Poem | |
My father was a preacher
stood for everything good,
took my mother’s virginity
I was born to the sisterhood.
They left me on a stairway
a ghostly place to be,
down some old back alley
near to a South Auckland quay.
Found I was in the morning
by someone going to work,
he decided to keep me
this understanding old Turk.
Owner of a coffee house
down town in Branston square,
grew up I guess lucky
by someone born to care.
He gave to me his name
that stands above the door,
a photo of me in a frame
in a basket full of straw.
So here I am heavenly blessed
all down to one lucid day,
with a name ne’er to rest
Smokey Joe’s Cafe!
© Harry J Horsman 2012
Poem | |
"Wake up, wake up" my sleepyhead Turk
"Wake up, wake up" my dear sleeping beau
each time I do this, I am so happy
because finally I can see
your sweet smiles, intended just for me.
Yes, your smile, smiles that make me smile
though it really wasn't there for me to see
because you're so far away, lands & seas
I just close my eyes so I can see it
with all my heart, I believe it.
"Wake up, wake up" so i say, again & again
and that your consciousness can be regain
staying you awake I always intend to do
so you can hear me say "ILOVEYOU" so true..
..xoxo my dear "YASAMAK"
Poem | |
For this Turk Turku is a 1-horse
city but he has got to have horse
sense. He will not be as happy as a peacock in Turkey.
Hindi, the Turk word for turkey, is how we'll call this turkey.
Hindi, when living in Turkey, was a horse
dealer. Today he's no longer into horse
trading. He quit selling that drug. One morning
when he got up all his belongings were gone
He was shocked & almost started mourning
over this theft like a baby. His gun
gone too. Instead of going bananas
he sat down & thought: "That a lot of my country fellas have a monkey
on their backs is my bad! I won't cry over my pilfered pelf! No more monkey
business! From now on I decide to be a good egg!
I'm starting a new life! Today I cease being a yegg"
The Turk turkey put all his eggs
in one basket & wended his way to Turku!
He got a job in a Turkish bath as a front desk clerk. One noon he met a not
pigheaded porky from Alaska who told him had quit smoking blunt cold turkey
of late & was quite itching to relapse. Hindi didn't want to be a cold turkey
nowadays so he gave him advice on withdrawal. He jotted down some
notes for the porcupine to read & apply & didn't ask, at all, a sum
of money in exchange for the nice advice. The porky thanked him a lot & got
inside the bath. Finn tongue was Greek to Hindi
Whenever he had a chance, took a gander at
the phrasebook to learn Finnish.
At 5 pm he was glad to finish
his shift get the puck
out of that place
go home have duck
soup & plaice.
He wanted to invite the hake for supper. The latter
refused, didn't want to feel like a fish out of water.
Hindi, quite offended, told him off but it was like water
off a duck's back. He didn't want dinner alone, so
he thought who else could come. Bingo! The sow!
And she did. He did indeed bring home the bacon.
The food was very simple to prepare. It was duck
soup. He was cocksure the sow would love duck
soup & plaice. For dessert, a piece of cake
they'd have. Cooking all this was a piece of cake
without doubt. When nosh was ready, the sow
brooded over & said: "Wait a sec. This is so
weird. You invited the hake, a fish, to eat plaice.
You're eating duck & you're a turkey. In place
of eating explain. Are you a cannibal?" "Clam
up & pig out!" he said, not happy as a clam.
"O In a pig's eye I will! You are such a cold fish!
Horsefeathers! Besides, I am no longer hungry!
I've never seen anything like this in Hungary!"
"I eat duck soup and, if I want to, I cook my goose!"
The sow, horrified, at once did for sure vamoose.
Poem | |
The Ruba’iyat of Créteil Lake – Part Twenty-Eight
Other media meanwhile busy with who’s sleeping with whom
Relying on New-Sweep and Thyme to make loud front-page zoom
Mainly of those who leapfrog into top power palaces
On whether de Beauvoirs or transvestites be given more room
Dohr took dire toll on the High Prelate’s laboured vocal chords
And just as the Chief pow-wowed with advisors and legal boards
So did His Holiness with a delegation come from afar
The results as well as can be expected turned out: Discord!
The wily Franquist woman counselor slammed the Chief’s car door
And bee-lined the barred gates of the trysting hotel’s portico
The Chief sent Commandant in hot pursuit of bent-backed woman
Scarf drawn over pockmarked scalp limpet-mouthed suction sore
As the dohr throngful of the Faithful streamed out queues formed for asr
The Commandant waylaid the Imam come out for some air:
“…ad subjiciendum… Omar…Tent Maker’s prodigal heir…”
“Means thou Umar ibn Al-KHattap…Exalted Caliph Sire?”
Non-plussed the Commandant looked hard at Writ in his thick hands:
“Your Holiness! Be it thy pleasure to peruse these commands!”
One yea-sayer read aloud: “Oooo..maaaar ibn al-Khaaayyaaaamm…”
“Who? Must be that drunken half-Turk by rich widows favour finds!”
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2014
Poem | |
I spoke with a young man
of the singer I loved as a
young man myself--a woman
with angel voice and the long
curl-dense hair of a temptress:
he had never heard her name.
Nor had he ever heard of them,
that world beating band whose music
we danced to underneath the
boardwalk, a stone's throw from
the ocean's eternal caressing.
"They were famous!" I almost
cried out, till I realized his world
was not mine. His is living, here, now,
breathing-- while mine is lost, dead,
revived only in silent reminiscence.
So our chat continued-- I asked him
about favorite epic movies. Had he
seen the one with the brooding man
who led the magnificent Arab charge
'gainst the cruel Turk? How about the
doctor searching endlessly for Laura
across the eternal Russian plains?
No, never even heard of them, he said,
but then added, in a hopeful tone,
he did know about that Civil War movie,
though he had never seen it. Truly,
all goes away with the wind....
Poem | |
Zerk was a lurking berserk
who lived in the murky-murk of the cirque
by the smirking Turk
Zerk was irking a-jerkin’ and a draught of perkin
Zerk was a-joying his shirker’s approach towards work
Zerk was a-starking, a-barking, and a-marking the world with his dirk
Zerk was a-perking for a-harking about bo-razzle and bo-really fools
Zerk was a-quirking, an abundance of uncorking bottles, un-forking sustenance,
and un-storking women
Zerk was not a follower of any kirk
Zerk was a-hoping to clerk for an irksome and biased hipster jerk
Zerk was always a-hanging out with his friends Breschel, and Lurch
Zerk contributed his artwork to the world,
Zerk was by no means a berk, instead he was quite the intellectual quirk
Zerk was always a-yerking out at the berks with his political and philosophical propaganda
Zerk was always a-chirking up Lurch with his meditative-mindset
Poem | |
The Ruba’iyat of Créteil Lake – Part Thirty
While the Mullah versed in the Hadith and fiqh harangued his flock
All over the milling crowds outside plastic cups did hands lock
By four even before the dazzling Cyclop-eye pierced the gloom
The mosque’s Administrator convened a crisis meeting ad hoc:
“Be it known from this hour forth no more couscous nor green tea
Will be served for our stocks – thanks to chefs – stand consumed empty
The hallal shelves at malls’ “Square-Oven” and “Prix-de-Chef” stores
Stand undermined transparent since noon this Faithfuls jamboree!”
The King of Morocco promised his palace tea consignments
The Begum Ali her weight in gold for present requirements
Local residents boiled water to brew other sachet scents
A steady stench rose like humus vapours for lack of toilet vents
Rowdy commotions outside drowned the holy deliberations
To bring the harrowed Mullah out on the Faithfuls’ positions:
Braying half-Turk clad in jellaba borne over heads by hands
Wan Quixotic head with beard wobbling through elucubrations:
“Set not this Tent-Maker Miscreant on consecrated land
Let drop this putrid loin of meat on tarmac or public sand!”
“Sire!” quoth the Administrator, “This be no Tent-Maker’s son!
Forsooth, he’s of no other than the Tent-Vendor’s vagrant band!”
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2014
Poem | |
I saw a man die who took a stance
I saw he just wanted to give peace a chance
I saw the boycotts and the embargos
I saw the trafficking in human cargos
I saw hedge funds, junk bonds, oil and gold
I saw a woeful deficit in the Third World
I saw a royal prince and princess in a carriage
I saw there was a curse upon that marriage
I saw three days of music in the sun
I saw time stand still as my head spun
I saw a cowboy on the hill - a matinee idol
I saw shots fired in a nation's capital
I saw helmets, a riot squad, a barricade
I saw from the terraces the last test played
I saw a new disease that affects us all
I saw no-one is immune to its deadly pall
I saw a Nazi butcher - an act of unrepentance
I saw him found guilty and sentenced
I saw ash and dust turn day to night
I saw this happen with a trembling might
I saw a Young Turk in a war he could not win
I saw the end of an era closing in
I saw solidarity in a Polish shipyard
I saw a changing of the guard
I saw a new wave and I didn't like it one bit
I saw music and pop culture take a hit
I saw a great earthquake far and wide
I saw the rubble with people inside
I saw gas and poison leak in Bhopal village
I saw them left to die and clean up the spillage
I saw a hostage in a foreign land
I saw a line drawn in the desert sand
I saw an iron maiden order a fleet set sail
I saw her resolute that she not fail
I saw the world united for a day
I saw the dead and dying motionless lay
I saw myself travel back in time again
I saw my journey end in Port of Spain
I saw in the heavens a countdown to death
I saw the stunned crowd hold its breath
I saw clouds of death for miles around
I saw a concrete tomb on the ground
I saw uprising in the holy land
I saw that the world needs a helping hand
I saw seabirds and fish smothered in oil
I saw the leaking tankers the natural world spoil
I saw the frogmen and a rainbow warrior
I saw it sinking in the harbour
I saw the golden age of greed so brash
I saw a bull run then I saw a crash
I saw an evil empire fracture and fall
I saw its future written on a wall
I saw peace in my time between East and West
I saw the Nobel Peace Prize to that attest
I saw a last revolt against state sponsored fear
I saw it crushed in the Peoples's Square
I saw in my solitude a wonderful sight
I saw I found a voice and I began to write
I saw in the mirror a living ghost
I saw I was a slave to what I feared most
I saw this decade through the eyes of a man
I saw it end just like it began