Best Turk Poems
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
TURK TATIL MIZAH
FOREST GUMP
Did you hear about old Forest Gump
Went up to do a parachute jump
Gave the rip cord a jerk
Found out it didn't work
Hit the ground with one hell of a thump...
JED
In the care home was an old boy called Jed
Always given some blue pills with his med
And every night
He didn't excite
But it stopped him from falling out of bed...
THE BAKER
There was a baker from Hemel Hempstead
His loaves were the best you've ever tasted
But what people didn't know
LSD was in the dough
After eating his bread they'd be wasted...
PETE
A meat factory owner called Pete
Won gold awards for his sausage meat
But his meat supply
And this is no lie
Was of meat from stray dogs off the street...
SANTA ( NOT FOR KIDS )
Santa Claus was out preparing his sled
Whilst all children were tucked up in bed
Put some presents at the back
Had a fatal heart attack
The elves rushed out but poor Santa was dead ...
THE SWIMMER
A young man went for a swim in the sea
Smelt a bad smell wondered what can it be
A woman shouted swim back
The sewer pipe has a crack
He then realised he was swimming in pee...
JOHN
John was heading off to hot sunny Spain
When he landed saw snow falling and rain
Went through immigration
Hit with realisation
At the airport he'd boarded the wrong plane...
SUZE
She was born in the city of Syracuse
Was a stripper with the stage name of Suze
Was ginormous on top
That made all men's jaws drop
For private shows she's the one men would choose...
FRED
Fred went out for a curry vindaloo
All okay till he bent down to his shoe
A sharp pain then some gas
He was sure it would pass
Too late, he never made it to the loo...
Written on 24th September 2019.
Gee, how we blame our culture for starting this!
Oh, how ignorant can we be!
We blame men as evil and macho?
Yet we drooled when younger over Ralph. Macchio.
Ask any woman who gets up at three!
How great it is to get out there and earn a salary?
Then not only commute but slave all day.
Pick up the kids at three, and then the kids
overburdened with hours of homework?
Mom has to help them like a enslaved Turk!
Then each night prepare dinner for all three?
While clothes in the washing machine be?
Women's Liberation~~
My, my .....oh me!
I have not listed endless shopping or sports
on this list!
Gloria Steinheim's neck and women's lib needs
a quick twist.
Women brainwashed to theif very core.
Now think its an honor to wear
pants, which I abhor.
We are far to flabby in buttocks and thighs.
Walking, our legs look like an
earthquake, Richter Scale 5~jello surprise!
Perms begone, no more pretty hair, we must look
like men?
What's comes next?
Smoking cigars in tweed jackets in the den?
Sorry to rant, but I miss women
having time,looking fine...
To run a home, not looking for
a shoeshine.
I will write later of the history of
a woman's place being in the home.
And it's close to the time of Ancient Rome.
October 11, 2019
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.
The Escape from the Turkish Slavery
(Ukrainian historic folk song)
There broke into the Tartar sprites,
And they captured my daughter, nice,
Marusyna, my daughter, dear,
I remained with one son in fear.
And there came others- my son was enslaved,
And a widow, a poor orphan, I remained.
The third time, they took me too, an old soul...
... a Turk took me to the service,
I began to toil and slave
Serving the foe every day.
The daughter didn’t recognize her nurse
Having given her the works, the worst:
With the hands- to spin the yarn, fine,
With the little feet- to lull the child,
To watch the flock- with the eyes…
They found themselves in one place
All three meeting face to face.
When the daughter was recognized by the mother
And, when also confessed the brother…
They were united with one another.
Then the daughter began to tell the Turk,
That's my brother, this is my mother,
Then, the Turk began to trust them.
He entrusted them with all his goods.
They did everything, not to delude
Thinking, dreaming of their home.
When the Turk and daughter were going to the ball,
They handed the keys from the houses, all;
The son and the mother were taking the golden keys,
The souls of the slaves from the cellars to release,
Saddling the horses to start their way
To travel back home again.
Oh they were crossing the Danube, Dunahj,
The Turks, low-natured, were on a catch-ride.
On the other bank, they shouted:
"Oh Ivan, Ivan!
You know and you know,
And take the infusion of wormwood,
And, you will know even better for good! "
Chieftain Ivan Korsun began to narrate:
"I crossed the Danube River -
Denied the enemy forever! "
(Translation from Ukrainian into English by Ivan Petryshyn)
The Escape from the Turkish Slavery
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.
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
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
They were straight of limb as the bullets flew
Made up of true blues and fair dinkums too
When they landed on that bloody April day
They were told to push inland to ensure the stay
The fighting was fierce and brave men fell
Australian, New Zealander and Turk in the hell
The bravest men fought the hardest fight
And went inland further than others might
They fought and they died showing they had pluck
The Turks told of wounded men not giving up
Struggling it out to the last bullet they fought
And were left lying facing the foe as they ought
In the end when they evacuated ANZAC Cove Beach
With those brave men lying in the sun out of reach
The Turks left them as the sun bleached their bones white
As the days turned into months into years as we won the fight
In 1919 Charles Bean led the Australians back to Gallipoli
And they searched the battlefield from beach to the gullies carefully
The bones were gathered and were identified for some
As the graves were lined up and headstones stand in the sun
These men who came from across the world for a war
Are now part of the Legend of ANZAC for all to explore
But I wonder on those windy hills where they stayed and didn't flee
There are young Australians looking out quietly to the sea.
© Paul Warren Poetry
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
Enea is Pope! (1)
It doesn’t look good.
There is restiveness around the ‘hood.
Naples is in turmoil, a bastard claiming the throne –
but is he even a bastard? And isn’t he owned
by the French? Cardinal d’Estouteville
is treating the Tiara as a done deal.
Has he really as good as won?
Then the Papacy’s off (again) to Avignon.
At the gates
of the Papal States
is a general with an army.
He’s irrupting through,
and proceeding to
slice the land up, like salami.
Piccinino knows
this is how it goes:
there’s no spine to the Holy See, see?
Let him take terrain
on the Umbrian plain –
but must we lose Assisi?
Worse incursions are happening than these.
Hordes of Persians and Medes and Pharsees
(the irrepressible Turk)
are making short work
of humanity’s treasury – Europe.
They’re going to sack Italy soon.
The Muslims took Athens in June.
(When you need it, where’s NATO?)
For the city of Plato,
the game is decidedly up.
When some prince claims a “national church”,
for his motive it’s not hard to search:
they’re stashing the cash for themselves
that once weighed-down the Vatican shelves,
thereby leaving the pope in the lurch.
North Europe views Rome with disdain,
and for reasons not pure, but profane.
Their domestic corruption
brooks no interruption –
they just hate being Ultramontane.
2016 Motor City Open Champion
It has to happened, this day has to come...
When a low ranking player defied the odds as they come..
In a place called the Motor City, showcasing a world squash tournament...
All the the world's best men squash players are gathered in numbers...
Ranked a modest 22 in the world ,there was Ali Farag from Egypt ..
Aged 23, he is a another young squash player from the Land Of The Pyramids..
Last year he was a 88th in world rankings, was knocked out in the 1st round..
Having won 3 PSA tournaments prior to Motor City, now he was a different man...
Ranked 7th in this Motor City Tournament, Ali Farag had a daunting path indeed...
For in the second round, there was the world number one , Mohd El Shorbagy...
Facing a young man stout in heart and full of confidence, Shorbagy was rattled...
The young turk, an upstart by his standards, was of the same high standard..
Shorbagy took the first, a close one it was, only to trailed in the next 2 games...
Shorbagy as world number one, he gave a mighty effort and won the 4th game..
Going into the final 5th game, no quarter was given, none were asked...
Point for point, they fought, probed each other's game as they rallied till the last...
The young Ali Farag, he showed the mettle of a champion to knock out his rival..
A final 12-10 win, and he has created the biggest upset win of this tournament....
Next round was the semifinals, world no.9 Mathieu Castagnet, a Frenchman ...
Ali Farag fought and rallied hard, emerging a 3-1 winner after a long 78 minutes..
When the finals next came along, highly experienced Nick Matthew was The Man...
As world no.3 squash superstar, Nick was just as eager to be a winner,...
Youth versus experience, a young upstart going up against the 35 year old Nick....
It was an engrossing match of top quality squash that lasted all but 50 minutes...
For when the chips were down and curtains about to fell, the youthful Ali Farag..
He presevered and showed his class, bedazzling Nick Matthew 3-1 in 50 minutes..
So it has come to past, the youngest ever champion there in Motor City Open...
Ali Farag from Egypt, he took out 3 top-10 players to emerge 2016 champion!!!!
WOW !!!
3/23/17
Skilled like James T. Kirk
Fred Durst
And William Randolph Hearst
Putting in work
And occasionally going berserk
In and out of dirt
For all that it's worth
Respect the universe
And Earth
Regardless of if times keep getting worse
Is there such a thing as a curse?
Or does it need more evidence and research?
Debts becoming hard to reverse
And certain bills due on the first
Met a nurse
Wearing a Louis Vuitton purse
And Converse
She began to flirt
Told me she liked Lil Durk
Hot Boy Turk
And Lil Uzi Vert
So we had some home cooked surf n' turf
Then girl said she had something special for dessert
What happened next was that she took off her shirt and skirt
With a smirk
Next day saw someone continuing to lurk
It was a red alert
Due to them trying to usurp
All of my hard work
No matter the hurt
Still things are being learnt
So long as I immerse
Instead of remaining inert
Not a fan of percs
But I do like purp
All across the Earth
Got to search for work offering even better perks
Near and far from any birch
Cooked Jamaican Jerk
Chicken, and due to a faulty timer, it was almost burnt
B.S. leaving me irked
Close and beyond areas where materials may be dearth
Worldwide, people with responsibilities that they shirk
Since erst
Guns single shot, semi to fully automatic, or with some kind of burst
Regardless of if I ever again go to church
In the end will I be forgiven for all my dirt?
By: Dalton Ogletree
It is amazing yet so true about top notched sports stars...
There is always a time when they're the undisputed stars...
They'll be top seeded in all the major tournaments they entered in...
And unsurprisingly and unceasingly they perform to cement their top billing....
At such periods in time, their reign is sublime and they're the ones to beat...
Probably their aura of being top seeds quelled the fight out of many a lower seed..
Only in such periods when time seems to stand still as they reign supreme....
Best exemplified by Datuk Nicol Ann David who was 109months queen supreme ...
Like any other champion, she gets dethroned but she'll soon regain her top ranking...
But as age catches up, her subsequent reign is not going to be smooth sailing...
It's impossible for her to equal ever again that record setting 109months reign....
It took years for her exorable climb up to such a pinnacle of excellence...
For a champion, long hours and back breaking training sessions are unseen ......
And a professional teamwork are in place to ensure such perennial dominance...
But the fact remains, after a period of unceasing dominance....
All champions, whatever their game, will fade into the distant horizon...
Makes you wonder, stars of yesteyears, if age is not in the equation...
Will their mastery, skills and experience match new and upcoming champions?
Take a look at Datuk Lee Chong Wei in badminton, he was once the top honco...
Losing was never an option and his invincibility was an aura lesser players yield pronto...
After an unfortunate enforced lay off from badminton due to suspected drug misuse....
Therein lies several episodes of labourous climb back into the world rankings...
These days yesteryear champions are unceremoniously chucked out of rankings...
Each time an eager young turk charges into the finals and resets the ensuing rankings...
"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"