Long Make like Poems
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I see you’ve larked with fairy friends,
On bough, in fields, near brooks -
Pebbles skim the water’s edge;
Jump skip, jump skip, hop - over brook…
‘Which side is greener?’ Asked the Dragon mare.
‘The bough of tree bridges brook - both sides have I tested’,
Says the fairy brave, but correcting honour charges -
‘From deep within the wizards’ field-view, safe!’
Adventure and foreign lands lay claim,
To imaginations fervent and fertile;
Treasures sought, leisure - larking be sought;
Toil is not for fairy folk!
‘Pray why, Dragon mare, do you enquire so?’
‘My thoughts to share with fairy folks? Ah!
‘I the pool have mastered so,
Can stir and stir the pool - like so.’
‘Watch the ripples in the pond,
Lapping and distorting so,
Muddy muddles shall I make - like so,
And in the commotion you shall I fake - like so!’
‘Watch the images of you and I…
Wish, I watch you say good bye!
Good bye! Good bye! Good bye!
The seeds I sow, like so - good bye!’
Images of Dragon and Fairy Reflecting,
Did merge in muddy muddles so,
But Dragon’s arm grew tired and weak,
Of turning and turning the pond so deep.
And wide and deep it grew as muddy muddles she did sow,
Till all around it would allow!
Tis not the way of the strongest bough,
To be broken by the Dragon’s breath.
Hence the bending bough that fringed the pond,
Did listened to the wailing Dragon sow,
The Dragon’s breath whistled, like wind;
Messages on air laid bare.
And bye the bye, time did pass,
Then all awaited with baited breath,
For the wind to change direction so.
And so it came - wind sowed did reap!
And in the pond ripples that lapped the sides,
Had changed direction so,
All engulfing did the Dragon find,
The successive waves that lapped her mind.
What a bind, the waves they lapped her mind!
‘Tis not the fairy that blinds me so,
But the bough that bends and shades the pool, like so,
And shades the reflection that is mine no more.’
There deep beneath the water so,
Now visible is the reflecting fairy so!
Bough he bent down low,
And offered the fairy reflected espousal.
Light and vision in the pool, now so clear…
Bough he ought not disappear -
Should fairy drown without him near?
Aurora swims so, dear; ought she not the Dragon fear?
In the valley of the culprits
be patient.
Remain planted on your legs
to be struck
by the newcomers and leaving them
never look behind you,
so that each one can see
the hairstyle on the nape of your neck.
In the valley of the culprits
while insults fuse
do not say anything, especially
make like the nightingale which ate a blackberry
while the human one depreciates.
The bump at the end of your nose
must not have an impact on your spirit.
Know that your language burns if you eat while pricking
and your backyard burns if you speak bitterly.
Above all
forget your mother, and your father.
It is not necessary to worry about their fate
or that they are weakened physically
and drag themselves along.
Do not say anything.
Drop...
Let your efforts break down.
Let the mast be reversed...
Carry on your way simpering.
If you see a fallen friend
above all have no feeling
no pity
and if you have envy, give him another kick.
Do you know that nobody is thinking of you at this moment?
If you come across a large turkey
cut its throat without saying anything to anybody
and eat it!
Have no panic, remain still
where you are well hidden!
In any event
You are in the valley of the culprits.
You will be viewed badly if you work much.
You will be driven out if you speak the truth.
You will be crushed
if you go the way of love.
You will be beaten in various ways
if you resist tyranny.
You know
that there are things not to be neglected.
In any event
you are in the valley of the culprits
Be pitiless!
You know that integration is spoken about uniquely,
that at least your indentity card is like theirs.
One demands it from you insistently.
If in spite of all you do not like
all that I have just said
do what you want, act according to your desires
as well as your accomplishments.
One never knows
Perhaps you will be accepted!
Üzeyir Lokman ÇAYCI
Paris, le 04.11.2004
Traduit par by Yakup YURT en français
French free verse translated into English free verse
by Joneve McCormick – 05.12.2004
I am if not a man of routine
A glass half full is a still a big spill if it tips
I can't believe you’d let those words slip
So make like Pluto and demote yourself
That's only something you'd say
While imagining someone else
The floodgates were opened and now it's time to build a dam
And remember the patterns of the river if you can
You can't recite your own phone number but let's see if you can focus on what I deem important
Keep wearing your wardrobe like stained glass;
Better hanging up and subtly religious
I filed my petition to make you a God, with almost enough signatures
But the town atheists caught wind and didn't bother
So here I am, still struggling to look at you as an equal
A middle ground is what we're not tracking
And my moral compass is still locating
I know you'd be the archer if I'd let you
Help me find north, and put your arrow right through the rose you gifted me
And leave it hanging there, impaled on the moss side of the tree
And if you need a huntsman to provide for you, let it be me
What does it mean if when I get close to you,
My logic compass needs to recalibrate?
I don't know if I believe in soulmates,
But silence would be yours, instead of me of course
I still can't piece together how I watched you sleep,
But somehow you left through the door I had open just a crack
NASA called,
They want their aerodynamics back
So make like a scientologist
and remove yourself from our created environment
I hope time travel is real
So I can see this all unfold again
I really love the part
where we made everyone invested
I'm so stuck in my head trying to watch it all unfold again
I really love the part
where we made everyone wonder what was said
And I have to say, what's in my head does the trick sometimes
It's not you in the flesh,
But I try to be a glass half full kind of guy
What if the city streets rolled up, and Malthus resurrected
As the sun rose at night and stars skipped upon the sea?
What if the tales of doom were doomed, and earth opened
Like an egg and hatched to flight her neo-phoenix brood
Where honeysuckle bloomed amid bears and bees?
What if the peace of Jerusalem arrived spontaneously, the golden
Dome first melted red in the blood of Abraham, and cousins celebrated
In ashes and sackcloth for their plenitude of sin and sacrilege,
For coveting evil eyes and murdering prophets, and for child sacrifice—
Before dancing all together like David, reciting of God’s marriage?
What if the desert ran to color without the rain, done with waiting
And sprang out in berries, plums, pomegranate, and an aviary symphony?
What if a stump burned and chopped found one quick root, and from its side
Shot up a branch, a remnant that billowed forth a bush of life, white
With flowers and nests with throbbing shells colored in rainbows?
What if dominants turned to making peace, became servants of the poor?
What if politicians spoke the truth and people heard it wisely,
Inspired to make, like neurons’ matrixes, neighbors of all, blessed
And provoked to evolve together, free, as one individuality?
What if poetry was said as child and adult put to bed, and arose?
What if science discovered everything was alive, sentient,
And rocks and trees indeed sang witness of their source,
Every molecule in hum and dance, and each cell alive
Communicating with every other of love’s energy and meaning?
What if veils were shorn so beauty’s every face could be seen?
Yet all of these—what if—are common small compared to expectations
True, that the door on which I knock is also knocking—with the reality of you.
fear seems to be the cause du jour
fear if it all just ended
shapes us like quivering jello molds
fear of the landline
tapping into our heads
fear of the landmine
careless gifts from the feds
electric shivers
primal and oozing
forgetting ripe young days
played out in faded kodachrome
ripp'd into summer's apple
flushed future shiny bright
dimmed by memory's bitter yen
the terrible beauty of what could be
now just sloshes out like regrets and bad wine
make like the sparrow that hides in the bower
for who is the shadow on the doorstep at noon?
make for the mage in the tumbledown tower
bring him warm bloodwine, he'll grant you a boon
grasp for the jib line
gasp for the moon 'cause
all the fair haired heroes have jaundice
leatherskinned and alone above corner liquor stores
old capes used as blankets, stained with nostalgia
huddled around scrapbooks filled with clippings
when a world made some sense
bubbling under a mantle of order
of when the world wanted cops 'n robbers
drunk indians lassoed and penitent
mysterious strangers with masks and grooming
problem solved
freedom used to be free
(but not for a gov'ment career)
move along, nothing to see
question nothing you've ever heard here
but do any words now
whether spoken or ink
have some monitored text?
will the next bard or wry wordsmith
have to sneak stealthily in
through the trapdoor of the poet house
or perHaps clevErLy sPin US!!!
through coded thought crime?
is the opposite of fear
really love?
(or is it even worse)
are we damned in quiet whispers
if the opposite of love
is apathy
meh.
“If u truly are here, then maybe I’ll regret this song”
Mother received a gift horse
She just never looked it in the eyes
Nine months later
she had more than she could lift of course
If going through labor was written in a book
Then some soul lies
Straight from her vaginal insides
I splattered my head
With the grisles in my infant arms
I gripped my throat
Assumed to visualize myself after dead
That day Diane realized
God doesn’t give a god damn
I’m stripping my soul of it’s beliefs
To provide one final volume
of what I have least to achieve
Laugh like I just want some attention
So unreliable
am I the only person you forgot to mention?
I expect nothing less than your undeniable attention
Dorm room fantasies,
Few episodes of *********** relaxes my *****
Storms doomed Atlantis see!
A new leprosy, father have you seen us
As you can see
God just doesn’t give a god damn
Vote or die, whom ever you spoke with is a lie
John Kerry, George Bush, it’s all in good hopes
I guess the worlds going to end anyways
So you can do what you want
For the most of many days
Now it’s me swinging on you
Loyalty is adored
But is only affordable through truth
Cry like a baby
Before I’d ever lay to make like a lady
This is not a war call
Just a scene where stars fall
someone give me a hug, maybe a tug
Before I purposely fall off this cliff
And become a hysterical myth
Maybe I already am
Form:
I am at one with myself
I am the tree trunk that grows from the ground
As the branches and twigs move when the wind blows
I myself remain robust
Extentions of my life break off and die
Or just exist to practice irrelevance
Accepting I am the livelihood to willing dependants
And therefore needed suggests a great responsibility
And requires an even greater sense of commitment,
Patience and empathy from oneself
In the unfortunate circumstance I should grow weak and fall
Those who also rely upon my strength will topple alongside
So it would be in their best interest
To seize being deadweight and endevour to unify efforts
In the never ending hope of longevity
I will stand as tall as I can for as long as I can
But can not guarantee my position
When mother nature takes course
And hits me with all that she has
Such a pitty my proposal will fall onto branches and twigs
Whom of course have no ears so do not hear me
Leaving me to haul deadweight alone for as long as I'm capable
A twig is but a twig, a branch is but a branch
A group of branches and twigs aiding my life long mission
To be the tallest, strongest tree in the whole of the land
Shall render any force formed against me as inadequate
And lead us onto an inevitable path to prosperity
To those that do hear what I have to say
I bid you farewell and leave you with a thought or two
Whilst I make like a tree and leaf
Form:
upon first attractiveness,
mixed with a self-assessment,
pretending you don’t have a “league,”
yet then wondering if s/he’ll speak to you,
the walk up is full of butterflies,
the keeping of the hands at the sides is
torture,
the sputtering of whatever comes out
sure the hell wasn’t planned,
but then when the face appears
looking straight at you,
with a millisecond of focus
before it all goes away &
this is your moment
this is your chance in the spotlight
to keep the interest of the one that
has infatuated now from afar,
only increasing as one became closer &
closer,
so you muster all your wit,
do your best to keep your cool &
remember what it is that you yourself have to
offer,
but as your eyes make contact with his/hers,
you see a sadness,
though s/he does their best to hide it,
there is a story there,
which becomes the most interesting thing
that you never would have noticed
if you stayed ogling from a
distance---
still, it pulls you in,
because the tragedy behind the eyes
is going to reel you in with the rest of the
package, bringing the baggage to the
forefront &
even though you want to make like it’s a
“human thing,”
telling yourself that s/he would have to deal with
your baggage too,
you retract,
make the conversation end quickly
as just another pretty face
becomes laden with drama
which would make this a
project of sorts &
your own interest has
turned.
the “understanding”
there had been a lack of desire
on both parts & while one party
might have fallen away quicker,
the fact remained that the two of them
wanted to keep every aspect of their
lives the same, with a slight change
in which they could
“see other people,”
“have an open marriage,”
etc.,
etc.,
etc.
as time went on,
one party revealed more than the other
that this “understanding” between them
was less savory than it had initially
seemed &
secretly, held inside, they began to
fall for the person who no longer shared
their bed,
all over again---
however,
just like the little children
which they both often resembled,
what with their drama, spats &
fighting in the sandbox,
party #2 did not
disappoint &
found themselves deep in the pants of
another, younger, more energetic
personality,
who did not judge them
as if they’d known them forever
(as said spouse notoriously had,
like they were somehow entitled to
engaging in such criticism).
in an agreed upon arrangement,
the party in love became jealous,
trying to make like it wasn’t bothering them,
attempting to go on with the rest of their
life ignoring the new spring in their spouse’s
step,
but it becomes slow torture, this
waiting for the other to come around &
one can only kid themselves for so
long, before they come to the understanding
with themselves, that they have been
had.
I ask for your help
I have never been too proud to beg
Beg your pardon
Beg for a morsel of your time
Time to write a different script
Time undertakes my logic
Logic has never been my strongest point
Logic lacks what I need
Need bounces off my equilibrium
Need feeds off yesterday's mistakes
Mistakes I repeat
Mistakes you never seemed to make
Make like a bird and fly away
Make your waves on a different ocean
Ocean line yourself out of here
Ocean spray your inconsistancies
Inconsistancies with a capital C
Inconsistancies I can't see
See me walk
See me run
Run past forward
Run further away
Away from the thing I was
Away from your simple
Simple pleasures
Simple mind
Mind playing tricks on me
Mind over your matter
Matter of facts I didn't understand
Matter converted to energy
Energy that cost too much
Energy we both wasted
Wasted on yesterday
Wasted on nothing
Nothing ever really lasts
Nothing is nothing but a whisper
Whisper insanity in my ear
Whisper until my mind erases you
You have consumed me for too long
You who drip from your empty
Empty cup
Empty promises
Promises I hung my hat on
Promises you never meant to keep
Keep away from me
Keep what I can't have
Have my dreams
Have a cup of my broken
Broken
Dreams
I read Debbie Guzzi's poem and thought I would give the form a try.