Yurt Poems | Examples

A Long Goodbye

You fixed Mongolian stew
on a two ring Russian-made burner.

It was understood,
that we would not be drinking
salted milk tea
in Ulan Bator anytime soon.

I would be moving on,
you would be moving into
this one room, bed-less apartment.

Kazakh embroidery,
added an exotic ambience.
to the threadbare living-space.

Later we laid down on goatskins,
imagined that this cold room
was a warm yurt.

Our bodies were a perfect fit,
for an imperfect love.

We kept ourselves warm
beneath thick woolen Deel's,
which we both knew
were the national costume,
of the desperately lost.

Harbor Forgiveness

Harbor Forgiveness						


His uproar was clear and overt
damage our love in one spurt
wreck Twenty-Ninteen (2019) “Home Port” chert
My soul is deeply deeply burnt

Pure kindhearted intent converts
to mistrust dreadful disconcert
mom, dad overly protection subverts
son’s golden career –- ugly divert

Three against one was no flirt
Cruel heartbreak alone in desert
Heal my ache in bitter dim yurt
I’d rather curse pain than hurt

Why is it, when my heart is hurt
I’d give a sigh of high alert

Will our gentle courtship be revert?   
Self-healing must reassert

Again, again forgive to unhurt
Harbor forgiveness free the hurt

Wind Is Pounding In My Heart

'wind is pounding in my heart'

It tears across the steppes and plain, it guides my mind and eases pain
Whithin the yurt, upon the road, it whets my mind; eases the loads
I've rode it's Breast ten thousand times,' with banner high the yak tails nine
Its of my blood, throughout my race, we hold it near'in flood; or trace
It's face is clear,, it's embrace strong, we sing it's praise riding along
The clatter of the ponys hooves, not loved by those who dwell neath rooves.!
The pallid sallow, wall surrounded.. And when we start they'll be astounded..'
We ride hard two days and nights, to charge and wheel; and ever strike.'
To clear a space, where yurts can be; then to move in travel free
To wake to different scenes around, to venture quickly into feotid towns
To take a bargain, to strike a deal; to return to the fire, and let sleep steal
And in this act, renew our mettle, to grasp each  chance with finest fettle.

'For the contest of Constance Lafrance'
'Be inspired by your muse'
Written 17 8 2022

Tickle a Chicken

Take a chance and dance with ants in your pants!
You'll wiggle and squirm; your belly will firm.

Run in the sun, tell a pun, have some fun!
Bustle your muscles, and hustle to Brussels.

Jump on the bump of a stump and get pumped!
Tickle a chicken; your ticker will quicken.

Jog on a log with a frog in a bog;
spy on a fly way up high in the sky.

With a quick flick, toss a stick to a tick;
jig with a chigger a little bit bigger.

Squirt some dessert on a yurt in the dirt;
float with a goat on a boat in a moat.

With timing, your rhyming gets better, not worse.
So pick up your pencil and go write a verse!

Bearly Believable

A woman in Alaska,
With her brother on a hike,
Never dreamed that on a bathroom break
Unpleasantness would strike.

She sat down on the toilet
In an outhouse near a yurt
When she felt like something bit her
And she screamed because it hurt.

Her brother raced inside to see
Perhaps a squirrel there
But a glance into the bowl revealed
None other than a bear!

The wounds were superficial
But be warned before you strut
Into an Alaskan outhouse
Or a bear could bite your butt!

Yurt

Yearlong, we have waited,
yearning for vacation,
yet like nomads we dwell,
yon from city life, spritzed
yellow frisking through firs,
yielding to swift trail bends,
young, sleeping in bunkbeds.

6-13-2021
Y Plieades

Wildlife 46

Wildlife 46

A hairy and weird smelling yak,
Lay watching the sky on his back,
A Mongol called Kurt,
Yelled abuse from his yurt,
So he shouted back "Cut me some slack!!"

Exiles

You fixed Mongolian stew
on a two ring Russian-made burner.
We understood 
that we’d not be drinking salted milk tea 
in Ulan Bator anytime soon.
Nevertheless, 
we bought Kazakh embroidery
laid on goatskins, treated the room
as if it were a symbol laden yurt. 
Your body was my perfect fit,
a silken deel of sensuality,
which we both knew
was the national costume
of the desolate and lost.

Busses

Most kids ride the school bus twice a day
School buses don't often have wood stoves
or beds you can sleep the night away
Ours did though

More than once I lived in one 
Some painted like a forest some with a double bunk
I once dreamed I was falling then I landed with a thunk
crying, mom picked me up

After the rat house and after the yurt 
in a grove of trees my sister explained 
about tampons and why she had no dad
 
in the same double storied  cabin 
on top of the bus I later froze one night
because I didn't know there were more blankets 
and my mom was down below. 

I didn't know of any other life beside 
the woods, the school and rising tide
of thought that grew within me, wondering
why I felt so angry of the differences I felt inside

Of Two, Your Uncle Doesn'T Like Either

By his attitudes
your uncle resembles
a machine with laughs in brightness! 
With some difficulty
most people stop themselves
from laughing.
Besides, are they are in a state
to laugh -
poor people?
Their problems exceed their means,
high costs exclude...
their children are untenable.
Their waiting
lags behind
the century. 
Finding
nothing else in place
he grabs passers-by
by the nose...
a gag in one hand,
a carrot and an onion
in the other.
As a matter of fact...
what does he want,
your uncle? 
 
Üzeyir Lokman ÇAYCI
Magnanville, 17.04.2001 
Traduit par by Yakup YURT en français
French free verse translated into English free verse 
by Joneve McCormick, 16.10.2005

They Have Taken Their First Steps In My Heart

The pain first took hold of my wrists
In the heart within my heart
My sweet children
Took their first steps.
Rain drips on the windows
There is that which comes
From far away
With hands in handcuffs
I do not know the day or year of humanity...

Stars shine
Thanks to drops falling from trees
The moon springs tight a trap on my pessimism
For a night...

The pain first took hold of my wrists
In the heart within my heart
My sweet children
Took their first steps.

Copyright © Üzeyir Lokman ÇAYCI
Bor, 18.08.1974
Traduit par by Yakup YURT en français
French free verse translated into English free verse 
by Joneve McCormick, 10.08.2005

They Have Woven a Net Around Us

A feeling of nearness to suffering
In our hearts
While we reduce the dimensions
Of the essence of light
With our eyes
In a local scuffle
Them
They have woven a net around us.
Bearing the pains of life
While watching the people with sullen faces
And tired thoughts
All along the years
We have heard the whistle of whips...
With well-concealed thoughts
Those
Never thought of us
And... without any mercy
Have woven a net around us.
 
by Uzeyir Lokman CAYCI
Traduit par Yakup YURT en français
French free verse translated into English free verse
by F.J. Bergmann, 2002

Istanbul In My Dreams

Your expectations are carved into my eyes...
Their shapes melt in my dreams
The face seen in your postcards
Is not that of your soul Istanbul...
Living apart does not change your seas
Your waiting landscapes offer themselves
Thoughts do not remain still
Istanbul rests its weight upon my loneliness...
White fish swim in your living past
Seagulls float in your memories
Obliterated friendships stay awake till dawn
Anatolia rises from your horizons Istanbul...

by Uzeyir Lokman CAYCI
Traduit par Yakup YURT en français
French free verse translated into English free verse
by F.J. Bergmann., 2002

Shaping Tomorrows

They are sinking
In the multiplication tables
While growing older
In a lack of emotional resources...
The differences
Are unnoticeable
In mirrors...
These
They are nailed
To loneliness.
The seasons
Are unnoticeable in their hearts...
The years
Rotting
In their eyes
To them...
The revolution
Is not the result
Of the last few minutes
In their alphabet
There is a path
To curses.

by Uzeyir Lokman CAYCI
Traduit par Yakup YURT en français
French free verse translated into English free verse
by F.J. Bergmann., 2002

Friend, You'Re Not the Guilty One

Friend, you’re not the guilty one
The guilty ones are the evenings
See how they drag you down into this obscurity...
Trouble not yourself
Everyday’s "Love’s Labour Lost"
Vanishes away
Your eyes have learned
The meaning of love anyway
Learn how not to remember
Every point of suffering. 

Remember not those eyes, those eyes
Have gone and they’ve enticed you into smoky cafés
Don’t go and believe 
your eyes, they're just not
as sharp as they used to be
Friend, because you aren’t the guilty one,
The guilty ones are hopes
Leaving you to the shadows. 

So what’s the use of fussing
If they’ve never understood
The poems your own baggy eyes
Have forgotten? ... 

You’re alone in an unknown beyond
Your eyes are alone as well ...
You’re not guilty, friend
The guilty ones are hopes
Leaving you alone in darkness.

Üzeyir Lokman ÇAYCI
İstanbul, 20.02.1975
Translated from Turkish to French by Yakup Yurt
followed by English translation by Richard Vallance

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