Tag: Poetry

Rooftop Dining

It’s just a corner of the restaurant,
But I believe that it is my kingdom.
I’m given only an evening to haunt
The mighty view over the city’s slum,
And I can pretend I am not from there.
As I take another sip of my wine,
I comment on the pleas that I can hear,
Knowing their problems will never be mine.
It is not like they can climb up this wall
To attack the place where I am seated.
It’s a matter of time before I fall
With my solutions never repeated.
Tonight, I’d like to think I have a choice
To save those under me using my voice.

Bosphorus

Finding yourself in-between continents
Can pull your identity different ways.
One side yells at the other which prevents
Us getting together as the shelf frays,
Creating an ever growing divide.
Should it matter that my brother stood still,
Clenching his fist while on the Eastern side,
While I was charmed by the West’s tempting thrill?
We still belong to the same family
Though we are separated by a strait.
Does it change the understanding we can see
When this short distance no longer relates?
Or maybe we can start a new order
That is not subjected to a border.

Centennial Celebration

Today is the day we turn one-hundred,
A monument that not many can claim.
Many thought we would have ended up dead,
And would have never reached our current fame.
We endured in order to prove them wrong,
And built up something mighty upon this site.
In a world where they think we don’t belong,
We will continue to put up the fight.
Today we’ll sing of our national pride,
Lining our streets with our Turkish colors.
We will celebrate our historic ride,
Giving us reason for our hearts to stir.
We’ll meet again in the next century
In honor of this day’s great memory.

Monuments

Hail to the downfall of the tyranny
That comes with the passing of the scepter.
Power held in the name of finery
Allow the surface to be the deeper,
And we spend our time praising aesthetics,
Thinking the view will make us important,
But now we can uncover the ethics
That was left to die under the pavement
Of the monument of men gone away.
They still hope that they will honor their name
Though what they left us, we can’t really say
Except for remembrance of their fame.
Their passing makes the legacy sour,
For they did not know how to wield power.

Commandaria

Fighting against the sun to work the field
Is how I spent each of my summer days,
To be rewarded with a harvest yield,
Filled with the nectar the gods use to pay.
I will collect the fruit off of the vine
To have them bake under the autumn heat.
In a fortnight, we can squeeze out the rind
By stomping them with the soles of our feet.
We’ll put the juice into an oak barrel
Which will be hidden in a cool, dry place
For four years. We will protect it from peril,
So we can ensure its elegant grace.
Do not seek out another finer wine
Than the one with Commandaria shine.

The Life We Want

We always fight for the life that we want,
Pretending that it is within our reach,
A life where we no longer have to grunt;
Instead, flopping on a chair on a beach,
Soaking the rays of the sum while they last.
Instead, I find myself strapped to a seat,
Hoping my clock could start to go fast,
So work to be done would be complete.
Playing repeat, I go through the same grind,
Fighting to obtain another dollar
Because my current debt has got me primed
To continue my life in this collar.
It’s possible to be victorious
Thought they claim that the plan is not for us.

The Snapshot

Can the world be held within a snapshot
From that small moment when the shutter clicked
To capture a time that we never sought
Held in an album where pages are flicked?
What makes this picture different than the rest,
Glued in place by the four little brown tabs
Where our vision is treated as a guest,
Given glimpses of the past we can grab?
Where have all of those smiling faces gone,
Who once graced us by visiting our doors,
But ever since the passing of the dawn,
Can now be found on pieces of cardboard?
Your smile is the one I miss the most,
Though the album has been a gracious host.

The Family Recipe

This recipe is a long tradition
That has been passed down to me by my mother.
As I pass it to your generation,
I hope you’ll pass it on to another.
We will use the freshest ingredients
As you blend them together in the pot.
We adjust the taste by using the scents
Whose unique detection my mother taught.
It’s best brewed during a warm afternoon
Where we enjoy each other’s company;
We’ll wrap ourselves in the kitchen’s cocoon,
Waiting to partake in the labor’s honey.
We have to protect what could be a loss,
So I will teach you how to make our sauce.

The Wake

Open up another bottle of wine
Because we have defeated this soldier.
Fill up your glass first before you fill mine;
We don’t need to see if this one’s bolder.
It helps to fill the room up with laughter
When we let this sweet nectar grease our brain.
We’ll think about consequences after
We have enjoyed our sleepy refrain.
In the morning, we can see what we’ve done,
Though our head will give us a reminder.
The night before we had a lot of fun,
Though we had no idea what we’d find there.
It is the biggest drawback of the drink,
Trying to ignore what we have to think.

The Way They Lived

Do not tell me of how someone has died;
Instead, tell me of the way that they lived.
I don’t want to know why the people cried,
But what made memories of them vivid.
They must have touched the lives of many folks
As they made memories filled with laughter.
Their friendships included ladies and blokes
Pursuing a life worth going after.
Let’s not remember the pain, but kindness
That was spread around due to their presence.
We have gathered, so we may bear witness
Of how a life spent deserves reverence.
Why would we focus on the suffering
When talk of living is more enduring?