So, if I let you in, inside my skin,
Would you feel at home or a bit perplexed,
If you wore it next, would you feel reborn,
Or, with me being gone, a tad forlorn,
Could you wear this skin, this, the one you're in,
And not feel it's wear in you, well could you,
If the answer's yes then it's my best guess,
You're not too sure whose skin we're in, right now,
Let alone whose head, do we feel the same,
Inside, no matter whose skin we are in,
It's love that I crave, to not feel alone,
To create, just be the spark that I am,
Yes, what about you, do you feel the same,
Do you glow in the dark, softly throbbing.
For Eldon Edge
An empty chair beside the fireplace waits,
And lamplight falls upon an open book,
Pen, pocketknife, keys for the pasture gates,
Dad’s barn coat hanging from its accustomed hook.
But he will not return; his duties now
Transcend the mists of the pale world we know,
And you in grief must carry on, somehow;
Your duty is here, for God will have it so
The good man takes that chair reluctantly;
It is a throne of sorts, and one imposed,
Not taken as a prize, triumphantly,
But in love’s service, and in love disposed.
An empty chair beside the fireplace waits
For you, whom doleful duty consecrates.
The breezing leaves are gone, the weather's cold,
The summer and spring went to other places,
The lovely sun through clouds shines not as gold,
No more a comely sheen upon the faces.
The nightingale stops with praising the rose,
The parrot stops repeating other songs,
The smiling buds are coming to a close,
Talking about the colds does fill the tongues.
And so, I only see of you a lonely stem,
Who cannot be adorned to shine again
With a priceless gift, ring or precious gem,
As in past days, to make you beauty reign.
The fading of beauty, what you concealed,
Our nature tells about, the air revealed.
Fifty six years have I planed planet earth,
In search of a true spirit of service,
Grinding my day, shaving seconds off time
In service to a spirit of service,
My own connection to something sublime,
Something shared and peculiar to me,
Something so simple it sets my soul free,
So simple it allows me to be me,
Fill the sky with your ships, let truth be known,
And let no soul be alone or afraid,
I the offspring of seeds scattered and sown,
Desire to demonstrate how I am made,
Show me our difference, share in our love,
See how we shine from below and above.
A Horizon is just beyond the grasp
Of the great reach of my fish-net, I can
Near see the sun that kissed the end of sky
And settles within its golden embrace.
Northern winds grapple my silent locks of
Hair, and it smells of thyme and salt. The sun
Is mere a glow of hope, she now beckons
Me with her love and light over the mist.
Pale wings lift my shoulders to meet the sun,
I feel the wax begin to melt and drip.
As the ocean does swell forever near,
The Horizon is ever growing far.
The waves extend their outstretch’d arms in
Swirling tides to greet my fall, a final time.
What's the indefinable rapture makes you feel relentless?
Lost dreams, the forgotten touch of beloved's grace
Lonely egret flying high with heavy mournful wings
The sun and clouds intertwined, seeking solace
On a summer day, riveting fragrance of raindrops
In dusty box, hundreds of love letters locked
Lovers kissing passionately in the City of Culture
The nightingale sings for love that left unrequited
With the Earth, Lily of the Valley smiles
The Sun shines bright beholding beauty of life
Distant oceans roar high erasing traces of footsteps
Glory, thee journey finding reasons for being alive
Scarlet rose fading colors like broken promises
The sunrise brings anew hope even in strife
Oh Seraph loving celestial being
Through clouds you tiptoed ,finger playing harp strings
Long and short stroking , affecting my heartstrings
Fine looking angelic maiden bejewelled eyed
Porcelain skinned , golden trusses i espied
(Alas you stole my heart with no thought shown
Ripping shred from shred torn as if your own )
Alive with grace she strode dignity in dance
My heart did pound as i await her advance
Feverish sweat I did perspire should she pass
I caught her eye she welcomed me at last
She slid beside loving with tender blithe
I write this sonnet for you my darling
Oh Seraph loving celestial being
Merhaba ey parlak şehir!
Bu vakitte yalnız meydan,
Görünmüyor ki bir insan,
Sokaklar kurumuş nehir.
Yalnız deniz yelli gelir,
Kuşlar geçer zaman zaman,
Millet kafede mi bu an?
Bu şehir ve Mevlam bilir.
Ne o aşıkları gördüm,
Nede ışıkları gördüm,
Bir serin boşluk sadece.
Lakin bu ortam rahattı,
Erkendi şehrin saati,
Bu da bazen kardır gece.
The blackberries on the railway path are ripe.
The woodland birds are quick to take their share,
while purple fingers pick amongst the hype
and rabbits hop in the hedgerow somewhere.
A cool wind spirals, rustling fallen leaves,
carrying distant cries along its way
and bending the amber-tinged tips of trees.
The sound of summer joys are in decay.
They soften, becoming calmer, quiet,
like tired eyes in need of time to sleep.
There are some feelings I cannot forget
and memories I will forever keep.
Meet me along the railway path, my dear,
to breathe the mellow, autumn atmosphere.
What was that about ironic?
They swore I should be published when my frail
Attempts proved that my alphabet was thence
Down pat, a couple verbs and nouns from whence
I made a twisted bit of nonsense, pale
And certain notes that I owned more than bail
For their now wasted cries of sheer pretense,
Nor would they quiet down 'til their defense
Was trounced when I could speak and damn the tale.
Yes. Now that I trip off much less obscure
Lines, even sentences which march straight to
The point, I've lost my following as twere.
Come, did they like the early babble? Few
Can make it past the toddling stage, whence fer
The grand achievement, I'm alone. Boohoo.
Please don't say either that I was from hence
Givn this quite fair, though transient gift's detail
To hone its more exquisite sense in pale
Excuse for being alone, nor that twas thence
Deemed fit cuz twould be yet destroyed (whose sense
Of worth was fragile in sheer truth's betrayl),
But grant me something more, as if for bail,
And say that love will pay for my intents.
Walk through the library amassed as twere;
Yea, listen as my spirit filters through
The tapestry of lines, until in poor
Reply its voice half alters subtly too.
Did I leave innocence behind? Twas your
Fault who taught me what life is: loving you.