"ankara" poems
embryos abandoned by narrow-minded chauvinists
became creations that were left to the vagaries of women
hallowed feminists with their Ankara bags
perfumed head-ties with glittering beads
the sounds of their colliding bangles filled the space
they had no invitation to the platform
but their ways had won a people’s heart
protectors of knowledge
intellectual midwives
the people of the Village of Faces
salute you!
Feb 21, 2015
Feb 21, 2015 at 2:48 PM UTC
An share duk wata tantama
Lokacin da babu wata Tama
Da za'a zuba akan tabarma
An fada an nanata fada
Babu fada a tskanin fada
Ta fada tasa na fada a fada
Ga su bature mai jan kunnuwa
Ya kifa hula a ka mara kokuwa
Cak! ya cake kuma ya rike hannuwa
Har da galadima mara hannuwa
Ya dunde kai nasa har kunnuwa
Kai! kace buzu ne a bisa ganuwa
An tsare tsari can bisa tsauni
Sai tsala ihu! ni ku sake ni
Ko na dare derere kan tsauni
Kaga gada a gada sai yin dara
Kallo, kifcen gefe ta ankara
Mai harbi da gwafa ta daddara
Ka ji biri da dila yan yaudara
An ajiye kwalba a cike da madara
Sun dauke a guje ba hattara
Kai shaho Sarkin dauka na samaniya
To ka aje ka gudu ka dau anniya
Kar mahari ya hare ka da kibiya
Jan 18, 2021
Jan 18, 2021 at 11:27 AM UTC
so you write a lot,
pouring entire waking existences,
current n' prior,
into a long and crafted 'pistles,
and pixels
and you got jive pride
and then, the poem,
you worked so hard for,
ups and dies
gets a few middling fingers of reads,
dying on a vining of
Juliet's pseudo poisoning elixir,
no big deal, happens all the time
but here's what's wielding & weirdly wilding:
***A poetpourri.
of newly found co-inhabitors,
from around the universe,
from places unpronounceable,
unlike Venus & Mars, (very poet-popular)
and from previously places were
never or seldom was heard a
discouraging word, igniting a
rewarded mutuality of a
following up embracing***
par example;
Tirunelveli
Poland
Lisbon
Cyprus
Bihar
Uruguay
Ankara
Vienna
Albania
Tanzania
India
Bangladesh
New Zealand/Australia
Soldotna (Alaska)
plus Texas, West Va., Ohio, and other exotica, like
Nowhere
what a blessing!
Blessed art Thou o Lord,
that permits the miracle that my integers
of 0 & 1
can be translated into such
varied exotica, in harmony,
thus permitting this discovery of
never visited oceans and landfalls
of poetry never heretofore to join as
one.
Aman.
<>
nml
Aug 30, 2025
Aug 30, 2025 at 6:31 AM UTC
Minä en ole yhtäkuin paidan- tai hameenhelman pituus
tai seksikumppaneiden määrä
Hetkittäinen rohkeus ei määritä minua,
eikä hetki kun henki salpautuu kassajonossa
Se ei kerro mitään jos väistän katseellani, annan sen kulkeutua ohitsesi
Tai se, jos pysyn nauramatta tuijotuskilpailussa
En halua koskaan uskotella tuntevani sinut paremmin kuin sinä tunnet itsesi,
mutta sinä olet enemmän kuin särkyvä ääni puhelimessa,
enemmän kuin humalassa hoipertelu rappukäytävässä,
enemmän mitä isäsi sanoo sinun olevan, enemmän mitä äitisi odottaa sinulta
Turhaan olet niin ankara itsellesi,
jos suutelet väärää tyyppiä kotibileissä
jos kätesi tärisevät niin pahasti ettet pysty piirtämään suoraa viivaa,
ja läikytät kahvia uudelle paidalle
Se peseytyy pois
Dec 29, 2015
Dec 29, 2015 at 7:42 AM UTC
From the Ankara of Augustus wandered,
east to the clefts of the Earth's breast:
at Shambhala i seek the tooth
from the maws of paradox,
a teaching from Lord Maitreya,
a stretching through the void of ascension.
In the cycling Kalachakra looping
step three, the divine is inside
and divides, as out so in.
As above, so below.
It claws through the pages to reach me,
and you, to strike the gong.
As within, so without.
Beyond you always,
eternally inside.
Jan 28, 2014
Jan 28, 2014 at 7:44 PM UTC
I tell them to watch a movie- that one when the sun sets like aloe on their scalded skin, that one where after sunset, the guy kills himself.
But I don't tell them that part, I simply lather the lotion thicker, suffocate their burn and boast about the healing powers of cinema I so humbly wish to share.
In honesty, there is little need for conviction as I so kindly spread love on their wound, proposing the perfect solution, a comforting press to the chest.
On condition, they are instructed to watch alone; travel to Ankara and snuggle beneath cloudy blue skies. They must take extra care. And under no circumstances should they tamper with the blooming blisters- they should let the summer breeze do all the work.
They trust me, pathetically, even as the hours wane on, even as my waxy ointment melts to oily paraffin and slips far, far away from the wound.
I doubt that they even notice, but I know that with five minutes to spare, all hope of healing will be held out of reach- especially as my soothing facade shatters beneath blinding strobes, as my fibs fade and salt sprinkles their skin with the promise of a permanent scar, fragile tissue that will surely wither with the sun for an eternity to come.
The credits roll and so do the tears, until their cheeks are so stained, so branded with hollowness that all left to do is howl out for the end to near.
Now, they feel like I do, and we will suffer a lifetime of sorrow in unity. It makes me feel a little better.
Sep 23, 2024
Sep 23, 2024 at 8:02 PM UTC
It was always there
The conflict
If it wasn't at the Kurdish border
It was within the heart of Ankara
Spreading rapidly through the country.
They named the airport
After Atatürk, First Turk.
Bet you would turn in your grave
I still remember your portrait vividly
There was reason and natural authoroty
In the depths of your brown eyes.
We fell asleep under your watchfull gaze
now that's a handsome man
She marked herself as
"safe in Istanbul"
The tension rose within me
And I knew that if anything
Ever happened to you
I'd never get over it
I gritted my teeth and typed
"Why don't you just come home now"
On paper, you are home
But in our hearts
Your home is here
Come home
come home
come back
Jun 29, 2016
Jun 29, 2016 at 1:19 AM UTC
My feet move me
Like a sailor determining the
Fate of a ship
Kilometers I move, away from my hut's threshold
Where I battle in thoughtless thoghts
.
Solid thoughts,
Roaming on my mind like hawkers
On the streets of Lagos
I felt the tears of the cloud
Drenching me with knowledge on
My only piece of "ankara"
.
Where would fate lead me?
For I fear it's forces may blow me into
The forest of unfulfilled dreams
Will I end up like my fathers?
Who had many wives with shorten lives
Ha! I need the compass of life
.
Let me excrete myself on the platform
Of golds not of the gods
Not reality in an invidious thoughts
Yes, I decide my fate!
Not the gods, reality or some stupid thoughts!
.
Balogun David Tolulope
Drunk poet*©️2017
IG=ace_da_drunk_poet
Jul 21, 2017
Jul 21, 2017 at 3:13 AM UTC
Alfred out fishing
Alfred the pianist, who insists he is not my father,
And I went out fishing, we caught a few and when I gutted one of them
We discovered a ring which Alfred said he had given to my mother Olga in Ankara
before the war. It was an expensive ring –
Gold was cheap back then- and it fitted his middle finger.
We didn't feel like eating fish after that, and I gave them to an elderly seal
resting on a sandbank, it lived on what other seals gave it.
When my father Alfred was very old he gave me a ring I to give Olga
my mother who refused to believe I was her son, she had never
seen the ring before and refused to take it, so I gave it back to the sea
and the forgotten tragedy of someone drowning alone; mind it is
rare that someone holds the hand of the ones who drowns.
Jan 15, 2018
Jan 15, 2018 at 5:40 AM UTC