Lightning strikes colossal oak, bronze armor split like firewood by God’s electric axe, soft pithy interior exposed in winter air.
Walking through the meadow, knee high grass quivering under the wind’s judgmental eye; grouse fly disjointedly into the coral sunset as I wade through the verdant ocean.
A warm clap on the back as you walk through the door into the familiar living room, dust dancing in the golden sunlight pouring through a bay window.
The gait of a man recently in love, thinking of soft hands suddenly adored, folding fresh linen as static electricity crackles in the dry, lavender air.
Her slow walk down velvet stairs, patiently descended with lithe, slow steps draped in mystery and blood-red silk.
It’s the feeling of walking into an underground gambling den, uninvited and alone.
I sigh when I watch men and women
just sit home drawing unemployment
when they are fully able to work.
Such benefits make me paranoid.
I see: some seem so sure just swimmin’
in hope that their shallow enjoyment
will thrive despite misgivings which lurk
in a mindless, a fatuous void.
Say: “Fee-fi-fo-fum” on congressmen.
What hope have we once our government
sets rewards for citizens who shirk
common sense? It’s Welfare on steroids.
I'm so disgusted, in deep chagrin
that such a farce can misrepresent
our nation. As an aging young Turk,
I don't know when I've felt so annoyed.
July 11, 2021
I've settled for settlement,
I've settled for ease.
I've settled for slippers,
and shooting the breeze.
I've settled for quiet,
not rocking the boat.
I've settled for scarves,
and a sensible coat.
I've settled for normal,
and walking the dog,
but not going out
in the rain, or the fog.
When did it happen?
How does it work?
Where's that idealist?
That thrusting, Young Turk?
When did the light
go out in his eyes
and radical rhetoric
turn to sighs?
When did he settle
for second best?
When was there nothing
to get off his chest?
I used to do, but no longer can,
I am the epitome of a grumpy old man.
She knows
To well
Her country
Irina Ratushinskaya
Its people
He sprouts
The truth
Mohammed Abbou
They don’t want to hear it
Amongst these people
Riad Al-turk
As they do
What evil does
Shirin Ebad
Tape her mouth
Plug her ears
Freedom of mind
Is hers
Hina Jilani
He’s mad
She’s crazy
Liu Xiaobo
See what they made us do
As we had to
Lock him up
Beat her
Assassinate them
Gao Zhisheng
For our safety
So we can continue
Our human rights abuses
Without exposure
Sima Semar
To speak
To think a thousand words
Of lement
Arnold Tsunga
Of lose
Of value
Of respect
Basic human rights
Really
Zainah Anwar
For women
And child
Olara Otunnu
It is all
So clear
To them
Is what
They have in common
Yoani Sanchez
Communion
As with
Percussion
Prison
Endless torture
Francisco Soberon
Starvation
But no
Salvation
Julian Assange
Is it worth it?
It is to him
And her
And them
For there
People
For us
Really
Immigrants are very useful now
Roast a Turk to share with all your street
Eat a Greek and let the people squeak
A Viking flames the pudding with a bow
Try a German sausage in the Court
Eat him with a knife and fork and bread
Frenchmen taste delicious so it’s said
Finish with a sailor drowned in Port
A Syrian child is now the Lamb of God
Dying for our sins and for our hate
Yet Jesus was a Jew. a piece of bait
We eat him every Sunday in the Bread
Let the refugees in, we shall see
One of them is you and one is me
Brother Iran
by Michael R. Burch
Brother Iran, I feel your pain.
I feel it as when the Turk fled Spain.
As the Jew fled, too, that constricting span,
I feel your pain, Brother Iran.
Brother Iran, I know you are noble!
I too fear Hiroshima and Chernobyl.
But though my heart shudders, I have a plan,
and I know you are noble, Brother Iran.
Brother Iran, I salute your Poets!
your Mathematicians!, all your great Wits!
O, come join the earth’s great Caravan.
We’ll include your Poets, Brother Iran.
Brother Iran, I love your Verse!
Come take my hand now, let’s rehearse
the Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam.
For I love your Verse, Brother Iran.
Bother Iran, civilization’s Flower!
How high flew your towers in man’s early hours!
Let us build them yet higher, for that’s my plan,
civilization’s first flower, Brother Iran.
Published by MahMag (translated into Farsi by Mahnaz Badihian), Other Voices International, Thanal Online (India), Deviant Art, Portal Vapasin (Farsi)
She cooks fish and rice,
her unfolded hips
pushing all into place.
Oils, and aromas,
train buds to lap at shadows.
The marl of her hands
turns bowls of smoke
into lemon and butter.
I won’t get to eat the spiced Mackerel,
but I imagine my scaly head laid
in a tabby cat’s saucer.
I dream of small-boned piquant desires,
the lick of her fingers,
the coral curl of her tongue
as If she were a cat and I a fish in a dish.
She wears dark clothes, a peasant garb,
black skirts below her knees,
a lace shawl when she goes to church.
She is Greek, a Turk
an Albanian. She is an Etruscan vineyard
for orphans. A mother to a lover.
Her gourd is full and spilling.
In her hair black horses leap,
a few stout gray mares
amidst the mane.
Tides turn and swirl
through turtle-shell combs.
She’s not a disciple of pretty.
She is earthenware to hold my hungers.
These words are just terracotta shards.
What she is, is an alcove for halvah.
Apart from Holy Days,
she works at a grocery store.
Where she bakes grape-filled suns,
and moon-glazed pastries
for those in need of the olive yield
of her light.
Did you hear about the charge
On that faithful day
At 4 o’clock in the afternoon
It was the desert you see
And water was like gold
When the Australian Light Horse
Charged Beersheba that day
Chauvel lined them up
And with bayonets in hand
They charged the Turk trenches down
They won the wells for a long cool drink
Breaking the Ottoman Empire
To start the march to Israeli independence
And a place in the world history’s page.
© Paul Warren Poetry
Known before time.
One big story.
A studious thinker.
Shaped for purpose,
With a valid C.V.,
Government sealed.
A Banjamite Turk,
Sharpened for subjection.
Approved a stoning.
A religious enforcer,
Blinded for construction,
Knowing who let it.
Saved, feared, then trusted.
A verbally adept writer,
Commissioned to carry hope,
Called, to open eyes.
Strengthen through adversity,
Buffeted, barred, bitten.
Character modeller ,
Signposting others,
Sharing from his heart.
An example of us,
Who follow, one of many,
Each telling his story.
Each knowing on which Rock we stand.
Acts 9:15, 13:2-3, 23:11, 27:35, 47. 1Cor. 2:1.
A Christian family will wake up every morning,
Brush their teeth, get dressed and go to work,
And have a dog, a car and strive to be happy,
Regardless if they’re Greek or Aussie or Turk.
And a Muslim family will relax in their home,
Talk and laugh about what happened that day.
And they all have big ambitions to contribute,
And be social with cheese and a fine cabernet.
While a Pagan family love to go to the beach,
Go swimming, light a fire and play games.
And then, at home, developing their pictures,
And hanging them around the house in frames.
We are all the same, alike, we’re all an equal,
In the way we live, love, lust, grow, and share.
Regardless of our religious bend we all help,
We all love peace and security, we all care.
22nd Sept for Ironic Zink's what is society contest. a bit long but I enjoyed writing this.
Ranked third place
My bestie friend is always in my heart
Knew we would from the start
We clicked and nicked.
Sucked and swallowed
Crazy days and nights that followed
Nina and Ma’s and pinching cars
and having carverys down the starr
People say we both berserk that
Lisa-Jane Costigann and Rachel Ruthless Turk
A Turk living in old Istanbul
Drank raki until he was full,
He tried riding home on his donkey
But his steering was wonky ,
He somehow ended up in Kabul.
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....
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
"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"
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