A year to roll like a dice

Picture: man rolling the dice

With high hopes we stepped on a year that was supposed to be ten and zen.
Instead the world shook with earthquakes, 222,570 died in Tahiti, only.
Eyjafjallajokull burst out with hate, impacting travel, economy and health.
Monsoon flooded Pakistan; land and people submerged forlornly.
Many in Russia smoked the ashes for weeks, not of cigarettes but that of trees.
Heavy blizzards killed many homeless; some even paralyzed hopes for Christmas.

Despair turning moments to a decade, we are about to count up another year.
The countdown of sorrow has sunken deep in us; who can see the lights of future?
How but wow: we pray, we wish and we believe, oh still!
So let us drink for a new year to roll like a dice; for a new chance with every throw down.
Let us still hope in 2011.

Beril 27/12/10

Eureka!

picture: Andy Warhol by Ben Heine

The bareness that is spreading within,
Ingesting whatever’s presented from being...

The inability of worlds to illuminate the gloom
Of the dark fissure guzzling the source of thrust...

The indefinite destination of a journey consuming
Its passenger in a circle – the unit of origin...

The repercussions becoming worthless...
The worthlessness a concern...
The concern extraneous...

Conclusion is simple:
It just hurts.

Beril 12-27/11/10

---------------------

Nomad

sculpture: Nomad by Jaume Plensa

Nomad

At home, lying in bed.

“I want to go home.”
Evdesin ya, uzanıyorsun.
“I want to go home.”
Peki. Evin nerede?
“I don’t belong anywhere.”
Hiç bir şehre, hiç bir kimseye mi?
“Cities are full of people. I’m empty.”
Ne yaptılar sana böyle?
“They pulled me. They tore me apart.”
Parçalara mı bölündün?
“Many. Many pieces spread all around.”
Tekrar bir araya getirebilir misin?
“If some weren’t lost...”
Hiç bir şey kaybolmaz, sadece yer değiştirir.
“Miss-place. Hmm. That sounds about right.”

Tell me. What would you do with a leftover heart?

Beril

24/10/10

That feeling

I’m looking for something
I don’t know what it is
My mind tries hard
What is it? Oh what is it?

I wake up after midnight
Look at the street lamps across
Try to remember it
What was it? Oh what was it?

That feeling I have
As if I’ve forgotten to do something
That feeling I have
As if I’m half, I’m missing.

I skim through my folders
Hoping for a hidden signal
My heart beats by prying
What is it? Oh what is it?

I open up a new tab
It’s not on side bar or history
I stare at empty page thinking
What was it? Oh what was it?

That feeling I have
As if I’ve forgotten to do something
That feeling I have
As if I’m half, I’m missing.

Beril

09/09/10

Transparent

I'm transparent

Inside in and inside out

True colors visible through.

I'm transparent

No one can stay in

Step in and go through.

I'm transparent

Because I leave

I'm transient and you're through.

Beril 22/08/10

User’s manual to Mind

Meishin, the Mind Cage by Thomas Gianni

Introduction to Mind
Plentiful and miscellaneous,
Gifted and perilous
Mind is powerful and glorious
Read through this user’s manual
And you might learn “e-How to” mind.

Section I: Analyzing mind
The smell of cherry blossoms
Generates the sense of admiration
Only then when its beauty
Is analyzed by the studious mind.

Section II: Learning mind
Constant sensory information
Processed by somatotopic regions
Takes its place in hippocampus
To be used, reformed, reused.

Section III: Dreaming mind
Never ending dreams are a way
Of making sense of what one has learnt;
What one saw today becomes a spot
That could be a butterfly or a moth.

Section IV: Loving mind
His pheromones, her chemoreceptors
Are only the beginning to the wildest dreams;
It triggers stirring and passionate love
That seems to guide poor judgment of heart.

Section V: Creative mind
Stimulated, curious, restless mind
And touched by the angel of love
Seemingly goes beyond the limits
But only feeds off of unknown.

Section VI: Amnesiac mind
Good things won’t last long;
Mind living on edge will lose;
Unrecovered data is a sign;
Some things are better left alone.

Section VII: Melancholic mind
Antagonist to the tears of laugh,
Its bitterness is as sweet as love;
A state between dream and knight
Tears you apart with careless joy.

Section VIII: Under the influence mind
Amplification of joy or sadness
Comes with the flow of an unbalanced madness;
The best way to misrepresent one’s intention’s
Under the influence of lost self-control.

Section IX: Obsessive mind
Merely one word, one feeling, one object
Becomes one’s reality in the twisted mind,
Gradually desensitizing, becoming oblivious
To the possessiveness of a growing doubt.

Section X: Angry mind
The limits expand under strong emotions;
One’s capabilities are now one’s abilities.
Responding to fight rather than flight,
One destroys the OuT-tHERe minds.

Section XI: Destructive mind
Punching walls or smashing windows
Will not let it out; it’s trapped in the mind.
Cannibalistic, vicious and despaired cycle
Needs a second shoulder to break down.

Section XII: Sick mind
Talented bare hands on a collar, choking with bliss;
Balls of eyes, reddened, popping out of their socket;
The muffled voice of a half gulp and stray breath
Followed by death; all minds combine with a brutal zest.

Endnote to Mind
A balance is the key to proper function;
Good won’t exist without the awful.
Your weaknesses don’t tell who you are;
They shift the balance of “your” mind.
Though, you can always change your mind
As long as you care and say: “ever mind”.

Beril
17/6/10-01/8/10

Quoted poems: Valentine by Carol Ann Duffy

Not a red rose or a satin heart.

I give you an onion.
It is a moon wrapped in brown paper.
It promises light
like the careful undressing of love.

Here.
It will blind you with tears
like a lover.
It will make your reflection
a wobbling photo of grief.

I am trying to be truthful.

Not a cute card or a kissogram.

I give you an onion.
Its fierce kiss will stay on your lips,
possessive and faithful
as we are,
for as long as we are.

Take it.
Its platinum loops shrink to a wedding-ring,
if you like.

Lethal.
Its scent will cling to your fingers,
cling to your knife.

Carol Ann Duffy
1993

Hope

Hope II by Gustav Klimt, 1907/8

"Whoever wants to know something about me -- as an artist, the only notable thing -- ought to look carefully at my pictures and try to see in them what I am and what I want to do."Klimt

Hope

I’m waiting for something that will never come.
The hope is keeping me from giving up.
I know I make too much out of thoughts.

I always pursue what I’m told I can’t have.
The hope is keeping me from giving up.
I know I'm stubborn, maybe even competent.

I’m mourning the absence of an imagined loss.
The hope is keeping me from giving up.
I know I enjoy wandering off in hopeless mind.

Beril, 25/05/10

Ltertes & Lvoe

picture:"Love" sculpture in NY by Robert Indiana.

imss. I was confused.
issm. Buried thoughts.
isms. No song put to rest.
sism. No book was spot on.
sims. No movie played it right.
smis. And ltertes were misplaced.
smsi. So, I tried all the combinations.
ssmi. Lterte to letter and lvoe to love.
ssim. I thought I would be relieved.
mssi. Once I found the right order.
msis. I was mislaid; as I still do.
miss. The search is not over.

Beril 24/05/10

Interpretation of the poem "It's not you it's me" by the poet: me!

All this time here I thought

Love's left my premises, abandoned me

Turns out "it's not you it's me"

Whose forgotten you:to love

If “love” is perceived as the loved one or as one’s lover, then this poem is about a break-up. With the departure of the loved person, one realizes that it was one’s own fault since one has forgotten either the person or how to love that person. However, if “love” is perceived as the feeling of love, it’s about self-awareness. Thus; “you” refers to love not to a person. One realizes that forgetting love (or how to love) is the reason why one doesn’t have any love in one’s life.

“All this time here I thought” can be read two ways: either as “all this time, here I thought” or as “all this time here, I thought”. The first one emphasizes the time, the location is not important. It shows the time has been spent (or lost!) thinking otherwise. The latter way of reading on the other hand points out the significance of the location; “here” refers to the “premises” mentioned in the next line. These two separate meanings call attention to how time and location can be interchangeable when one is lost in one’s thoughts.

The word “whose” – which sounds like who’s – in the last line has more meaning to it than being a sound-based word play; it allows “me” to possess “you”: loved person or love belongs to one. Also, this last line is missing a verb merely to show that something (person/love) has been forgotten and thus something seems incomplete like the sentence itself.

Beril
18/05/10

It's not you it's me

All this time here I thought
Love's left my premises, abandoned me
Turns out "it's not you it's me"
Whose forgotten you: to love.
Beril 18/05/10

picture from Lamya Gargash, United Arab Emirates National Pavillion, Venice Biennale 2009

Imprint of writing

I am afraid of writing. Whenever I write, something comes out – something I have not been able to elaborate before, something that overwhelms all my senses. Writing paralyzes the daily mask; it is a revelation of not only one-self, but many-. Its endurance and amorphousness is what makes it out of the ordinary and out of an order; it has no beginning, middle or end as one thing leads to another, then back to the first and to the latter again. It is like swinging back and forth. You want to hold on to the second when the swing stops before taking you to the other direction, yet you let it take over you. When you finally get your bearings you have two choices: to stop the swing completely or to jump out, whilst letting it out or letting it rock some more in the back, of your mind.

I am afraid of writing. Whenever I write, I have an out-of-body experience. It is as if I am watching my fingers type, and it feels as they are a separate being. I cannot control what word is going to come, one after another. My head is in the clouds; so many thoughts come and go. If one could listen to the voice of my mind, one would hear the voice of chaos. One would hear the fight between antonyms: the sense in a form of nonsense, the subconscious in a conscious manner. The connection between my mind and my hands is the one that pulls the experience back into my body and allows me to relate to what I wrote, scaring me of what I am capable of or not.

I am afraid of writing. Whenever I write, I am tricked by the power of words. It is a game of hide and seek. The more I seek for a certain word, the more it hides the meaning. One hidden word is sought in different ways when read in different dimensions of reality at different slices of time. A word is like a platonic lover. You can feel it so well that you think you wrapped your arms around it, but the image is your imagination; you can never really get it. It is solely a sweet ploy played by your own mind. Thus; a word is bitterly mind-blowing and writing is committing a necessary crime at war time: a glorious mistake, an indecent virtue.

I am afraid of writing, but I still do as my inquisitiveness overrides my fright; my ingenuity, my habits; and my perseverance, my reluctance. I write because I am used to finding my way out whenever I get lost among words, but not to losing them. Without the written words, I feel incomplete; it is a feeling of nonexistence of my existence. It is like filing a missing persons report. On paper, words are existent, but on your mind, they are meaningless; they seem to be deceased with the disappearance of a loved one. And so I write against the pain or the fear or the remorse. I write no matter what it takes away from me and my past or brings it on to me and my future. I write because I am present.

Beril
20/04/10-4/05/10

Birthday gift to myself

I am tired of feeling everything deeply.
I am tired of turning moments into poetry.
I am tired of love, requited or un-.
I am tired of my mind.
In two days time it’s my birthday and this is my gift to myself:
No more obsessed feelings, no more poetry writing, no more melancholy, no more crying this month.
With the coming May I will start writing again, like a timid child, I will open up my heart again neither to him nor to anyone else from my past.
They already had their chance that they wasted.
Now they are out.
April is my time out and May a new chapter to “the story of our lives”.¹
I know that something is only then over when you don’t even bother to say it out loud.
If I can just force myself in April, come May I won’t be bothered again.
For a happy birthday this is a genuine but painful gift; happy birthday dear self.

Beril
12/04/10

(1)"The story of our lives” by Mark Strand (1973)

A year long journey

You were the start to my journey into myself and even into my poetry.
When we first met I was a mess you pulled me out of and you opened my eyes.
I saw a glimpse of the world of opportunities that I’ve forgotten about.
How could I miss?

I was a closed seashell ready to be cracked open.
Along came you to peal my outer coat revealing all the things I kept inside.
The true me came out and I met myself for the first time in daylight, without shame or fear, I accepted myself for who I truly was.

Counted days always end quickly.
With the coming summer I had to fly but this time I had an aim.
Things had to end but somehow it felt like a start into a new friendship, into the new world you introduced me to.
I was so excited I couldn’t wait to dive in and I did, maybe a bit too fast.
I made lots of mistakes but I also learned from the past.

When the sun started disappearing for longer each day I realized your spell on me had flown away.
Old habits die hard; I was again at the same spot trying to settle down for the same mistakes, crying for the wrong people for wrong reasons but this time there were oceans between us.
I couldn’t drive to you then back to me and I broke into pieces like a little girl’s lollipop that crashed to ground.

I am on a different boat this time but my trip schedule is the same.
To jump out and swim to the shore of an island I haven’t been before, all I need is another you by my side.
To break this closed seashell and to stop it from sinking to the bottom of the sea hell¹ where seashells love living in, all I need is another you by my side.
Remind me who I have been.

Beril
12/04/10

(1)Dan Deacon&Liam Lynch "Drinking out of cups". To watch: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=skCV2L0c6K0

Out-comes: a night out

Another aimless night out
Ended with tears again
Crying to your absence.
Crying out loud how much
I miss you already oh I do.

Alcohol mixed within my blood
Is not the only one in it,
You are in me as well.
Any test would show
There is more to it.
That more is you, oh it’s you.

Wailing out loud, drenched in tears,
No one really cares on the streets.
They’re about their own fun.
They’re about their own life.
I am alone again with my own sadness.
The tears are just me, just my madness.

It’s never going to be the same again.
Checking out if you’re checking out
That’s hopeless, that’s unfortunate
You won’t remember me as much as I do
That’s the reality, that’s heartbreaking news.
Never will I accept the truth, it’s too true.

Love me, miss me, kiss me, hug me,
Never will happen but still imagined.
Want me, have me, once more and more
Never will eventuate, it’s now too late.
Just cry once more and be done,
That’s how it’s supposed to be,
Be done, he’s done, I got to be done,
It’s time by now, bye now, I’m gone.

Beril
11/04/10

ps) The short story behind this poem: It was written on a toxic state to be found by me this morning on my desktop, a big surprise starting the day! Turns out I don't really need to think or have a clear mind to be able to write. I'm posting it as it is: no second-thinking involved, no editing done.

Quoted Poems: Meeting and Passing by Robert Frost

As I went down the hill along the wall
There was a gate I had leaned at for the view
And had just turned from when I first saw you
As you came up the hill. We met. But all
We did that day was mingle great and small
Footprints in summer dust as if we drew
The figure of our being less than two
But more than one as yet. Your parasol
Pointed the decimal off with one deep thrust.
And all the time we talked you seemed to see
Something down there to smile at in the dust.
(Oh, it was without prejudice to me!)
Afterward I went past what you had passed
Before we met and you what I had passed.

Robert Frost
1920

Note: I referred to this poem many times throughout my posts, it's about time it takes its place in my blog. For some reason everybody knows about "The road not taken" but this beautiful poem by Robert Frost - which is also the very first poem that aroused my interest towards poetry in English- is not as well recognized.

Requited Love

When we first met, I was struggling
But you didn’t help me,
You were cold and inaccessible.
With every resolution I realized
That you were behind it, hiding behind
As you never really liked the attention
That you got by so many, so unnecessary
You thought that it was.

Along the way we opened up to each other.
You accepted me as I did you.
I received anonymous gifts
I knew they were from you
But I still wasn’t ready for you,
So I ran away, every chance I got,
I left you, travelled far and far
You never said a word
You always knew I’d be back
And you welcomed me each time
With your unusual way of showing love.

It was raining yesterday
I wanted to abandon you again
Go away to far away
Other cities were a plane ride away
Calling me, wanting me even
More than you did maybe
I wanted to but I couldn’t
Because I still loved you
Even on a wet and lonely day.

Today once again waking up
In your arms I saw that it was
What a lovely, shiny day!
What a requited love!
Oh, London, London,
It’s now mutual;
It’s you with whom I’m in love.

Beril
08/04/10

Back to civilization

Back to civilization
Is being back to the old thoughts.
Haunted by millions
Waiting to be resolved,
Sleepless nights are the worst.

Miss the farm.
Miss the livestock.
Miss the days
When the only worry was today.

Back in charge again,
Piled up responsibilities
Are heavy, trying to carry
Is more exhausting than
A day in the country.

Miss the cold.
Miss the sweat.
Miss the days
That you could count till they end.

Back to reality of the chaos,
Not knowing where to start,
How to organize the mess
You live in or you are.
It's the erstwhile routine, the same bygone days.

Miss the agony.
Miss the famishment.
Miss the days
When you could miss the old days.


Beril
6/4/10

Let go of my dreams

The only thing that belongs to me
And also that is known only by me
Is my dreams; they are me.

It doesn't matter how much I want
It doesn't matter how painful it gets
No, no, no, never ever, never again.

The only thing that I cannot control
And that takes over me and beyond
Is my dreams; they are my core.

It doesn't matter how I screwed it all up
It doesn't matter whatever all was
No, no, no, never ever, never again.

Please! Hear me, hear me out, please!
Oh never ever, no never again
Can I have you, no never again.

Please! Hear me, hear me out, please!
Oh I miss you but oh I need you
To let go of my dreams, oh, please!

No, no, no, never ever, never again
Can I have you, no never again
Oh please, let go of my dreams.

Beril
24/03/10

He’s been there

He’s been there
When I was born.
He bit his nails
When I was stubborn.

He’s been there
When I grew up.
He poked me alive
When I didn’t cry hard.

He’s been there
When I made mistakes.
He cleaned up my mess
When I couldn’t stand up.

He’s been there
When I needed someone.
He did care gently
When others ran off.

He is my angel.
He is my other half.
He is my brother.
Oh, I’m glad he’s him.

Beril
11/03/10

Who is she?

When I fall from the top
She catches me halfway through.
When I can’t climb back up
She pushes me all the way through.

Whenever I’m lost in dreams
She pulls me back to the light.
Whenever I’m in her need
She’s there, she’s got my back.

Each time I need to cry
She cries before I do.
Each time I need advice
She tells me what I could do.

If I’m waiting for good news
Her heart beats faster than mine.
If I let my concerns invade
Her hope shoos them away.

I know you’ve been asking yourself:
Who’s this amazing woman?
I knew you could guess it right
Yes, she’s my marvellous mother.

Beril
11/03/10

Wanted off beam

You saw the opening
I created for you in my heart.
You put your hand right through it
I felt your touch and was stunned.

It felt good, it felt right, it felt real
Until it was time to retract.
You were bad, you were harsh, you were mean
And the opening turned into a crack.

I’m letting myself healed
By friends and poetry.
I’m letting myself sealed
By fears and being busy.

I was off beam; it never was
Ever good or right or real.
It was solely my mind's eye
That saw you dressed for me.

I wanted you to love me more
Than I wanted to love you.
I wanted you to have me once more
Than I was ready for you.

Beril
11/03/10

What friends are for

I told you yet again
My endless life story
And you listened with care
And with patience as usual
Then you asked me:
What are you scared of?
I answered: I’m so scared
That the truffles will be over
But I won’t be over him.
Then the door rang,
It was you with a package
And you asked:
Would you like more truffles?
I hugged you and you said:
That’s what friends are for.

Beril
10/03/10

The crying spot

I lost something
To find an other
To lose to find
Cycling around
I’m lost to be found.

I am crying
At the same spot
Where I was ten months ago
And a year and a six
And a plus and some more.

I am crying
Under the light of spot
That I’ve been many times.
How did I end up here
If I’ve changed a lot?

I am crying.
Each time it feels unique.
Each time there is the feeling
Of it seeming to hurt me more
Than before than before and before.

I lost something
Not to be found by me.
After the lights turn off
It’s time to move onto another
That still needs to be found.

Beril
9/3/10

ps) click the title to access the audio file of this poem and hear me reading it! The way a poetry is read makes a lot of difference in it's meaning and I think this audio file is a good example of that, even though I don't really enjoy hearing my own voice or sharing it for that matter.

Lifetime of death

We are born to grow up.
Babies become grown-ups.
It’s a finite loss for all of us;
One day we are to die.

Sometimes it’s our passion.
Sometimes it’s the pure belief.
Sometimes it’s our devotion.
Sometimes it’s the chaste relief.

With each experience
Something stays behind
With each terminated cell
Everyday a bit of us dies.

Sometimes it’s a country.
Sometimes it’s a member of family.
Sometimes it’s a friendship.
Sometimes it’s just an unknown-ship.

Neither will pain fade away
Nor will disappointments go away.
It’s been and is always them
Them are slowly killing us.

We are alive as long as we feel.
We are alive as long as we suffer.
We are alive as long as we fight.
We are alive as long as we crave.

Beril
9/3/10

Chemistry of Love

Thou thought heretofore
Thou could be a man.
Forsooth, thou were wrong.
O’ it’s time to thole again.

Meseems, it’s the chemistry
Betwixt thee and man.
Meseems, it’s the chemistry
That creates thy illusion of love.

Oxytocin bonds thee to whosoever.
Anon everlasting swevens return in turn.
Mirthless moments waiting for thee,
O’ poor thou, it's lack-a-day again.

A rhetoric asked by Mayer
Who do thou love?
Thou could now reply aright:
It’s the thought of man.

Beril
7/3/10

Re: lated Birthday

It's his birthday.
I didn't call him yet.
I've been busy all day.
Oh, I'm working hard.
The least, he'd be proud
If he knew that.

It's his birthday
And I have his number
If it's still the same
After almost 9 months
I was 'bout to call him
But then my battery died.

It's his birthday
And I charged my phone
To realize it's closed down.
It's not my fault,
It's the unpaid bill's,
Thank God.

It's his birthday
And I'm looking for an excuse.
I know I won't call him
As I don't have the guts
To admit I miss him
At least not out loud.

It's his birthday.
So I wrote a poem.
I'm not happy 'bout it either
But it's your birthday
Let's hope it's a happy one,
Dad.

Beril
03/03/10

Playkid'ding

To my Jaz

They ask him what he wants
And how he knows that he does.
They ask him how to get
And how he can then forget.

Her answer is very simple:
She wouldn’t be playing around
If she knew what she wanted.
She wouldn’t be fooling around
If she knew what they wanted.

His solution is effortless:
Go for the most obvious!
It's the rule of 3R's:
Renew, reuse, recycle!

Playkid'ding is in her nature
Messing around she has her fun
She wants them all, she gets them all
Because none makes up to one.

Beril
24/02/10

Explanation: The alternation between he and she in each stanza is to point out that the pronoun of the poem is a neutral one; it is refering to both genders. Unfortunately, the third person singular pronoun in english is gender-biased and one solution to overcome this issue is the use of both he and she alternatively.

Lady with blue make-up

Lady with blue make-up
I saw you today
When I came home
With my grocery bags
You were sobbing
I looked at you
I saw your tears today
With a fast reflex
I turned my head away
Why did I do that?

Lady with blue make-up
I tried to convince myself
You needed your space
A lonely corner to cry on
And by ignoring you
I had saved the pitied looks
You wouldn’t be keen on.

Lady with blue make-up
I have to confess that I thought
You were either a drug addict
Or a beggar at my door
And I was so busy with myself
I didn’t want to deal with you and all.

Lady with blue make-up
I’m so sorry for what I did
Or I should say what I didn’t.
I know, I’ve been there before
Looking for some change of luck
With a stranger’s attention
Your cries could turn into a laugh
And that stranger was me
Who has chosen to overlook
I’m so sorry I let you down.

Lady with blue make-up
The least you deserve is a poem
Now please don’t cry.

Beril
23/02/10

Old times' sake

I cried today to my relationship
That ended some time ago;
I believe about a year.
I read old emails full of promises
That were kept only
As long as it lasted.

I cried today to my loneliness
That has been with me;
I believe much more than a year.
During my journey into the past
I realized how much I’ve changed
I don’t know if it’s for the better.

I cried today to my fearfulness
That marks my past, restrains the future.
My fear blinded me and I couldn’t foresee
My heart has closed itself long, long ago;
It was the desires mixing up my love.

I cried today to the old thoughts
You might think I’ve forgotten you
I might have moved on but your thought
Stayed in the back of my mind.
It resurfaces once in a while
Whenever I try new ones to think on.

I cried today,
I whispered to God all day
He replied in my head
He had an answer to everything
Oh, he annoyed me, but I prayed,
Then he stopped responding me
So, I went to the inbox
I read all your old replies
And I cried.
I cried to a future
That was never nearby.

Beril
22/02/10

Quoted Poems: Eating Poetry by Mark Strand

Ink runs from the corners of my mouth.
There is no happiness like mine.
I have been eating poetry.

The librarian does not believe what she sees.
Her eyes are sad
and she walks with her hands in her dress.

The poems are gone.
The light is dim.
The dogs are on the basement stairs and coming up.

Their eyeballs roll,
their blond legs burn like brush.
The poor librarian begins to stamp her feet and weep.

She does not understand.
When I get on my knees and lick her hand,
she screams.

I am a new man.
I snarl at her and bark.
I romp with joy in the bookish dark.

Mark Strand
From Selected Poems by Mark Strand. Copyright © 1979, 1980 by Mark Strand

Dream

You catch my soul by grabbing my hand,
Our bodies in touch, you touch my hair
Your fingers wander on top of my lips
You haul my head, you nibble my tongue
I’m drawn to you oh dear I won’t stop

I dream dream dream
Every day I dream of you
I dream dream dream
This dream is interminable
I dream dream dream
I know I have to rouse
I dream dream dream
Oh but baby, when I do
I dream dream dream
I dream I see you.

You carry me with ease into the room
Or you drag, if it’s the hundredth bloom
When I lie in your brawny arms
It’s one place where nothing harm does
I’m drawn to you oh it’s too late to stop

I dream dream dream
Every night I dream of you
I dream dream dream
Not yet, I can’t let go of you
I dream dream dream
I know I have to wake up
I dream dream dream
Oh but baby, when I do
I dream dream dream
I dream I see you.

You tell worst lies I’ve ever heard
I want to doubt but believe every word
Your breath tickles most intimate spots
You hold me tight, my mind is blown
I’m drawn to you oh baby don’t stop

I dream dream dream
Every day and every night
I dream dream dream
I have you and we’re so hot
I dream dream dream
I know I have to get up
I dream dream dream
Oh but baby, when I do
I dream dream dream
I dream I see you.

Beril
21/02/10

p.s.)Written as lyrics rather than a poem

Love me

O’ my love, hoping wounds
And wishing is the remedy
O’ my God hear my words
May my wish be my hope
That thou could fall in love with me
Through my forlorn poetry
That one day thou would love me
O’ my God, I’m begging thee
May my wish come true
With thee, before I'm through.

Beril
19/02/10

To Dad

Where are you daddy?
I can’t seem to find you
My life turned upside down
Since I was left,
By you.

It’s so cold outside
I’m alone in the house
Your forgotten promise
That you’ll always be there
For me to lean on to
Echoes from the frosty walls
I listen to it and hear
Only my own damn voice.

Where are you daddy?
I’ve been looking for you
In every guy that I met
I expect your affection
That just can’t be met
But I refuse to give up
It just breaks my heart
Each time I face the fact.

I wouldn’t even know
If you were dead or alive
All my madness and pride
Is to fool you, what a huge lie
I’ve already forgiven you
Come back into my life
I’m over here, waiting for you.

Where are you daddy?
What are you afraid of?
Is it beryllium or lithium,
Or should I be mad at iron?
Your daughter is so out there,
By so many she got wrecked
And daddy, she needs you
Only you can protect.

Beril
18/02/10

Gone?

Broken and unrequited
Here I stand
Lost in the shadows of
Remote beams of sun
It’s raining in me
I’m soaked inside out
If the sun shines again,
The rainbow pops up
And I could now make a wish
I’d wish I was gone.
If life still goes on
Even after I’m gone
Life should go on
Now that you are
You gone?

Beril
18/02/10

I was going to take some time off but I learned that I cannot stop what's coming at/to me. I learned that I cannot take time off from myself and that I have to learn to live with myself. And I learned I have to let it all out if I want to think less and act more. This blog is the only place where I have the right to do and say anything and I'm not going to jeopardize the only chance that I have to just be myself.

Time off

I need to take some time off
I know I won’t be sane if I do
I know it’s going to be hard
To block the writer in me,
And to stop enjoying
New visitors with each new poem
I need to take some time off
Because I (don’t) want to.

Beril
16/02/10

What you see

What I read
Persistently
What I wrote
Pathetically
What I think
You are thinking
Reflects a
-my thinking
With whom I think
I’m playing
Echoes a
-my playing
Back and forth
Dip a bit
Go deep in to history
Reluctant but foolhardy
Desperate and so needy
Tired of self all-ready
Why shouldn’t you also be
Forth and back
Guess now
What you would see

Beril
14/02/10

Crush-ed

I have only so much control
Over the passing seconds
In to the mid-night, in to the day
That is yet to come yet
I can’t even reach to
It’s far away getting scattered on
Outer coat of my one crush
And I’m so crushed.

Lots of contingencies
Lots of missed-fortunes
Later I’m too late
Or too early for
Being in one’s demand
That can only last for so long
And I’m so crushed.

Different souls looking for pieces of
No one I can present any of
No, “one” won’t welcome any of
All my love has accumulated
Taking away my piece of
Mind – the gap
In me, inside my soul
And I’m so crushed.

Beril 13/02/10

Inheritance

She inherited all
Her genes, her eyes, her figure
How much of her was she?
She inherited all
Her smile, her moves, her mimics
How much of she was her?
She inherited all
Her desires, her passion, her love
How much of her fate followed hers?
She inherited all
Her karma, her beliefs, her hopes
How much of her followed her fate?
She inherited all
Her fears, her mistakes, her cries
How much of it could she change, IFATALL?

Beril
03/02/10

Swamped

Sitting in a swamp
she jotted her thoughts down
Whatever she wrote
eventually sank down
What was she supposed to do?
Accept her faith,
and bath in mudded ink
and lie?
Or
Refuse to breath in sludge
and suffocate herself
and die?
Her
lined eyes,
mascarad lashes,
blushed cheeks,
sticked lips,
all was done to mask
her real pain matter of fact
real her to hide
the truth under the mud.
Sitting in the swamp
she asked herself:
Could she bear truth inside?
She scribbled the answer down
Before she could read
‘swamp’ed swallowed it down.

Beril
20-26/01/10

The 14th

It’s 14:14 on the 14th
One month left
to mandatory celebration,
and also three.

To cry secretly,
take your tears with you,
hide behind your fears
and ask:
Is it worth it?

To fool yourself,
take your words with you,
hide behind your work
and ask:
Well, did it work?

It’s 14:44 on the 14th
One month left
to necessary confrontation
and also three.

To laugh sincerely,
let your giggles out,
reveal your fervent desires
and reply:
I trust you.

To face yourself,
let your grief out,
reveal your devoted heart,
and reply:
I miss you.

Time is over.
It’s 15:15.
one month less
or three months more
does it matter?
No.

Beril
14/01/10

Good-love'd

Good-bye my love
once again
I leave you behind
to come back
and find nothing
has changed
not from,
my love.

Good-bye my love
that I haven’t shared,
not with love and self
not with anyone
not its presence,
ignored,
my love.

Good-bye my love,
my hope
that is you’ll hear
my silent cries
that haven’t reached my heart
will reach yours
somehow,
my love.

Good-bye my love
Good-bye.
I tried hard
to make it look good
but I feel so bad inside,
I’m trying to stop
calling you
love.

Good-bye
love
I trusted the words
of my ancestors
that love will be
out of sight
out of mind,
Good-love’d...

Beril
10/01/10

Quoted Poems: -Cursed- by Pelin K.

He who never intentionally hurt me,
He who never saw a fault of mine,
He who sacrificed so much for us,
He who I loved more than one could fathom,
He my angel with the blue slice,
Him I betrayed.
Him I agonized and left.
For forgiveness I beg,
With all my tainted purity.

Pelin K.
09/01/10

Toxic Inspiration

Blurred vision, tingling ears, impaired decisions
All pointed to the known fact:
the toxin was mixed within her blood.

Complicated dilemmas now made sense
as she could see the world as it is
She could even solve greatest enigmas
if she truly put her mind to it.

She noticed her growing famine,
her inevitable need for couple fingers
stroking her hair, touching her cheeks
followed by a kiss to her forehead
by a pair of clement and loving lips.

A warm wave swept her torrid body
A writhing ache residing in her stomach
sank between her ravenous legs,
her bladder filled up with noxious fluids
made pressure aggravating her craving
She asked herself again and again
How much did she want to dance?

She did not have the full control
not over her actions,
not over her desires
She was afraid of that wicked cell phone,
which was calling her to reach and regret
but she had a wish for a coming day
that she did not spend a minute near hell
nor in interrogation, nor in infliction.

That’s how she started typing
she believed she might be controlling
her yearnings by symbolizing, by confessing.
That’s how she started typing
to put a leash on her aspirations
and to make use of her demanding toxins.

Now the poem seems to be over
what’s next?
What will protect
her from entering the torment?
Needless to say:
Law and order with boiled chestnuts!

Beril
06/01/10

Tapped

drip. drip. drip.

I’m just another soul
whose dreams are stolen

gout. gout. gout.

Staring into emptiness
when sleeping is tough,
no color, no image, no hope

blob. blob. blob.

Thinking is believing
What a dreadful lie

drop. drop. drop.

Thinking is hurting,
Believing won’t be aiding

spot. spot. spot

Silence the harassment

fleck. fleck. flecked.

Beril
05/01/10

Don't

Something was wrong,
he knew.
Something was unrequited,
she felt.
The pieces were missing,
they discerned.
It was now time,
they were obliged to disinter
the old skeletons in the closet.

She bit her tongue,
chewed and swallowed
Her muteness echoed,
auto-silence got abstruse,
words got mislaid.

He cleared the air,
it felt so simple, so proper,
with candour and ease
anything was possible,
as long as it’s instant.

They heard a silent scream,
thrusting through awkwardness,
startling both figures,
it said:

“Break me apart!
Hit me, punch me, kick me
Recurrently, madly and hard!
Smash down everything,
or just anything I got!
Eradicate my body,
Wipe me out!
But Don’t.
Don’t devastate my passion,
my heart!”

And then there was vacuity.

Beril
05/01/10

I am joints

Like a diarthrosis,
the smooth head of femur
fitting flawlessly in to acetabulum
moving freely, without the tenderness
is the way it should be,
it’s between us:
you and me.

Like an amphiarthrosis,
the slightly movable intervertebral discs,
surrounded by nucelous pulposus absorbing shock,
crucial for one’s own kinesis, own fitness,
is the way you are to me,
without who I’d be paralyzed,
you are the necessity
I can move on.

Like a synarthrosis,
the cranial sutures in a vertebrate,
so rigid, such limited motion present,
still having some elasticity and compliance,
is the way I feel about us, the way I am,
divulging my feelings, revealing myself,
I am inarticulate with such a potential,
I am joints, I am the “pink girl in love”.

Beril
03/01/10