Morgan, 16 august 2014
Into the purple sea, feet first
along the whales back
stuck with barnacles and whorled worms
slips the man from the boat
who used to be a priest, then a rabbi,
buttoning his mackintosh.
ker-splash!
The whale glides off, laughing and spouting
the boat drifts off, the sun goes off.
the atolls drift and shift. The sky popsickles green.
'Isn't it lovely', sputters the man
(who has lost his stove pipe) emerging
back into air. 'Isn't it lovely'?
Morgan, 16 august 2014
Lovely new good mood
you visit me like a floppy cloud
filled with warm rain
blown to land's end
and half-way back:
tumulus of cumulus, off lit.
Squarish in my mind you sit
unpeeled like an orange:
gold suffusing blue,
vanishing, twinkling into view
like a chunk of dry ice
subliming by your own rules.
New and presently blue
you leap for the sun like Pegasus
yet bit by bit, you too,
will go, that I know is true,
for no one can hold you
when your cords undo,
and off you'll go like a helium balloon
to the moon, to whom your elated
to be distantly related.
Morgan, 16 august 2014
Florent, Florent
that it should pass
your manic grin
helas, helas
Florent, Florent
then so now, now so then
Florent--
To a boy from Astoria
A pretty good restaurant:
Florent,
Sic transit gloria.
Morgan, 16 august 2014
When I sweat the big sweat
shudder, die and descend
to the Stygian shore
(which may look a lot like the Hudson,
only darker sliding)
I will quickly locate the ferry gate
and, after only a little wait
offer its famous boatman a poem
swearing it my only fare.
Then, I bet, he'll sniff 'what's this for'?
(having known every past form of coercion)
shake it out briefly, and moving his lips
begin to read, leaning on his oar.
I further expect, as he reads, to see brightening
his tired eyes, and a smile
lighten his dour face;
that, finishing the now-damp poem,
he'll look me appraisingly up and down,
sigh, tip cap and say:
'All aboard, sir, there's a seat for you here--
Estimable shade, your table is waiting,
people are expecting you there,
on the other side.
No one said you'd be coming today--
How's the weather up there, anyway?
I do sincerely hope you'll enjoy your stay
with us, here, and find everything here to your liking'.
Morgan, 16 august 2014
The way your gaze
runs 'round the room
and lights on me
and not by accident
I dare assume
Makes my heart
pick up its pace,
skip and...why
it might be said
to even race.
In my bad ear
a crackle of static
makes me wonder
whether something's up
in this old attic
And makes me for
the moment sure
I have not lingered
far too long
at this here fair;
So that in spite
of ruin and wrack
I can't be blamed
if I reflect
and send it back.
Üzeyir Lokman ÇAYCI, 16 august 2014
What species of humanity are you?
Whatever kind you are, you don't worry us.
According to hearsay
you were willing to lay your hands
on small items
deposited by my mother
to the communal account,
close to a bank.
I know that since its existence
Istanbul has changed others.
Some who have gone there wearing worn down shoes
have returned in high heels.
You continue to brush its streets with your skirt.
Mirrors do not show what really happens.
Ah, yes, you forget so quickly
the dusty streets of the sub-prefecture
of your childhood.
This ruse is your currency of the moment.
I know you.
You have swindled your brothers and sisters
with many recoveries.
My daughter, is there nobody to take you by the hair
and demand that you seek out America or Europe?
You have invented a lie to fill your pockets with money.
What species of humanity are you?
Whatever kind you are, you don't worry us.
Üzeyir Lokman ÇAYCI
Paris, le 09.10.2004
Traduit par by Yakup YURT en français
French free verse translated into English free verse
by Joneve McCormick - 25.10.2004
(Note: Soul to Soul presents this fine poem and others
in the spirit of communicating freely to increase understanding,
not to cater to any agenda or offend any nationality.)
Satish Verma, 16 august 2014
Looking beyond the window
I always wanted to shut my eyes.
No sky could hold my head.
I did’t want to see the innocent smiles
vanishing from the moulded faith.
The smell of burning leaves waftes through
the catacomb of dead thoughts.
The time does not spare any overflow of poetry.
Life extracts its price of tomorrow.
Nothing will change. People will laugh,
weep and mourn. A candle for those
who jumped from minaret of silence. A
bonquet for them who died on waves.
I will hide the kernel under the mud
by stealth One day amongst the
spikes a pink spirit will rise. A double landmark
for death and dust.
Satish Verma
Gert Strydom, 15 august 2014
In the tempests of the world bring tranquillity,
in all be Thou the only guide to me,
lead us the right way, when darkness comes,
to our great eternal and happy homes
guard, keep, love, cherish and do protect us
while we on the way, learn in You to trust.
While we stumble and on the wrong way go
protect us from every kind of foe,
lead us while we learn to keep You in sight,
to be like You, who are our eternal light,
help us to Your kind of loving to adjust,
while we on the way, learn in You to trust.
Gert Strydom, 15 august 2014
I wish that I could clearly recall the day
the exact moment, the instant that we did meet
but it runs away like something with ever moving feet
as if the emotions between us are ever at play
and now I cannot really clearly say
what had happened but that moment was sweet,
each other we did pleasantly greet
and although that time had slipped away
to both of us later it meant so much
and at the times when we are apart
nothing can our true love remove
and its impact lingers in each touch
are in each glance like a silent kind of art
which does its sweet presence prove.
Satish Verma, 15 august 2014
Till last moment, life can produce a meaning.
Of sky, stars and space between darkness and light.
I am not going to weigh the burden
and insult the ‘how’ of impossible,
so much is still to finish.
I am not going to commit suicide.
Are there any takers of grass, of moon
and scented winds?
the borderline is very vague between
ecstasy and depression.
A bit of silence, a patch of sunlight
I drink my cup from the tranquil hands.
I am water, I am fire
The fear is not going to dissipate me.
Satish Verma
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