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Jon Shierling Oct 2013
There was water near, her horse could smell it, and so could she after journeying so far. Seemingly small things regained their importance in an empty land such as this, for what use is wealth without water, or power without others to wield it upon? A strange thought, not like her at all. People changed in this desert though; she knew from the way she watched her horse’s stride, and how she could remember all the names of the constellations, something she had not been able to do since times long past. She would not allow her mount to make directly for the water source, a well most likely, and she was wary. Around the foot of this dune, and there it was, the expected well, and a single palm standing sentry beside it. She drew water, relished the sound as it sloshed around in the hide bag, relished the act of letting her horse drink first, the joy of uncomplicated companionship. She drank, refilled her own water skins, ate a few dates, and let her gaze wander. She had maybe an hour left of daylight and was in no hurry to arrive, wherever it was that she was going. A hawk cried as it stooped upon a hare two hundred yards to her right, a beautiful thing to her. And on the heels of that, a fear. A quarter mile away, outlined against the distant plateau, walked another rider.

She had been drifting, sailing almost into a sleep, and now she was awake. What was that sound? Guitar. Her guitar, played with unsure hands, hesitant and sad. Bodiless chords making their way through the open window. God it was hot, oppressive almost, and she could still see the sweat beading on Clara’s forehead. She would not get back to sleep now, not so uncomfortable. She wriggled out of bed, carefully moving out of Clara’s arms. Needlessly though, Clara never woke without a good shaking or a loud noise. She pulled her green sweater off of the chair where it had been thrown an hour before and paused before putting it on. Something she had forgotten to do maybe, something at the back of her mind. Nothing. Closing the door behind her, she padded through the small living room to the open balcony and stood behind the man sitting on an old barstool, rescued he said, from a bar in Alfama. She watched him try and play her guitar, watched him bent in concentration. There was a bottle of wine and two glasses, one empty, standing on the wicker table next to him. Picking up the empty one, he held it out to her without turning around. “I hope I didn’t bother you Ta’ra, I was in a mood and couldn’t help it.” “No,” she said, taking the offered glass, “It’s too hot to sleep.” It annoyed her that he always knew when someone was around him, and in she and Clara’s case, which one of them. Curling up on the loveseat opposite him, she gazed out at Lisboa in all of its late afternoon beauty. “Give that back, you’re butchering whatever the hell it is you’re trying to play,” holding her hand out for her guitar. He handed it back to her, shrugged and said something about it being a long time since he’d picked up an instrument. She smiled, drained her glass, and began to play an old song, barely remembered. “Çevrem, etrafım şen mutlu iken. Ben yine hüzünlüyüm” She had never heard the melody played with a guitar, but she knew it well enough to play it without any hesitation. A haunting thing, this song, in a dialect she only knew by proximity, but no less powerful for people who cared for such things. She cradled her guitar, intent only on the music, on where her fingers must go. He watched and listened. “Why talk. If you do not listen to me? Running away…”
Jon Shierling Mar 2014
Unlike some in this world, Simon was not afraid of loneliness, had no need to feel needed, in fact had often wondered how these two women had come burning out of the desert into his private world. He had been a solitary man most of his life, wandering or running from something he wasn't sure. What he was sure of was that he loved these two people whom God or Allah or whomever had placed in his path one day in Tangiers.

He had read the book by Mitchener titled "The Drifters" when he was young, and remembered it now as Ta'ra wept in front of him. Torremolinos was on the other side of the Iberian sure, but the irony of the similarities seemed so poignant that he couldn't ignore it. He put out his hand to this woman, who had travelled so far and for so long she was afraid of what permanency could mean. She made as if to slap him again, and stopped.

"Please. I don't want it to be like this". A bare whisper.

She touched his hand. A hand girls had once thought smooth and soft. No longer.

"I'm afraid."
"I know."

Sitting back down, she picked up the orphaned guitar, and gazing out over Alfalma, she again sang her childhood lullaby. “Çevrem, etrafım şen mutlu iken. Ben yine hüzünlüyüm”.

A girl in France uses a razor against herself in the bathroom between classes, an orphan in Delhi does what he can to provide for his sister, two wanderers find some sort of peace on a balcony in Portugal, and a broken ex-soldier writes about them in America. Where we began, does not have to be where we end, and the lives we touch may never be known to us. But that doesn't mean that who we are, and the joys or the sufferings, are meaningless. We are human, and to be human is to be searching.....
Muzaffer Nov 2019
Kelepçeyi çözün!

Plastik bardakta su var masada
İçebilir,
ya da,  yüzüme boca edebilirsiniz.
Paşa gönlünüz bilir.
Şimdi, oturu lütfen.

Prototipi teşhis ettiniz az evvel.
Gözlerine baktınız mı? Yüzüne?
1.84 boy, 83 kg civarı, esmer
kalpte herhangi bir leke yok.
Fakat düzenbaz voltalarınıza rastlanmış, ve foseptik sözlerinize.
Ayaklarında deniz, omuzlarında bir sabinin bacak izleri mevcut.
pusuya düşürmüşsünüz akşam vedalarından sonra
bok yoluna gitmiş dudakla
derkenarı düşmüş
otopsi.

Dolap çevirerek ardı sıra
oyalanmış tarafınızdan.
Askıda ekmek var mı,? demişsiniz fırına.
Cebinde yaralı bir tomar sevda
Yok cevabı alınca,
Narkozlayıp kek hamurunu.
Hedefi saptırmışsın sıcağı sıcağına.
Ne kadar da, şeytanca
İnanmış, inanmaya planlı da
insan sanmış sizi
fakat siz şeytani bir düğün
kurmuşsunuz
altından kaybolmalarınıza
vicdan yapmışsınız sevişirken

Şimdi cevap verin!

Emniyette huzur buldunuz mu?  
Suçu gizlediniz
Oynaş etkinliğinde bulundunuz
orospu çocuğunda olup
maktülde olmayan ne buldunuz?
Bir cevabınız yok mu?
Bir süre donra
evrakta sahtecilikten kapı önüne kondunuz. Aynı sütü bozukluktan
Vampir ısırığı öldürmez dişi yoksa.
Siz protez talebinde bulundunuz.
Peki orada mutlu oldunuz mu?

Susuyorsunuz.
Susayacaksınız halde.
Kanamayacak olması ne gam
ihtiraslarınızın kuş yutan gülüşe artık
Öyle demişti pezevenginiz
kandım dediğinizde orospuca

Boğula, boğula can vereceksiniz.
Sırıtık, maskeli bok çukurunuzda
Oradan şarkı linkleri atın bize
kim olduğunuzu kimseye söylemeyiz.

Götürün şu kaltağı gözümün önünden..
Muzaffer May 2019
paraftan ziyade
ıslak imzalarınız mutlu ediyor beni
o yüzden
kırmızı öpücükler bırakıyorum
banyo aynasına rujunuzdan
her sabah

ve geceden kalma
açık, saçık sözleri
düzenlice katlayıp
hafızamda ütülüyorum
buruştukça günboyu

seviyorum ıslak imzalarınızı
elimde değil
aç parmak uçlarınız
dolanıyor boynuma
saçımda daireler çiziyor
dikkatim dağıldığında
yıldırım düşmesi gibi sıcaklık
kaskatı kesiliyor
döner koltuğumda
ayağa kalkamıyorum
Pierre’den

ıslak imzalarınız hep aklımda
hız limiti veriyor
eve dönüş yolları
mil çekiyor dudaklarıma
kapıda karşılamanı
umud ediyorum dün gibi
her akşamın tadı
dünden başka

ıslak olan herşeyinizi
seviyorum aslında
heyelana kapıldığınızı mesela
ve şiddetle boşaldığınızı
yükseklerden
derin ormanlarıma

durdurmak büyük haz veriyor sizleri
bir çınar gibi
iki pembe dudak aranızda...

sımsıkı sarılıyorum
savurdukça kırbaç gibi
sadakat saçlarınıza..
Muzaffer Jun 2019
gözlerimde
yüzme kararınız
şimdiye dek
hiç olmadığım kadar
mutlu hissettiriyor

*** tepelerinde oynayan
bir çocuk gibi
küçük çakıllar diziyorum
bikini izlerine

dudak kesimlerim
güncelleniyor böylece
daha fit bir dikişe

yeni moda değil
tanrı vergisi meleke
çok iyi bir
terzi olduğum söyleniyor
birkaç yabancı dilde

ve şilebezi akşamlar
işin sırrı
çepeçevre
memnuniyet çitlerinde

ve
dans ederken
duble beyazın içinde
çakır olacaksınız siz de

başın göğsüm
gövdem
inmeyen asansör zirvede

iki maviyiz
bir kavanozda artık
ve hazırsınız
boşalmak için gökyüzüne

her zamanki gibi
önce siz lütfen..

— The End —