Long Dervishes Poems
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~*~
God, don't let me fall, into Satan's trap.
The evil, infamy, and destruction.
Led by my snout, to no longer be free.
In speech, movement, I am tracked.
Simply, shine your light on me and let
me adore, Thee.
Show me the path, only your will I do.
Not some dervishes on Capitol Hill.
A nation founded under God, now falls.
My end, send soon, all morality has gone.
Lies pave the streets like amber coals on fire.
To exist on your earth, unfree, is not my desire!
1/16/2021
3am PST
~ 1~
Colin is a crusader, a knight, a soldier, a champion, a liberator too.
His face is handsome, but well hidden, as are his eyes of lightest blue.
His own mother fears this veiled monster when he enters forest glen.
He looks fierce and angry; who can guess what manner is his whim?
It is a dark and devilish night, and wild dervishes can be felt about.
One scared little eight-year-old spies the knight and gives a tiny shout.
His mother shushes him, for soldiers are feared not admired in these days.
Too many horrible battle stories have come which negate the old praise.
Most of the men folk have been killed, which is why women are here.
Crouching behind oak trees, hugging their babies, living in mortal fear.
The champions have taken more than their share of a toll on their town.
They are afraid of this knight, holding their breath, keeping eyes down.
Where is Liberia Hunnicutt? He demands in a fierce, killing way.
No one speaks, for Liberia is their friend, each and every sweet day.
If something happens to her, they may starve, come totally undone.
So no one speaks, not knowing that this is Colin, her eldest fine son.
It came from a beloved book; the dream
Long lost, or so I thought,
which told: Go to your Turkey
and meet the Rumi in your dreams;
to complete his story; if I were the
story teller,destined,
for love comes from the strangest of places.
I hoped to make the dream come true.
'The Poet'* told me: Find the deserts
that hide within the city;
like the grief hidden beneath a happy face.
He wrote me a poem,with all blessings.
How I hold those poems dear!
But was it a feeling that came and left on its own?
For I no more find Turkey wherever I look.
And I am hopeless to go there;
and die before my Death.
May be Turkey is somewhere near
I just need time to find where.
"Even if I were the Shams,
where is the Rumi to see the beauty!"
Where the Boundaries disappear;
Timelessness creep in;
Names forgotten ;
and nothing but Love remains.
Upon there is my journey
and there lies my destination.
Please don't stop the beautiful dreams.
I am thirsty for more!
*
The poem was inspired from the reading of the book 'Forty Rules of Love' written
by Elif Shafak ,based on the beautiful story of the Sufi poet
Rumi and his beloved soulmate Shams of Thabriz. Suddenly I was too much into the words of Rumi,
to know him more and more. In a literary event, a poet wrote a short poem for me after we talked about dreams of visiting Turkey , Rumi and dervishes. The process was called busking.
Forever grateful for that poem 'Dreams of Desert'.
leaf dervishes w
h
i
r
l
vow autumns effervescence ~
conscious elements
Your thought-balloons are filled with wild and magical freedom ~
until madness seizes your think tank
trapping your ceaselessly chirping ideas
within the teeth of its snapped steel-jaws
refusing to relinquish you; lest you chew up and spit out your mind-racing brain
ire over this cognitive quagmire is quite understandable ~
like the murmuration of startled starlings
amassing in angst and taking wing
your thoughts, your second thoughts and afterthoughts
gather in pulsating dark masses
swirling into flight and shifting directions
turbulently twisting into tornadic spins
unable or unwilling to unravel and unwind
as they hurl themselves
in a pessimistic panic
through the maze of gray matter minefields
not wanting to explode their legs-to-stand-on should they alight...
...and despite butterfly nets vying to capture them
they are whirling dervishes twirling out of control --
holding your damnation in a state of suspended animation
Susan Ashley
March 24, 2018
Or Woman, Or Child, Or...
The following elucidated
conjecture actually can
(reed best) be taken with a grain
of salt, and no re ban
nah nah split 'ope ya 'ere me
cloud and lear, cuz (Oh my...
heavens to Betsy), ennui
got pulled by Evan -
Jewel Lean, who handed this long fellow
(wads worth to you)
speculation with fan
see prestidigitation legerdemain - tan
ta mount to cheap tricks
re: out of thin air
by this half
fast hue man,
Hill Billy Willy Wonka Nilly,
who blithely doth asseverate
apothegm (poem title) equally applicable
Century21 today Aswan
damn maxim initially
bespoke, when collective
primates begat enfant terrible
foo fighting predetermining anon
metastasizing debacle Yeti
bedeviling civilization
a bajillion years in the future with
Matthew Scott Harris deadpan
words worth less his way
before even an odd iota
of dire straight sultan
of swing didst merely span
spottily scattered amidst
pristine Earth, where
unchanging arboreal
beastie boys to oman,
and flock of sea gulls
continuity elapsed – Ivan
hunch, albeit un
recorded disc contented sow
sow hogtied pan
dum mo' nee ham, or
blessed historical events,
kept (stay'n) alive,
courtesy"FAKE" Trump
petting Dapper Dan,
where he knit pattern,
qua oral tradition, sans clan
destine scattered hot pockets
of sparse *****sapiens,
i.e. humanity LESS preponderant,
primary, and/or prolific,
where superstitions parlayed
(voodoo with no Fran Schwa),
and whirling dervishes fed elan,
which earliest recorded (doctored,
digitized, and demented
oh yea), not
tomb mitt to dimly mentioned
asper "time and tide
wait for no man"
purportedly by one
Saint Marher, circa:
1225 anno domini.
A drug crazed world spins on ever faster.
Bodies tumble out of that carousel
never to be seen again.
Once whirling dervishes twirled
now they stagger and fall drunkenly.
Molestation hangs in the air
drooling its perilous lava.
All control is folly,
and yet...
this morning
I sip at a mug of Columbian
one hand to pick up a casino bought fob watch,
I let its fake gold chain run threw my fingers,
feel the weight of the colored glass jewel
set within its case
This simple tactility rests my mind
I am at peace with myself.
if all the lithium cell batteries were to cease
this instant,
I would still have this moment to live within,
the taste of rich coffee and this non-working $10 watch
to treasure.
Shivering sullen, silent all the time.
Suffering, wisdom, alone and sublime.
Where, O my oracle, shall I begin?
Blanch, light of Sin, nickel, cadmium, tin.
Hollow are hearts in the hill-towns, and why?
Dreams are a mystery passing us by!
Doom, thy coworker. O death, say a word.
Quartered by each third for flipping, old bird?
Tremendous temper-fount, volcanic fire!
Crater, thy rim is a pinnacled spire!
As for springtime, low are the levels and wet.
Red run regret, roundabout but well set...
Wily raccoon, the coyote, thy peer;
Sent us a message to grind in the gear.
O love, thy caresses have hope on the wing!
Solemnity, siren's song, arm in a sling.
Weathervane, point. Pain, agony, anoint.
Lightning, thy bolts do the dead man appoint.
Rare metal substances, deep in the ground?
Sound may surround what the looking-glass found.
Foundation, deep in the ocean's body?
Flickering firelight reflected by sea.
Young master, time will secure what you seek!
Poets and prophets through boneyards will creak...
Zenith below and white-capped with the snow.
Stern as a blow thrown by giants? Then go!
Dun desert air from all moisture set loose.
Forest, refuse what thy gods do not use.
Dithering dervishes, dole and duress.
Grim gambrel gangrel, gill, gauntlets to guess.
Heaven and Hell, have you seen me? Well, when?
Foxfire and frankincense burned on the fen...
threads ripple across space
as you draw pictures with your cells
lotus in my belly moves toward arched feet
is your Sun strong enough for a flower
preferring shade?
.
an irresistible pull of nourishing amber
I finger its veins with broken skin
petals fall apart, skirmish dust
instantly swallowed by your dog
Rumi gives a foolish grin
for once not knowing his words
then dervishes with Shams and Desert Fox
I cannot draw his silk
as his eyes guide mine to spaces between unwritten lines
mountains show a path with rocks
rabbits, lizards —
with my pupils dissolving into yours
rooting lotus
a kind of weakness (...)
Boca do Inferno
There is a small narrow inlet
on the coast of Cascais, or rather a scare
in the landscape the sea comes in has nowhere to go
churns around like a witches’ brew it is like looking
into a watery hell.
A man jumped into this dervishes dance and vanished,
other suicide victims are typically washed
Out to sea. In this case, the man was pushed into a cave
no one knew existed the floor was thick with gold sand
and the walls were studded with diamonds
The man was ecstatic he was suddenly rich
the wealthiest man in the world; then he fell asleep.
In the morning he was hungry walked further
into the cave found a lake of pure water and drank
and drank till he stomachs almost burst.
On the other side of the lake, he saw a light, swam
across the water was freezing, high up there
a sliver of light narrow as a virgin`s .
He knew he was doomed, back on to his riches
he sat down and cried could only think of a slice
of bread with blueberry on.
He sat there till he died of hunger and the world
would never know he was the wealthiest man on the earth.