old poetry

The smoky burn of incense
leaves me thinking of
your scented hair
in heaven.
Your gilt face
much colder than my memories,
I kissed your lips
when no one looked.


2004 or something like.

:     :     :   :   :   ::   :::

lost in space

you were light-years behind me
and when I turned,
to return,
you were already gone



i spin, waiting,
and forget myself
amidst stars



you eclipsed my path
and left me
for other darknesses



i came to be
in massive fires of gas
and i remember
every burning touch

:     :     :   :   :   ::   :::

Thinking in Turkish

We are not meant to dream.
We should slip into night,
Unaware.
Floating, sinking, falling,
--like pearls in the water--
to rest at the bottom,
Unaware
We were ever anywhere else.

I wanted to write a ghazal (I want to write a lot of Turkish styles, save for being in the Turkish language as I don't know that yet.) and have for a long time. Rather than starting fresh (and being in that state of mind that is painfully aware of what I'm trying not to be aware of) I thought I'd cheat and take something already written and see if I could turn it into a ghazal.

A first attempt yield this, from the above.


You are not meant to dream, pearl in the water,
You sink, slipping into night, unaware.

We should not dream, pearls dancing in water,
floating, in the dark, falling, unaware.

I do not dream, pearls at my neck,
pulled apart by gravity, snapping, unaware.

I wake with pearls in my hands, never having dreamt,
my dreams do not rise, but I do, and I wear pearls, unaware.


I'm not sold on it at first take. I'll continue playing with it. I have a horrible headache today and can only think about that really. I also have a mango waiting for me to dine on its flesh.

salted mango
sticks to my fingers
tasting of bright sunlight

or

salted mango
tasting of bright sunlight
sticks to my fingers