Well, I've written two . . . sonnets . .

first ones from the point of view of a typical twit youngish bloke . when he realises his latest conquests a bit keen like . . . He writes a poem . . . Leaves it lying around carelessly

So I'm to meet .your mum and dad ? . . .
But I thought this .  a one time **** . . .
Not children planned or Sunday roasts
I dreamt no champagne wedding toasts . . . !
They're coming round for tea . . tonight ?. . .
This ***** no longer feeling right . . !
In epic terms this now's a fail . !
I think .  it's time for me to bail !!
Though . . something sparkled in your kiss,
A luscious tingling of lips . .
Add alcoholic lust fuelled hips
Whose groovy moves I know I'd miss . .
So . . . If I meet your mum and dad .
Then that gets me . . another ****?

She finds the poem . . And replies . . .

Dear silly boy .  who left behind
His hopeful sentimental rhyme . . .
Who fancies meeting mum and dad
Just to secure another **** . . .
Well pretty boy  . . KEEP DREAMING ON . . .
Since any chance you had . . has gone,
I found your rhyme upon the floor . .
Now ******* closed . . as is my door
It's such a shame . .  you'll never know
How far down I can really go . .
Nor that my naughty little hand
Is worth your golden wedding band
My poet lad  . . you've well derailed
All future chance  . . of getting nailed

I'll get me a yappy dog
A small one
Scrappy.

He'll screech and holler
Like a rat lost in the dark
Oh how it'd be
To bear such a mark.

I'll get me a mousey dog
A youngish one
Mousey.

She'll annoy me in the mornin'
Evenin'
Night
Back to the height of the sun.
She'll tap and scrap till...

I can't take it anymore...

Maybe I'll get a biggun one
It'll protect me
Like a gun

She'll keep watch
While I be sleepin'
Till they put out some food
And continue on creepin...

Well maybe a medium one
Crazy as can be
Runnin' out in the mornin' sun

He'll play catch and give chase
Run with the pack
Cageless and free
Until I bring it inside...

Well, now it's gone to ***...
On the carpet...
Doggon it
Maybe I'll throw out that dish
Send 'em back to the homestead
Perhaps get a fish instead...

A GIFT OF OLD AGE

If old age does a gift on me bestow
it would be just: silence
in my youngish and manhood years
I had exhausted every single sentence

erroneously borrowed from writers,
from professors, friends, the clergy,
leaders, politicians, loud-mouths,
fanatics and extremists ( I didn't know then)--an endless litany

and I discover much too late
truth is only a word thrown about
for the convenience of the speakers
the stronger their conviction, the louder they shout

as they have all the answers
' you don't know-- you out
there---it's about time you followed us
we'll rid you of every doubt'

how I detest slogans now
pontifications are the death of me
I am lost for words--silence I choose--
myself I blame for my past stupidity

soon,  too soon I'll be walking
to life's terminus--near, so near-
with a tiny signboard ' finis'
I'll be quiet and calm --without a single doubt or fear.

Observing
the fast food crowd
A Harried mother
with crazed kids
A geeky dad
with one shy child
A youngish man
with a face full of ink
A young woman
just here for water
and an old couple
they seem happy
the list could go on
A full crowd with little
to nothing to do with each other
I'd like to read their minds.

To hear the song they called "Hello",
it whispered me your sweetest heart,
I always knew I wanted you,
though not of where,
and when to start,
an it's not I'm a stupid girl,
cuz really I am pretty smart,

I acted shy - I really was,
I didn't know of very many things,
but I could hear the music well,
an that lovely sound it always sings,
in a strange familiar comfort to,
to my heart it always brings,

I laid upon your chest back then,
I melted heavy in your charms,
I yearned for your embrace just so,
and the safety of those comfy arms,
I thought that you protected me,
to keep me from impending harms,

Your gorgeous hair in wavy browns,
as handsome golden streaks just shine,
I look at you my wonderment,
I thought "he loves me" boy of mine,
your heart just speaks our memories,
I thought you were just so divine,
so when you said hey baby
you are lookin' mighty fine,

Those eyes of deer you caught me hard,
I never really stood a chance,
so from the age of thirteen's kiss,
to the last -
our fading dance,
the memories they linger on,
of time I once,
I held romance,

We both then shared a language deep,
different though we were inside,
we carried fears in pocketfuls,
we hid safe away with stupid pride,
back then there wasn't any need,
or anyplace we'd need to hide,

I so remember the wedding well,
and we did it on a lover's whim,
I saw the tears well up in eyes,
an your heart it sung the sweetest hymn,

Your arms they were my church to pray,
a sanctity we only knew,
an from a glance we stole the chance,
and what a lovely flower grew,
I went with you just everywhere,
cuz everywhere that thing it blew,

I heard that thing it called me home,
and now my feet just wander,
instead of loving you I guess,
I love instead the yonder,
so as I look at you and reminisce,
my heart it just grows only fonder,

I thought we were together then,
the sun it smiled as you did,
I guess I've always loved you,
always boy,
back ever since,
I was a skinny kid,

But I was but young maiden then,
soft kisses how they startled so
I guess you want it faster still,
for now I have to let you go,

You came again back at nineteen,
you wouldn't ever leave my door,
I was now more ready to,
for true love to touch -explore,
you were everything I'd ever want
everything and so much more,

Though time is the real grand illusion,
shiny things turn sometimes dull,
sometimes things are really high,
no comfort in the times of lull,

I was then a youngish mother,
an I was always still your wife,
though there would never be a third,
it seems my ever-darling,
that I will love you all my life.


Ma Cherie © 2017

The smashed cookies on the ground
bring back a snow-flaked flurry of memories.
banging the tambourine on my palm,
lying on the hallway floor
watching the elementary students in the orange light,
in their feathered, polka-dotted dresses
and crisp red-black-gold suits,
miniature versions of the worlds nationalities.
I stuff stacks of programs in my dry hands
trying not to look like I'm caring.
But inside I'm still that youngish girl lightly tapping the bass drum
and hoping that nobody's looking.

Pregnant she waits,vibrates,
a mud grey dull day
opening the way for her droplets of rain.
I do not complain
she's had babies before and wore the same dress,designed to depress and to send under umbrellas,unwise youngish fellows in shorts,who are caught out,sought out by the gushing and rushing and the dash of the splashing.

How rash
how unwise
they should have looked at the skies before venturing forth
because of course
I always do.

An agony of a war
Within the family,
Twelve, we were
born, the first not
I am and, the first
just I am

A bigamy,
sometimes is
raw deal and,
outrageous is always
planting, on the
farm yard of a family
tree and it's branches,
there is hatred between
brethren of the same
parental map, the
youngish feel to
count out the unyoung
for no reason but, to
take the rag coiled
the head of the
Kingdom, where all
they lives and dwell,
I am more than pliable
and I am in the plight
mode like I plight to
someone throth having
no wealth, my heart feet
plod and trudge, they
Positioned my life as
plonker through all
the ploy and manoeuvre
seeded, downgraded own
talent and light of my pen
work, I will not be pride
on myself but, so many
did with the negation
of my family,
Everyone's hatred on
some like me, so why?

Because, I am bestowed
not with laziness but a
gift to learn and understand
easily, and I Wasn't gifted with
more wealth like mansa moussa

just your love is smiling to life
(to...my beloved divine souls..)

when I say goodbye to love
as if world turns into desert
my consciousness numbs, then
gets into my arms like poison

whereas... I mix up my voice with the wind
your numb smile
from my memory

whispers melodies
youngish and fresh
comes back to me

what I wish to tell you
blue at the sea
red in the dawn
freedom in the sun
rainbow at the sky
flowers in the mountains
warmth in the solidarity

so... devoutness of partisan
hate of guns
fire of the eyes
ballad in the lips
dances in the arenas
stars on the foreheads

so, knowledge in consciousnesses
honour in the souls
revolution in the dreams
rhapsody in the beliefs
love in the hearts
spirits in the bodies
that is, yearn
that is, love

so, my melody
every morning
luminosity
flows to my room
from the aurora
of your eyes
every morning
luminary of your words
when I step out
a hopeful cry to the world
HELLO!

Turgay Usanmaz

At the surgery

Here we are at the clinic's
waiting room,
a fat lady with bandaged big toe,
and an old man leans on his walking stick
he lives alone.

An ancient couple from the upland,
dressed in their Sunday best,
hold hands and look endearing,
a youngish woman who keeps rummaging
through her bag, and me.


Six pairs of feet in a slow shuffle,
Electrocardiography doesn’t
mend tired heart, only tells
us we are mortal

Washed your blood
From poor
Neglected brain

Down dismal
Drain

Youngish for your
Age

Your page burnt
By candle

Flame.

She caught me staring
not that she was beautiful or gorgeous
attractive, you know

While she didn’t let it get to her
that attraction was used to her advantage from time to time

You could see it through both her persona
Blonde hair all up in a bun
“Hi - I’m from the middle of nowhere
no one else is from there”
the uniform hiding the voluptuous shape
broad yet firm, hardened ***
this was a woman with spare time to walk.

Carrying herself in that cool, friendly, easy-going way
she likely loved what she did
more than a hobby - less than a career.

The following day - with her hair fully exposed
her face showed the no-nonsense style
“What do you want?
What’s up with you?”
the straightforward tone –
not a raised a voice
her face and hands-on-hips
          gave it away.

Those hips ready for the child-bearing years
to the light curvature in her long, strong back
while her *******, notably soft while youngish firm

To feel those hips beyond where anyone other than her husband
and two other college lovers had been,
would have been a life’s-measure

To suckle the sweet nectar of her firm, pointed ******* fully aroused
the kind of memory that memories are made of

Sauntering in and out of my life so quickly
me staring long enough to dream to distraction
- not long enough to become a nuisance, I shouldn’t think

So went my attraction

Matthew and zee missus Harris
express gratitude concerning largesse
regarding quite a few bags of comestibles
plus two twenty five dollar gift cards
applicable at Giant supermarket.

After myself and the missus
(courtesy friendly youngish gal)
beckoned, motioned, and ushered us
into the food pantry
(approximately eleven o'clock this morning)
from out the blustery chill wind,
where Old Man Winter still prevails.

I felt an effusion of blessedness
viz being fêted, lorded over
and treated like some dignified churchly father,
when yours truly, (a garden variety Unitarian)
merely scheduled appointment
initially coordinated thru
the person named Joe Foley.

I frequently experience profound social anxiety
(mitigated courtesy prescription medications),
and ofttimes feel like taking flight,
as adrenaline courses (née rushes)
and rattles these lovely bones of mine,
particularly when yours truly
finds himself within madding crowd.

One hapless generic garden variety guy
(me, an aging baby boomer
formerly many scores earth orbitz ago,
a long haired pencil necked geek)
plagued with panic attacks since... birth
experienced accursed
lifetime psychological providence,
where profound anxiety prevailed.

Impossible mission to describe
how fast paced life in general
generates utter confusion
analogous to floundering trout
besieges mine mental redoubt
emotional helter skelter all about
as if mine entire body electric

forced, kickstarted, subjugated...
to perform (yes folks) hokey pokey
mental gears and cogs
snapping, crackling, popping
inside tumbler like noggin
purportedly linkedin hashtagged
with said mild personality disorder
punctuated with debilitating panic attacks,
hence qualification for social security disability.

Onset of emotional paralysis
stops me dead in my figurative track
metaphorically wishing me to skuttle
back into hermetically sealed manhole
invisible among interleaved bract
where safe and sound
within mine secret cubby hole
also known as apartment b44
at Highland Manor in Schwenksville.

While listening to natural soundtrack,
within the outer limits of twilight zone
usually variation upon binaural beats,
soothing relaxation by
Peder B. Helland, an enjoyable youtube track
I imagine playing knick knack paddywhack...
as well as really idling away leisure time
occupied with other favorite pastimes
such as: playing solitaire, scrabble,

reading - qua crack
binding of newly purchased books,
(usually at Liberty Thrift Store)
crafting poems, occasionally
testing my chess skills
pitted against computer, backgammon,
as well as solve crossword puzzles
meditate (on the gift of a watermelon pickle)
to self hypnotize snapchatting,
kickstarting, buzzfeeding biofeedback.