"pasha" poems - Hello Poetry

I entered my poem "last night I dreamed" in the Tallenge poetry competition for May 2014, which it won, it's now in the annual competition so I'd really appreciate your support by voting for it at - bit.ly/1pJ0N3z You can find the poem down the line in my list of poems, but I'll paste it here again so you can check it out to see if it's worth a vote. Last Night I dreamt Of the Hagia Sophia. Looking across mighty Bosphorous. In Istanbul, in Byzantium, in Constantinople. A prize of ages........... In all her many's real and imagined glory. Man's desire, God's gift. Stone's testament To my species' faith, In eternity. Though this Hagia, My Sophia, was one of my dreams In a dream-city/state. In a dream Macedon/Thrace, Modern and ancient Asian/Europe, European-Asia, Turk and Greek Jew and Russian Balkan stars fall upon her' Coloured light's and bright vid-screens. Amid stone and earth Glass and concrete, Granite and amythst Huge, jewel-covered, ancient beyond measure.... Not just Constantine's church, though mighty church it was.. Or Mehmet's prize; though great Mosque it became Nor Theodosius's rock Though he still fights for her Somewhere in the past. And no dry museum either, Though museum she is.......... In reality. Just an ancient place, Euxine harbour Cross-road of man and water, Land and Gods Magic and reality Chozen by Hellas Built and owned by Christ's children Subjects of St. Paul's Holy empire. Orthodox and sacred To Greek and Rus. No Latin hymns We're sung in her walls. Then won by Turk In wars fierce and long - So now Muhammed's shrine Ottoman and Pasha Jewel of a new kingdom Built upon built Myriad upon myriad Pagan, Muslim, Jew, and Christian And the Gods of Hellas who dwell there still Watch and wonder at it all But in my dream She was made - in the shape of a grassy mound Many faceted, growing still Amid structures, attached to her spans and arches Ancient wonder Modern glory Flowing and rising Worshipped by all who dwelt near her. Grassed covered Monument strewn Stretching up to the dark - Starry Sky Arches Domes Butress' Spires Crosses Cresents Heart's desire White rocks paved And eternal grasses Dewed by Hellene Gods Whose light it saved Last night I dreamed Of the Hagia Sophia.......

0

Aug 12, 2014

Aug 12, 2014 at 6:21 PM UTC

paul-thomas-galbally

Not a poem, A request

I entered my poem "last night I dreamed" in the Tallenge poetry competition for May 2014, which it won, it's now in the annual competition so I'd really appreciate your support by voting for it at - bit.ly/1pJ0N3z You can find the poem down the line in my list of poems, but I'll paste it here again so you can check it out to see if it's worth a vote. Last Night I dreamt Of the Hagia Sophia. Looking across mighty Bosphorous. In Istanbul, in Byzantium, in Constantinople. A prize of ages........... In all her many's real and imagined glory. Man's desire, God's gift. Stone's testament To my species' faith, In eternity. Though this Hagia, My Sophia, was one of my dreams In a dream-city/state. In a dream Macedon/Thrace, Modern and ancient Asian/Europe, European-Asia, Turk and Greek Jew and Russian Balkan stars fall upon her' Coloured light's and bright vid-screens. Amid stone and earth Glass and concrete, Granite and amythst Huge, jewel-covered, ancient beyond measure.... Not just Constantine's church, though mighty church it was.. Or Mehmet's prize; though great Mosque it became Nor Theodosius's rock Though he still fights for her Somewhere in the past. And no dry museum either, Though museum she is.......... In reality. Just an ancient place, Euxine harbour Cross-road of man and water, Land and Gods Magic and reality Chozen by Hellas Built and owned by Christ's children Subjects of St. Paul's Holy empire. Orthodox and sacred To Greek and Rus. No Latin hymns We're sung in her walls. Then won by Turk In wars fierce and long - So now Muhammed's shrine Ottoman and Pasha Jewel of a new kingdom Built upon built Myriad upon myriad Pagan, Muslim, Jew, and Christian And the Gods of Hellas who dwell there still Watch and wonder at it all But in my dream She was made - in the shape of a grassy mound Many faceted, growing still Amid structures, attached to her spans and arches Ancient wonder Modern glory Flowing and rising Worshipped by all who dwelt near her. Grassed covered Monument strewn Stretching up to the dark - Starry Sky Arches Domes Butress' Spires Crosses Cresents Heart's desire White rocks paved And eternal grasses Dewed by Hellene Gods Whose light it saved Last night I dreamed Of the Hagia Sophia.......

97

*The fundamental phenomena in nature are symmetrical with respect to interchange of past and future.* --- Richard Feynman Millions for Defense In the Cabinet room of Monticello, clutching Decatur's letter, the President removes his wire-rimmed glasses --- Frigate Philadelphia has been burned. Decanting a bourbon, he pours and quaffs. Outside in the piazza the cicadas' din is unbroken. The Pasha of Tripoli has his tribute! In three short hours warm rays of sunlight will greet the outstretched arms of Earth, but for now the bourbon scintillates. Ink splatters on the blotter, as he pounds a clenched fist upon the desk. Not one cent!, he pronounces to the wall-clock. Cicadas hold sway in the Charlottsville night, but on the Barbary Coast a fire is raging.

0

Feb 23, 2012

Feb 23, 2012 at 9:39 AM UTC

brian-oarr

Millions for Defense

*The fundamental phenomena in nature are symmetrical with respect to interchange of past and future.* --- Richard Feynman Millions for Defense In the Cabinet room of Monticello, clutching Decatur's letter, the President removes his wire-rimmed glasses --- Frigate Philadelphia has been burned. Decanting a bourbon, he pours and quaffs. Outside in the piazza the cicadas' din is unbroken. The Pasha of Tripoli has his tribute! In three short hours warm rays of sunlight will greet the outstretched arms of Earth, but for now the bourbon scintillates. Ink splatters on the blotter, as he pounds a clenched fist upon the desk. Not one cent!, he pronounces to the wall-clock. Cicadas hold sway in the Charlottsville night, but on the Barbary Coast a fire is raging.

17

Last Night I dreamt Of the Hagia Sophia. Looking across mighty Bosphorous. In Istanbul, in Byzantium, in Constantinople. A prize of ages........... In all her many's real and imagined glory. Man's desire, God's gift. Stone's testament To my species' faith, In eternity. Though this Hagia, My Sophia, was one of my dreams In a dream-city/state. In a dream Macedon/Thrace, Modern and ancient Asian/Europe, European-Asia, Turk and Greek Jew and Russian Balkan stars fall upon her' Coloured light's and bright vid-screens. Amid stone and earth Glass and concrete, Granite and amythst Huge, jewel-covered, ancient beyond measure.... Not just Constantine's church, though mighty church it was.. Or Mehmet's prize; though great Mosque it became Nor Theodosius's rock Though he still fights for her Somewhere in the past. And no dry museum either, Though museum she is.......... In reality. Just an ancient place, Euxine harbour Cross-road of man and water, Land and Gods Magic and reality Chozen by Hellas Built and owned by Christ's children Subjects of St. Paul's Holy empire. Orthodox and sacred To Greek and Rus. No Latin hymns We're sung in her walls. Then won by Turk In wars fierce and long - So now Muhammed's shrine Ottoman and Pasha Jewel of a new kingdom Built upon built Myriad upon myriad Pagan, Muslim, Jew, and Christian And the Gods of Hellas who dwell there still Watch and wonder at it all But in my dream She was made - in the shape of a grassy mound Many faceted, growing still Amid structures, attached to her spans and arches Ancient wonder Modern glory Flowing and rising Worshipped by all who dwelt near her. Grassed covered Monument strewn Stretching up to the dark - Starry Sky Arches Domes Butress' Spires Crosses Cresents Heart's desire White rocks paved And eternal grasses Dewed by Hellene Gods Whose light it saved Last night I dreamed Of the Hagia Sophia.......

0

Apr 4, 2014

Apr 4, 2014 at 3:07 AM UTC

paul-thomas-galbally

Last Night I Dreamed

Last Night I dreamt Of the Hagia Sophia. Looking across mighty Bosphorous. In Istanbul, in Byzantium, in Constantinople. A prize of ages........... In all her many's real and imagined glory. Man's desire, God's gift. Stone's testament To my species' faith, In eternity. Though this Hagia, My Sophia, was one of my dreams In a dream-city/state. In a dream Macedon/Thrace, Modern and ancient Asian/Europe, European-Asia, Turk and Greek Jew and Russian Balkan stars fall upon her' Coloured light's and bright vid-screens. Amid stone and earth Glass and concrete, Granite and amythst Huge, jewel-covered, ancient beyond measure.... Not just Constantine's church, though mighty church it was.. Or Mehmet's prize; though great Mosque it became Nor Theodosius's rock Though he still fights for her Somewhere in the past. And no dry museum either, Though museum she is.......... In reality. Just an ancient place, Euxine harbour Cross-road of man and water, Land and Gods Magic and reality Chozen by Hellas Built and owned by Christ's children Subjects of St. Paul's Holy empire. Orthodox and sacred To Greek and Rus. No Latin hymns We're sung in her walls. Then won by Turk In wars fierce and long - So now Muhammed's shrine Ottoman and Pasha Jewel of a new kingdom Built upon built Myriad upon myriad Pagan, Muslim, Jew, and Christian And the Gods of Hellas who dwell there still Watch and wonder at it all But in my dream She was made - in the shape of a grassy mound Many faceted, growing still Amid structures, attached to her spans and arches Ancient wonder Modern glory Flowing and rising Worshipped by all who dwelt near her. Grassed covered Monument strewn Stretching up to the dark - Starry Sky Arches Domes Butress' Spires Crosses Cresents Heart's desire White rocks paved And eternal grasses Dewed by Hellene Gods Whose light it saved Last night I dreamed Of the Hagia Sophia.......

95

Trump sure knows how to share the sacrifices, spread that butter a little thin on his own toast, as say ... when he weekends at Mar-a-Lago, that opulent palace-like estate with its Flemish tapestries, lavish oriental rugs, & a Louis XIV-style ballroom, with $7 million in gold leaf on the walls, one-more-time ... $7 million in gold-leaf on the walls, & it is here that he relaxes every weekend this Sun-King of ours, this Oriental Potentate, this Pasha in crushed velvet, the cost of these jolly jaunts is $4 million each weekend, oh … & there’s $4 million a month for Melania & Barron too, poor young Barron, who one does feel for in a way. So … at the risk of sounding like an early 20th century Bolshevik & drawing attention to inequalities & injustices & wealth & rank luxury at the very time when hungry & lonesome old folks are to be deprived of basic nourishment, I'll say: "The revolution is not an apple that falls when it is ripe. You have to make it fall."

0

Mar 19, 2017

Mar 19, 2017 at 7:20 PM UTC

martin-bailes

“Oh Let Them Eat Cake”

Trump sure knows how to share the sacrifices, spread that butter a little thin on his own toast, as say ... when he weekends at Mar-a-Lago, that opulent palace-like estate with its Flemish tapestries, lavish oriental rugs, & a Louis XIV-style ballroom, with $7 million in gold leaf on the walls, one-more-time ... $7 million in gold-leaf on the walls, & it is here that he relaxes every weekend this Sun-King of ours, this Oriental Potentate, this Pasha in crushed velvet, the cost of these jolly jaunts is $4 million each weekend, oh … & there’s $4 million a month for Melania & Barron too, poor young Barron, who one does feel for in a way. So … at the risk of sounding like an early 20th century Bolshevik & drawing attention to inequalities & injustices & wealth & rank luxury at the very time when hungry & lonesome old folks are to be deprived of basic nourishment, I'll say: "The revolution is not an apple that falls when it is ripe. You have to make it fall."

48

Images ran wild, they boiled the water, Like a train running off the track They trickled down, metaphors poured out The world, million voices, reverberated Buzz-buzz-buzz, inside my head. I was alone in that room With panic attacks, lust and voices- That slipped in through my half-window. I broke the mirror, the brutal paparazzo Who printed pictures of my many facades I looked at him and grinned, Clink-clink-clink they smiled once- Dancing with wine glasses and alcoholics. I walked, walked fast and twirled- Like a tornado inside my cube People spoke outside-life tales, notebooks, Their late night phone calls and fine men. The world didn’t bother to open the door, Tick-tock tick-tock tick-tock the clock yawned. I sat on the floor and opened my pen, It vomited blue letters on the yellow paper- The customary dilemmas, past and blunders But something was new, a story. I looked for The English Patient, the nurse And his burnt skin I misplaced They did not appear, I lost hope. Gur-Gur-Gur, I snorted like a mad cat Misdirected to an old jute sack. I climbed up to my bed, hid under the rotten- Blanket and closed my eyes, the images ran, Ran away from me, climbed the hardwood staircase And fell down, I broke my knee. I opened the books- USSR, Pasha, Buddhism, Laughed loud like an unbalanced bloke, Tore them apart into pieces and pieces, Hush-Hush-Hush, my yellow monkey warned And I played with him “hush-hush-hush”. I sat next to my half-window The pseudo city, dozy walls and the distressed- Street light. Out of track. Images flashed again- chewing gums, pink house, The anonymous Christmas gift, malnutrition And the hibiscus my mother planted, “Incey Wincey Spider- Incey Wincey Spider” I sang all day looping around a pole. I sneaked down to the floor and dreamt Eyes wide open, a black and white old film. There was no exile, no god and his sins No wafers and secret lessons upstairs. Only the sea, popomatic, DD evenings Cassettes and a rocking bamboo chair Aw uck- aw uck- aw- uck , the seagulls squawked, I slept.

0

Sep 3, 2015

Sep 3, 2015 at 10:55 AM UTC

Gaye

The Pink House

Images ran wild, they boiled the water, Like a train running off the track They trickled down, metaphors poured out The world, million voices, reverberated Buzz-buzz-buzz, inside my head. I was alone in that room With panic attacks, lust and voices- That slipped in through my half-window. I broke the mirror, the brutal paparazzo Who printed pictures of my many facades I looked at him and grinned, Clink-clink-clink they smiled once- Dancing with wine glasses and alcoholics. I walked, walked fast and twirled- Like a tornado inside my cube People spoke outside-life tales, notebooks, Their late night phone calls and fine men. The world didn’t bother to open the door, Tick-tock tick-tock tick-tock the clock yawned. I sat on the floor and opened my pen, It vomited blue letters on the yellow paper- The customary dilemmas, past and blunders But something was new, a story. I looked for The English Patient, the nurse And his burnt skin I misplaced They did not appear, I lost hope. Gur-Gur-Gur, I snorted like a mad cat Misdirected to an old jute sack. I climbed up to my bed, hid under the rotten- Blanket and closed my eyes, the images ran, Ran away from me, climbed the hardwood staircase And fell down, I broke my knee. I opened the books- USSR, Pasha, Buddhism, Laughed loud like an unbalanced bloke, Tore them apart into pieces and pieces, Hush-Hush-Hush, my yellow monkey warned And I played with him “hush-hush-hush”. I sat next to my half-window The pseudo city, dozy walls and the distressed- Street light. Out of track. Images flashed again- chewing gums, pink house, The anonymous Christmas gift, malnutrition And the hibiscus my mother planted, “Incey Wincey Spider- Incey Wincey Spider” I sang all day looping around a pole. I sneaked down to the floor and dreamt Eyes wide open, a black and white old film. There was no exile, no god and his sins No wafers and secret lessons upstairs. Only the sea, popomatic, DD evenings Cassettes and a rocking bamboo chair Aw uck- aw uck- aw- uck , the seagulls squawked, I slept.

53

I love that my cat decides when we eat cat food and drink water. (My cat eats the cat food of course; I just have to put her first in the sentence because she's cooler than me.) She looks up at me, lazy green eyes suddenly expectant; tail twitching and curling into an upright S, she guides us between thrown pillows and an oversized Doberman kennel, door wide open, confusing my path, but Pasha gracefully darts past, a prr of joy escaping her tiny cat lips. When we reach the kitchen, all five seconds of our journey, I reach for a glass, and my cat, she meows, loudly and loudly-er until I acknowledge her cat bowl. She insists I stand by it, and she looks at me once more, waiting for my fingers to materialize on her fur, petting her neck and her head. Once she is satisfied, she buries her head and I close my eyes. And we drink. We eat.

0

Jun 1, 2014

Jun 1, 2014 at 6:23 PM UTC

thisbirdgirl

listen to your cat

I love that my cat decides when we eat cat food and drink water. (My cat eats the cat food of course; I just have to put her first in the sentence because she's cooler than me.) She looks up at me, lazy green eyes suddenly expectant; tail twitching and curling into an upright S, she guides us between thrown pillows and an oversized Doberman kennel, door wide open, confusing my path, but Pasha gracefully darts past, a prr of joy escaping her tiny cat lips. When we reach the kitchen, all five seconds of our journey, I reach for a glass, and my cat, she meows, loudly and loudly-er until I acknowledge her cat bowl. She insists I stand by it, and she looks at me once more, waiting for my fingers to materialize on her fur, petting her neck and her head. Once she is satisfied, she buries her head and I close my eyes. And we drink. We eat.

17

i might speak a "native" tongue... but i'm reduced to being a mere tourist back "home": of a home, no home... via the props and gains and no gains... and sparrow hearts of youth... i... foundation: scythe plough sly, stealth, slow, narrowing pupils: how did they manage to breed lizards with furry ***** of cute and cuddle in the Egyptian bonsai variety... bulldozer: i have a problem... seems... inhumane to keep a bird in a cage, or a woman in a man's heart, or his ******* envy, or... best kept in a pocket for a Mammon's chips of betting: fate against fate... scared about a concept of nemesis... - like any garden variety gnome: i borrow my lines via the mime of extras in shadow limbo... androgynous: in vox only... the eucharist of the ****** sorry... i'm the second jew, the second borrow, i am... a yoga squat will give me enough impetus to get off this scab of land as a Jude reunited with Jesus... as Jacob the brother of Esau, the brother of Israel... i, dodo project... whiskey more, whiskey some! rock the boat and call: for every tooth an anchor, for the tongue the whole crew, and for the shadow: a shallow basin's worth of a skimming pebble's tip-toe poke-poke of a frenzy... hell... this land this "somebody", this "anybody" this "body", this: certain grave... the noose the tickling leash and the ****** of a grey-day-to-day... and of course: پاشا‎, PASHA... the "snort" of a pig's worth of gob... my mother came back from the "homeland" and she brought back the litany and the epitaph... and i said to her: remember when your father (my grandfather) used to say the word leßer in ****** schlang? i've just learned... reader... plainly... and how many loan-words does the ****** speak? best hide in the Babylon of tongues that's the modern tongue of Ęglish... hic est mea lingua: mea lingua mea culpa... et non vestra culpa... sed vestra oculi... videre... dixit Karon (this is my tongue: my tongue my fault... and not your fault... but your eyes... see... said Charon).

0

Jan 25, 2019

Jan 25, 2019 at 9:52 PM UTC

removed.polaroid-scrabble

the eucharist of the ****** hic est mea lingua

i might speak a "native" tongue... but i'm reduced to being a mere tourist back "home": of a home, no home... via the props and gains and no gains... and sparrow hearts of youth... i... foundation: scythe plough sly, stealth, slow, narrowing pupils: how did they manage to breed lizards with furry ***** of cute and cuddle in the Egyptian bonsai variety... bulldozer: i have a problem... seems... inhumane to keep a bird in a cage, or a woman in a man's heart, or his ******* envy, or... best kept in a pocket for a Mammon's chips of betting: fate against fate... scared about a concept of nemesis... - like any garden variety gnome: i borrow my lines via the mime of extras in shadow limbo... androgynous: in vox only... the eucharist of the ****** sorry... i'm the second jew, the second borrow, i am... a yoga squat will give me enough impetus to get off this scab of land as a Jude reunited with Jesus... as Jacob the brother of Esau, the brother of Israel... i, dodo project... whiskey more, whiskey some! rock the boat and call: for every tooth an anchor, for the tongue the whole crew, and for the shadow: a shallow basin's worth of a skimming pebble's tip-toe poke-poke of a frenzy... hell... this land this "somebody", this "anybody" this "body", this: certain grave... the noose the tickling leash and the ****** of a grey-day-to-day... and of course: پاشا‎, PASHA... the "snort" of a pig's worth of gob... my mother came back from the "homeland" and she brought back the litany and the epitaph... and i said to her: remember when your father (my grandfather) used to say the word leßer in ****** schlang? i've just learned... reader... plainly... and how many loan-words does the ****** speak? best hide in the Babylon of tongues that's the modern tongue of Ęglish... hic est mea lingua: mea lingua mea culpa... et non vestra culpa... sed vestra oculi... videre... dixit Karon (this is my tongue: my tongue my fault... and not your fault... but your eyes... see... said Charon).

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