to joys so dull and mundane.
You are in misery,
burnt from the core.
They can’t possibly cease,
these fireball tears.
And yet, one hopeful day,
also this hurt will fade away.
Don’t be dismaying, oh heart:
You will not always be ablaze.
You took your other half as love,
devoted to it your innermost.
However mesmerizing it has been
A mere mirage is all that it was.
Don’t be yearning, oh heart;
don’t be burning.
You loved to self-annihilate
What difference does it make?
Someday, this burn, too, will abate.
Filed under Poetry
Sinopem (on WritersCafe.org)
[The photograph is posted here with appreciation and due credit to http://www.facebook.com/SinopKuzeyYildizi%5D
the homeland enters the main vein
her incomparable scent penetrates each body cell
one stunning aroma after another
thirsting for her, beyond any measure
in hunger pangs
captive in intense longing
etched in permanence into memory
my childhood in many of her spaces
carefree years of my youth
the magic of my early adulthood
unrivaled,
in the flesh and the blood,
distant memories,
reappearing as experiences
one corner of homeland
distinctive delight
an all-embracing town,
in unison with the sea
unlocks the long forgotten.
There, where it stretches out
onto the cheery harbor
main street peeks into ancient-old tea gardens
and more sea hugs the salt factory:
Right there, Divan café,
as alert as ever before, eyeing the old prison of the inner bay
not bothered by its maturing bent
sated with ancient echoes from devouring local specialties
on a mouth-watering decorative plate
by my childhood eyes and arousing sighs
a huge piece of revani –befitting my sweet-tooth-fame,
topped with ice cream –vanilla beans,
delighting generation after generation after generation
eight in total, the loved ones of mine
farther away lies the artery of the town
extending the slender path to Ada, the famed island
a ribbon bouquet in an April 23rd parade
Çocuk Bayramı, Children’s Festival
flowing, in sync with streets so open, alleys so hidden
sweeping from each home
a memory of mine
making one anew
my eyes locked on the path to Ada again
the town’s highest peak
one short look away to the left and the right
the sea struts its clear blue wealth and might, unabashed
like the beauty of the town’s women, young and old
and there,
a breath away
there, right before me
with its mysteries of my childhood
that spectacular house
its paint ashen hue
wooden bricks, all worn-out
still standing high in aging humility
vies to breathe a little longer
its decades-old glances down upon the sea,
a tenderness on the soil, of a new mother’s hands
on which its roots are spread, soon to finally rest
ornate windows reaching toward the immense blue of the sky
Alas! Dear beings of mine
no longer there to warm its insides
on the entry steps
my mother
ever so young
ever so pretty
cheerful, too
my heart then wanders on to the captive past
a child of very young years on the faded print
her father arrives from work
through one of the colossal front windows
seated next to her mother:
a briefcase in one hand
on his head a wide-brimmed fedora
flattering to his stately height;
the child glued to his leg
a very dear soul of mine
my grandmother, however, remains in the dark
I cannot pick her out – have never known her
for all but one photograph
my mom next to her, her face, in the light
but, the baby on her lap
that must be the other dear being of mine
the one beloved soul in whom none of us could take much delight,
stricken by a fatal disease
bid farewell ever so young
next to me
the unique scent of my mother
the warmest warmth of her heart
Filed under Poetry
Loneliness
“My loneliness is filled with people,” Kafka states.
Loneliness once:
Nighttimes –the worst, amid winter darkness
Days end in haste, day-ends prolong like childhood’s gummy sweets
in the hands of street vendors, looking unkempt, unwashed
lips not even touching the mom-water cup,
yet, devouring in full trust those stretchy rainbow-colored sugar treats
loneliness now:
Filled with sounds of indecipherable joy
two person bed in the morning, two person bed at night
Quiet at nighttime but witness to a commotion at dawn
the family of birds, greeting each new day, in non-stop frenzy
housed in my bedroom’s right corner window crevice,
frantic back and forth wing-clapping
chirping
twitching
beak-to-wall-knocking
fighting off intruders
how many birds were victims to slings of childhood’s neighborhood boys,
wood and ribbon killers of baby aviators
on their way to flying classes
loneliness now:
Filled with sounds of indecipherable joy
Filed under Poetry
A Winter Retreat (on storiesspace.com)
hours of road monotony
the GPS, a self-imposed dictatorship
tired, bored, no more beauty in the snow…
then
a private gateway;
a much anticipated spectacle:
The Inn.
A compelling magnificence.
No need for a color, a shade, or hue;
a winter embrace of splendor;
the smolder of her fireplace:
I feel home.
Spacious beyond the eye’s capacity,
not at all an inn of limits;
high-risers’ luxury at hand;
many may deem impersonal,
out of futile habit:
This, a B&B?
I feel home.
Eloquent, the host; the hostess: of elegance.
The puppy –acts like one yet outsizes me.
Struck by grave illness, the eldest feline
each night, in my Victorian space.
She, too, will break hearts, never to replace the pieces.
Just like my Russian Blue, Duman.
A mere three days’ span
filled with seeing
listening
inhaling
that authentic self
outside its rushed and rushing
fragmented and fragmenting
judged and judging
tested and testing
shell-self.
I am home.
Filed under Poetry
twinning with Munch – silent scream (Published in Pastiche, the magazine of the OLLI Writers Group and on WritersCafe.org))
onto death, I want to lay the self
my One and Only’s hope eyes erase the bed
before the head makes contact
onto death, I want to lay the self
deadlock is all I feel
what have I become?
what, though, had I been?
the husband…former already?
weary, distraught, ruined
my One and Only’s sun face takes a shadow now and again
it all began with her inside me
love took off to eternity with her every smile
my only precious bond to life
for whom I pushed aside the self
not one small regret
the one for whose hope death does not get me today
I made us a home, I glorified it
on my own for long, too long of many years
filling in for all marital lack: a promise is a promise after all!
years left, tens of years passed away
multiplied into trying decades
once looked aback, there exists a husband…
my One and Only’s sun face takes a shadow now and again
her graceful, not yet disheartened soul wound up
on the verge of a leap onto her own life
but…how about…
no, no, not possible!
once my One and Only is no longer home
having set onto her own path
the husband and I…
ways of ours ever so apart
how long, until where?
if the self can remain as self, that is!
onto death, I want to lay the self
my One and Only’s hope eyes erase the bed
before the head makes contact
onto death, I want to lay the self
deadlock is all I feel
what have I become?
what, though, had I been?
Filed under Poetry
silent scream II (published under the title “the silent wail” on www.storiesspace.com – username: meponis8)
no womb to take your tears to
the hurt, above you – you, only a petite full-grown
from a premature fetal fist – forced to let it lurk inside
the three hundred ninety grams of it all
as well as the mere seven pounds
not once
not twice
nor the nth time but
a content and eternal guest in you
Filed under Poetry
hülyaswritings 