Long Turk Poems
Long Turk Poems. Below are the most popular long Turk by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Turk poems by poem length and keyword.
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.
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....
A Poem Of WW1
ANZAC Day
25th April 2018
Let’s have at Johnny Turk
Winston Churchill said,
We’ll secure the Dardanelles,
Keep our Russian trade fed.
His words so casually uttered
May have had to be eaten
Johnny Turk was well Generalled
And not so easily beaten.
The naval campaign to start
Was, at a price, repelled,
The following land invasion
Was resisted and held.
After eight cruel months
Our forces were withdrawn
Half a million dead and wounded
Left for both sides to mourn.
They came from India, New Zealand,
Australia, Canada, Europe as well
Only to leave their bones
In Gallipoli’s Hell.
And so it ended,
A campaign of disaster
With massive repercussion
Felt for so long after.
Constantinople never taken,
The Ottoman Empire in shreds,
Turkey arisen from the ashes which
Gallipoli General Attaturk led.
Words attributed to Attaturk
On a plaque overlooking the Bay
Honouring the dead of all Nations
Still stands to this very day.
Eighty one cemeteries and memorials
Now overlook that battle’s scene
The only mute and grim reminder
That a disastrous campaign had been.
And so we parade each year
To respect and honour the memories,
Of those that survived and those
Resting in foreign cemeteries.
This Poem was read out by Padre Ralph Catts, our Honorary Padre, at Hull Cenotaph ANZAC Day Parade. I had the honour of laying a wreath on behalf of Hull Veteran Support Centre. The Poem was written for the occaision.
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
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.
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
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
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 home
work?
Mom has to help them like a enslaved Turk!
Then prepare dinner for all three.
While wash 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 the 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 jello surprise.
No more pretty hair, we must look
like men?
What's 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.
5/10/2023
I do realize, with inflation at all time high,
Food and gas, too?? At times there is no choice!
The house is boiled cabbage
goose fat, gizzard stew, and beets.
Windows steam and simmer,
you can write your name on the glass
winter or summer.
If you can live among rutabaga
or borscht; if pickled eggs haunt your palate
then this house becomes air in your lungs.
The landlady was Polish or Russian;
she spoke with a burly churlish tongue,
she moved like a Turk, her walking cane
was a scimitar. She supped a tarry tea
from a Serbian samovar.
We shared a toilet with a slim man
who was slinky and still in the closet,
he would saucily wink over strong drink.
His lips were rosy not pink. He washed
argyle socks in the kitchen sink.
There were others, they left early
riding pushbikes into the grey streets.
The lady groused, patrolled perimeters,
barged prying hands into private matters.
Hairclips and rubber bands fell from her curlers
as forewarnings and threats.
The Bulgarian or Croatian crone
had broad bad hips and liked me not
for back then
I used a substance to ease my mind.
I would smoke in the shared toilet
leaning my thin mouth through
a small slanty window,
she absolutely knew, and threw
passing daggers
with tightly curled Estonian lips.
We stayed like that for months
until the city regurgitated our lives
once more.
Once more seeking low rent rooms,
from those cosmopolitan guardians
of small city spaces.
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