We sit on top of our house on the hill,
Turning our gaze over the salty sea,
Knowing the time is ripe for them to kill
From a grudge longer than this century.
They use their accusing fingers to point;
They use their clenched fists to thump on their pride,
And their many martyrs, they will anoint
Their reasons for why the others have died.
They use their platform in order to shout
Their grievances they have from the others,
And never trying to give pause about
How in the end they are all still brothers.
You will find that when you fight to the end,
Neither of the sides will actually win.
Tag: sonnet
The Bald Eagle
Was I ever asked to be a symbol
To inspire all of a fledging nation?
The image of my presence is noble
When I sit out in my habitation.
I can see why I was the one chosen,
But I do not want your admiration.
There is something that needs to be proven
When you created this expectation.
I just desire to take to the breeze,
To soar above hasty agitation,
And to make my home among the pine trees,
My natural place in God’s creation.
Please do not stamp me on your shirt and coin
In your extreme effort to make more join.
Queued
You will face the east; I will face the west
As we are given our introduction.
I will face the east; you will face the west,
Winding our way to our destination.
You will face the east; I will face the west
When we give out our first recognition.
I will face the east; you will face the west,
Sharing the feeling of indignation.
You will face the east; I will face the west;
A subtle smile is our conversation.
I will face the east; you will face the west,
Ending this maddening depravation.
It is fun being herded like cattle,
Preparing for our TSA battle.
Shouting
You watch only a certain new channel
That is different from the one I view,
And we listen to various panels,
Explaining how little the country grew.
Why do your experts oppose my side so,
Saying we do not know where we should go?
They bang on desks, wag their fingers and crow
About things they obviously don’t know.
Can’t they see the facts in front of their face
While condemning people who’ve done no wrong?
The ideology that they embrace
Will never allow us to get along.
Could you listen to what I have to say?
Because it can’t be heard over your bray.
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.
John Collings 