Tag Archives: The Year of the Poet 2015

missing the primal id


i yearn to a burn for the original self

ache once again to come to life there

this time not for myself to torch my self

but for the waves to sear to death my sphere

to lull my cleansed eternal birth

upending the end to its final girth

as if to lay down to sleep the infant self


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

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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


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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…begging your muse to…

Together with Demetrios Trifiatis – a dear friend in the written arts, I am currently working on a book of poetry, both of us having envisioned a world where peace will rule. Yes, we all have heard this wish, dream, desire, hope, expectation, or whatever we may end up calling it, many times before. Still, this caring soul and I can’t stop from at least making our own attempt to spread the word for the anti-thesis of hatred and what feeds it. While my co-author has composed poems well beyond our book’s capacity for the time being, my work is pending. More often than not I find myself searching for words for the overwhelming inspiration I have deep inside me. When I most recently caught myself in yet one other no-match-situation as far as my good will being frowned down upon my pen’s capacity, I went through most of my previous poems for help. The one I am sharing with you today has its poet pleading with the muse of poetry and music…enough said, I suppose?




i beg of you hear my plea

shield the natal passion

the first resolve to forget

the quest for the new breath

the now

the here


my desire

to define

the divine

rid me of yesteryear

free me from the self

watch my soul reject its cage

sate my shadow’s final plea

let it soar in its primal roar

see its essence prance in trance

help me shape the freshened day

© hülya n. yılmaz, March 20, 2015

“Euterpe” was published in the April 2015 issue of The Year of the Poet, a monthly book series published by Inner Child Press, Ltd. Each month, this book consists of poem contributions made by nineteen authors, The Poetry Posse and featured poetry by others.


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[Photo Credit: Thomas Chatterton in His Garret]


used to uncover the fading word

a second or more to gather the instant

to reminisce to reflect to feel to sense

to touch to hold the new breath

exhaling life at its worst

inhaling poetry




to surpass it all again and again


I had the privilege to contribute with my “inkpots” – together with two other poems, to the April 2015 issue of The Year of the Poet, a monthly book series published by Inner Child Press, Ltd.  While I was writing down my words, I couldn’t shake off the image of the protagonist in one of my most favorite German short stories: a sickly writer in an ice cold tiny flat who relies on his last submitted work, a novelette, to help his wife and himself survive a little longer. I remember how thankful I felt throughout my processing of the three poems: thankful for my day job, that is. I still do. Can you imagine what would become of me, if I, too, was forced to make a living from selling my literary writings?

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“Muses, help me with art”…


a gentle wind

lowers itself onto the arid leaf

thirsty for the attar of a new breath

awaiting in patience the first drop

underneath layers of the frozen white

whispers promises anew

unlocks the box after Pandora leaves

she has been tricked

no ill seeps through this time

the bolt’s ice will not be melting yet

in joyous dance unite hope and smiles

dreams and love recover again

Goethe calls out as if for me:

Muses, help me with art,

To suffer joy’s pain!

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.


The poem, “a gentle wind” was among my three contributions for the April 2015 issue of The Year of the Poet, a monthly book series published by Inner Child Press, Ltd.

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“the after”

in contagious passion of all our unlived

we kept writing each other again and again

from you i had learned the love for a man

this time anew you tried as hard as back then

but my pain lasted beyond your reach to soothe

i digged out that poem’s title

its remaining verses came along

Can Dündar had lined up your fear for me

i must have worried you beyond my capacity

for musalla taşı* was a most somber thought for my after

© hülya n. yılmaz, February 16, 2015

* A stone platform on which the dead body is placed with its closed coffin to receive a final goodbye along with a specific prayer– a core element for Muslim burial ceremonies. The body is then carried in its coffin to the burial site to be lowered and covered with fresh soil inside a plain white cloth – without the coffin.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

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

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“Nanki-poo” ~ Poetry and the Opera

a traveling musician was he,

entering the stage in a cheer: “A wand’ring minstrel I!”

this character stunned many a prop of the two-act comic opera,

“The Mikado” or “The Town of Titipu”

each, a tongue twister of some sort

but a brain-teaser, too, for us – the non-Japanese

mikado stands, after all, for the Emperor of Japan

while it represents – online references claim the same:

“the great gate at the Imperial Palace in Kyoto”

no mind-boggling intent is actually there to spend

an age-old tradition of respect is merely in to maintain

when addressing nobility, that is…

where, then, do i come in?

let me make the attempt to explain:

Nanki-poo speaks of his father as the “Brutus of his race”

the world-renowned assassin of Caesar

for the Mikado “condemned his own sons to death”

charging them with “treasonous conspiracy”

one act’s revelation of this son’s escape from execution

is, please beware, of no notable importance here

the Mikado’s rise to the throne however, is

along with his lifelong pretense as a “fool”…

why, you ask?

allow me now to get to my final task:

we each seek a safe space in our memories, as i believe

an alternative reality to help us avoid self-destruction

for me to pretend i am a fool is a long-lost obstruction


no seat of any significance ever meant anything to me


it’s not the opera’s mikado i can relate to

or ever do

the daughter, i have in mind instead

one he had only from afar

she betrayed her own paternal kin

no conspiracy was there to wrongfully pin

she thought him the fool her entire life through

though to him she was the brightest shining star

one who refused his admiration, for she was dead set


now that he reached a most fragile age

would declare herself a saboteur of notorious fame

having always received either love or more of the same

without ever having given in return anything without rage

who today remains in hopeful despair and desperation as well

for her homecoming not to be too late to cast anew its desired spell


© hülya n. yılmaz, December 16, 2014

Source: One of my three contributions for the January 2015 issue of The Year of the Poet, a monthly book series published by Inner Child Press, Ltd.

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Join us in our passion for poetry!


(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.



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