Georgian Poems | Examples

Waking Up In a Stranger’s Flat

I open my eyes.
All around me,
everything is unfamiliar:
unfamiliar wallpaper,
unfamiliar white leather sofa,
unfamiliar country.
I moved here to teach,
and here I am learning
that I’m underprepared,
underqualified,
underdressed,
and hungover.
 
He wouldn’t let me leave last night,
you see.
As the party was dying,
I coloured his bathroom
with oversweet Georgian wine
and washed down chicken wings
that came back up.
He decided:
I could miss the last metro,
sleep on this atrocious sofa,
recover.
 
Of course,
now it’s 7am,
and I have to teach a class
of engineers,
bridge builders,
about ing phrasal verbs
in less than two hours.
And I have to do it
with a hangover and a smile.
 
I think to myself
as I struggle with front door locks and keys
before climbing out of a downstairs window,
what a strange story this will be.
And yet waking up here,
it could be a whole lot worse
than this beautiful Baku sunrise.

Boby Fatt's Adventure

Boby Fett’s adventures 

I used to be a friend of Joseph when he was a bank robber
when he robbed a bank in Tbilisi, I helped him to get away 
the money he said was to help his cause.
One can say he owed me a favour, which came in handy.
There was a revolution and Joseph became a president
that was ok, but he became brutal and one evening
when we sat drinking Georgian wine, we had a discussion 
I called him a butcher.
I thought I was going to be shot, but since he owed me a favour
I was sent to Siberia with a bag of potatoes.
Luckily, I had a box of matches in my pocket a knife hidden
in my shoe, therefore able to survive to the last potato.
A wandering Sami people with their heard of reindeers on 
the way to Scandinavia saved me.
For the Sami tribe, there is no border.
I took my old name back, Harry Finkelstein, a name I had kept
secret from Joseph, my friend from the bank robber days.
I got a job on the Manhattan project keeping tab of screws
needed to make a bomb, the rest is history.

Part 1 April Fool Yah

1582 France switch from Julian calendar
To Georgian calendar
Does it matter
Then council of Trent
No pun intent
 Hindu calendar spring equinox
 I bet you thought this was a poem , but guess what
Failed to recognize 
The new year moved from April 1st to January first 
Butt of jokes 
Cruel pranks and hoaxs
Paper fish placed on their backs; Poisson d'avril;
Symbolized uncivilized
 Young gullible person reality really made fun of 
A  jokes by jokesters
I bet you thought this was a poem 
But guess what 
And this forum 
This did I mention
That I mentioned that I forget to give you attention


Nana Nana Nana haha yeah this is so cruel,.------------------------------->


                                                 


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APRIL FOOL







4/1/21
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr © 2021

The Man Who Speaks With the Sky

Ode to President Jimmy Carter

The Georgian sky turns red and a man softens his gaze,
as he lets his thoughts drift.  Images of his life and times,
play against the crimson clouds, to live them once more.

The love of a good woman, can soften the edges of life,
and spin the fabric of its repose, to weave a tapestry,
that tells the story of a good man.

Who hasn't looked up, unblinking and played out
the story of their life and wondered if it made a difference?

There are some whose lives are an open book,
yet the cover will be awash in its simplicity.
History will declare its place in the annals of time,
as one where the hero is fulfilled with their love,
or lost under the blanket of obscurity.  Yet this man, 
who speaks with the sky, I suspect can already hear
the echo of the song the heavens sing,
of one whom the Master is well pleased!

A Poem About Art

Art class is my favorite pass time at the senior's residence,
I reflect on past experiences and I am encouraged to paint.

I have painted a picture of our cottage on the shores of North Bay.
Through the years we have good memories.

My married years we stayed at the Georgian Bay cottage,
I painted a picture of our A-Frame cottage.

Our parents house,I painted a picture and gave that to my sister,
That was a very spacious house in the exclusive Lorne Park area.

I love Christmas, the beautiful days with our relatives and friends,
I have painted a Christmas tree.

Easter is another time of year that is celebrated,
I remember the day when our parents would hide the Easter eggs and bunnies.

We have good memories, I like to share these good memories with relatives
and friends,
I give them copies of my paintings and drawings.


Author: Gwen von Erlach Schutz

A Tour On a Glass Bottom Boat

On the Georgian Bay 
A town Tobermony
Visitors venture
To tour on the bay

Always a line up
For this special site
On this distinctive
      boat
The tour is different

All the sites to see
Are on the bottom
Of the Georgian Bay
Because of shipwreck

Of the past years ago
Are seen on the glass
     bottom boat
The history of the past

Who Will Play With Me

Translated from Georgian into English by Manana Matiashvili	

All that figurative language 
I’ve acquired from you:
“Life is tough”,
“Sweet is the soul”,
“Sky’s the limit”,
“Truth will out”.
“Knowledge is power”,
“Weep and you weep alone”,
One can be “all at sea” sometimes,
“The heart of man is like waters of the well”,
“Guest is sent from God”,
“Let go and let God”…
And so on… and so many sayings
Am collating now into poems
And stitching stories…
But seems as if Alazani River
Has washed them out 
And taken all the words. 
Three years passed, 
Hence our roles have changed,
I play the same games, mostly “housing”…
Just now am standing jammed 
At juncture of the ground and sky,
Hesitating to choose direction, it means, 
I have no idea to blow warmth up 
Or to blow down…
Who will play with me with shifted roles? 
The games named: “schooling”, 
“housing” and “motherhood“?


Genres: life, family, sad, personality

Georgian Country

Georgian Country

this is a woman land
round and curved
all breast, hip and thigh
a Rubens reclining nude
strong, full figured and fertile.

Home

Home

the place where my roots
hold to the very centre of the earth
yet wander beyond 
the edges of the universe


made of tree and rock
pounding georgian surf.
shared with loon and goose and wolf,
seasoned through seasons turning,
cradled, I flourish find words, 
held fast here in time and space.


I have eaten from the earth,
my tears and joys fallen into its soil.
our substances intertwined
we know sisterhood.

America

With the grandeur of prairies and canyon
With Georgian welcomes from Springer Mountain
With cooler welcomes of Katahdin
America rises with five million feet 

To exult among more mosses, mammals, trees
Than have survived in spaces smaller than countries
A president named Teddy signed off on it
America rises with these five million feet

With delirious descent of peregrines
With the swooping swish of eagles with fish
With raising and saving whooping cranes 
America still rises across millions of feet

Grace as in the disappearing Chestnut
Timelessness and wonder in the redwood
Gifts of Euphorbia, Aster, Camelia
America rises in chlorophyll and feet

With red and green blood that will unify
With Hibiscus threatened by goats in Hawaii
America rises and falls from view
America for all, always preserved by the few

(c) First published with gratitude in 2005; God Bless America - and the rest of humanity. Shalom, shalom!

Shattered Glass

Shattered glass

The glass all shiny
Stands almost invisible
Filling a gap to form a window
In the old Georgian house
Letting you see the wonder beyond
The shiny pane of glass.
Until one day
It begins to fall apart
Looking dull and broken
As slowly it crumbles
Piece by piece
The glass shattering cascading down
Resembling a ferocious waterfall,
As you roll away
Being washed by waves of glass
Tumbling down, swept away
Like shattered glass

The Transience of Experience

What is my conception of love?
Now that I let me straw hat rest 
On the rocks of Moses’ teachings
 Now that I behold robins pick my seeds

What is my conception of love?
Love is an old cotton Djellaba
I wear early sometime in December 
When Goethe’s muse rambles alone
The deserted Georgian streets of Borjomi

Eliza found a perennial Canadian love
Probably in the wings of a broken dove
She tends to it by late May rosewater
Sadly, she shuns the idea of a second abandonment 

You know that I know that nothing remains the same
Not even my grandmother’s sesame candies 
Let me just sip alone those cups of rusty mirage

My brown Turkish beret shall rest alone
On the broken trim of a shaded window
Overlooking a battered copy of Truth and Method

Regency Dandy

This Regency Dandy flying across the river,
                        
                        Jumping Jack Flash of kingfisher blue that 

              I was lucky t see, this dainty dandy of English rivers and streams.

                         A compact colourful apparition my sore eyes waited some 

                    Sixty years to see, others boast much earlier visitations of these

              Bluish-green, orange and red feathers attached to a Cyrano De Bergerac 

                                                     rapier beak,

              Outshining the honking harrying flotillas of Canada geese not capable of 

              Competing with this fisher of minnows, as we strolled across the Georgian 

              Bridge at Blatherwycke straddling the nonchalant flowing Nene of this 

                                                  shire of shires,

               Now of only one squire, but still many fine spires in this shire of Northampton.

Pathmark Perversity - New York

Cucumbers, celery and stem-vine tomatoes
were hobnobbing with my Russett potatoes.
Pears and plums and one Georgian peach
winked at the Wisk and Snuggled the bleach.
Pretzels and popcorn and the Tostitos chips
ogled in awe as Meyer's bacon strips stripped!
Mr. Clean and Mrs. Dash espied a risqued art - 
when double-clipped coupons tainted the cart!

At Cafe Bacho / Lali Tsipi Michaeli

At Cafe Bacho


This evening we sat in Cafe Bacho on King George street after 
House of the Flying Daggers 
The most poetic film I ever saw 
I said 
And I sank into a romantic triangle 
which is not possible with this bizarre 
waitress with a chopped hair-cut 

I said to her 
that she is special 
She said 
So are you 

Then I reminded my ex-husband that a sentence can lie within another sentence 
He used to hold my hand with courage for courage's sake 
Tears fell down my cheeks and sank in the jasmine tea, 
which the waitress 
Brought 

Maybe it’s she who really made me cry 

She seemed like a Christian Georgian woman in a homely pub in Tbilisi 
You said: 
The cushions are over here 

You mentioned that Erez called and didn't mention me 
You said: 
He got burnt 
Not a word about 
You 

I said that I also thought about him 

I said that Oren called 

And you explained how she died a mysterious death she the poetess 
Who went after anyone who wanted her 
In Eilat 
An investigation won’t bring the words back 

I spoke with a free spirit 
But the butterfly didn't fly




translated from Hebrew:
Michael Simkin

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