Of sanguinary incline
Whole of man be alas,
Found so unreachable
To celebrate the mass
Killing of man’s mind,
Hence to spur appetite
In amount meant bind,
With ferocity held light
As to scorn mindfulness
Of insatiable self serve,
Tho it destroys mankind…
Ever wile inner monster
Of man readily persists,
In fixing soul be blind
To his power gone amiss,
Yet demands full assign
Of his tempestuous controls,
Tho man’s dead mind matter
Ignores a bent reach for disaster!
Who are these children
Man recognized not,
Though too be then
But a child fraught,
As adult apprized
More often forgot,
When the more wise
Yet forever the child,
None the less be life’s lot!
for my friend Hülya N Yılmaz
I’ve journeyed
Thru a life
Of many paths,
But until now
Had marginalized
Times illusive avow
In future said to last,
That moves at speed
To ever looming past,
As memory goes soft
Aiming to exploit alas,
Where finds one lost
In the fixed unknown,
Of a trip that twists
Over downward
Tilting bend,
Where bedim of elation
Be the road’s end,
In a different journey
Started from within,
Save be a singular voyage
Meant to set free of chagrin,
The while making ones amends!
Poetry on a Canapé 