Derangement Historically Expansive Echoes
To my sensual soulful Istanbul
mystic veiled spectre haunting
undulations soft sensual rhythms.
Flowing fusillade thoughts frequently flee
to lost time ruined dissipated private places
where once fermented an empire's juices.
Fat plots seeping fostered luscious dramatic covetous juices
producing throbbing dust choked conspired changes
rich in diverse emotive engineered hegemonic experience.
Stretching tortured sepsis fabled essence
across greased or ungeased unread palm
countless hands caught stirred murky waters.
Far from war's devastation
also are laments cried
due to plot weak willed men
eager to exploit carnage.
Seed such designated derangement
neither were you spared in times
past nor present in war nor commerce
politic my mystic soulful Istanbul.
Hegemony - Leadership, predominance.
Sepsis - Putrefaction; infection from a festering wound, blood-poisoning.
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Ode To Istanbul
Ode to my soulful Istanbul
mystic place where fermented
juices producing seasoned creative process.
Rich in diverse emotive experience
stretching your fabled essence
across unread palm of countless hands.
Ode to my siren soulful Istanbul
mystic city place where fermented
lyric poem sung in proud Turkish hearts.
Hearts which embraced with cultural cups
steaming tea coffee served in countless byways
as embraced poet tread myriad layered forms.
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Mystic Rythms
So many things I think about
When I look far away
Things I know, Things I wonder
Thins I'd like to say.
The more we think we know about
The greater the unknown
We suspend our disbelief
And we are not alone.
Mystic rhythms, capture my thoughts
And carry them away
Mysteries of night
Escape the light of day
Mystic rhythms, under northern lights
Or the African sun
Primitive things stir the hearts of everyone.
We sometimes catch a window
A glimpse of what's beyond
Was it just imagination
Stringing us along?
More things than are dreamed about
Unseen and unexplained
We suspend our disbelief
And we are entertained.
Mystic rhythms, capture my thoughts
And carry them away
Nature seems to spin
A supernatural way.
Mystic rhythms, under city lights
Or a canopy of stars.
We feel the powers and we wonder what they are.
Mystic rhythms, capture my thoughts
And carry them away
Mysteries of night
Escape the light of day
Mystic rhythms, under northern lights
Or a canopy of start
We feel the push and pull of restless rhythms from afar.
song performed by by Rush
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Istanbul
Istanbul was constantinople
Now it's istanbul, not constantinople
Been a long time gone, constantinople
Now it's turkish delight on a moonlit night
Every gal in constantinople
Lives in istanbul, not constantinople
So if you've a date in constantinople
She'll be waiting in istanbul
Even old new york was once new amsterdam
Why they changed it i can't say
People just liked it better that way
So take me back to constantinople
No, you can't go back to constantinople
Been a long time gone, constantinople
Why did constantinople get the works?
That's nobody's business but the turks
Istanbul (istanbul)
Istanbul (istanbul)
Even old new york was once new amsterdam
Why they changed it i can't say
People just liked it better that way
Istanbul was constantinople
Now it's istanbul, not constantinople
Been a long time gone, constantinople
Why did constantinople get the works?
That's nobody's business but the turks
So take me back to constantinople
No, you can't go back to constantinople
Been a long time gone, constantinople
Why did constantinople get the works?
That's nobody's business but the turks
Istanbul
song performed by by They Might Be Giants
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Istanbul (Not Constantinople)
Istanbul was Constantinople
Now it's Istanbul, not Constantinople
Been a long time gone, Constantinople
Now it's Turkish delight on a moonlit night
Every gal in Constantinople
Lives in Istanbul, not Constantinople
So if you've a date in Constantinople
She'll be waiting in Istanbul
Even old New York was once New Amsterdam
Why they changed it I can't say
People just liked it better that way
So take me back to Constantinople
No, you can't go back to Constantinople
Been a long time gone, Constantinople
Why did Constantinople get the works?
That's nobody's business but the Turks
Istanbul (Istanbul)
Istanbul (Istanbul)
Even old New York was once New Amsterdam
Why they changed it I can't say
People just liked it better that way
Istanbul was Constantinople
Now it's Istanbul, not Constantinople
Been a long time gone, Constantinople
Why did Constantinople get the works?
That's nobody's business but the Turks
So take me back to Constantinople
No, you can't go back to Constantinople
Been a long time gone, Constantinople
Why did Constantinople get the works?
That's nobody's business but the Turks
Istanbul
song performed by by They Might Be Giants
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Mystic Rhythm
So many things I think about
When I look far away
Things I know - things I wonder
Things I'd like to say
The more we think we know about
The greater the unknown
We suspend our disbelief
And we are not alone -
Mystic rhythms - capture my thoughts
And carry them away
Mysteries of night
Escape the light of day
Mystic rhythms - under northern lights
Or the African Sun
Primitive things stir
The hearts of everyone
We sometimes catch a window
A glimpse of what's beyond
Was it just imagination
Stringing us along?
More things than are dreamed about
Unseen and unexplained
We suspend our disbelief
And we are entertained
Mystic rhythms - capture my thoughts
And carry them away
Nature seems to spin
A supernatural way
Mystic rhythms - under city lights
Or a canopy of stars
We feel the powers
And we wonder what they are
We feel the push and pull
Of restless rhythms from afar
song performed by by Rush
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Mystic Rhythms
Words by neil peart, music by geddy lee and alex lifeson
So many things I think about
When I look far away
Things I know -- things I wonder
Things Id like to say
The more we think we know about
The greater the unknown
We suspend our disbelief
And we are not alone --
Mystic rhythms -- capture my thoughts
And carry them away
Mysteries of night escape the light of day
Mystic rhythms -- under northern lights
Primitive things stir
The hearts of everyone
We sometimes catch a window
A glimpse of whats beyond
Was it just imagination
Stringing us along?
More things than are dreamed about
Unseen and unexplained
We suspend our disbelief
And we are entertained
Mystic rhythms -- capture my thoughts
And carry them away
Nature seems to spin
A supernatural way
Mystic rhythms -- under city lights
Or a canopy of stars
We feel the powers
And we wonder what they are
We feel the push and pull
Of restless rhythms from afar
song performed by by Rush
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Love Sensual Women
I love sensual women and not passionate ones. A passionate woman closes her eyes, moans and shouts and the enjoyment of a passionate woman is blind.
A passionate woman writhes about, grabs you with her hands without looking where, clasps you, kisses you, even bites you and hurries to reach her climax as soon as she can. She has no time to display her sexual organs, no time to examine, touch with the hand and kiss your sexual organs, she is in such a hurry to slake her passion. Having slaked her passion, the passionate woman will fall asleep. The sexual organs of a passionate woman are dry. A passionate woman is always in some way or another mannish.
The sensual woman is always feminine.
Her contours are rounded and abundant.
The sensual woman rarely reaches a blind passion. She savours sexual enjoyment.
The sensual woman is always a woman and even in an unaroused state her sexual organs are moist. She has to wear a bandage on her sexual organs, so as not to soak them with moisture.
When she takes the bandage off in the evening, the bandage is so wet that it can be squeezed out.
Thanks to such an abundance of juices, the sexual organs of a sensual woman give off a slight, pleasant smell which increases strongly when the sensual woman is aroused. Then the juice from her sexual organs is secreted in a syrupy stream.
A sensual woman likes you to examine her sexual organs.
poem by Daniil Ivanovich Kharms
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Istanbul Past Present Future
Istanbul life pulse do you feel it as I do?
When you gaze upon mosaic maze
tapestry ancestry diversity ethnicity
tolerance love respect embrace diverse
humanity all souls created God miracles
Istanbul hope tolerance lessons teaches
poem by Terence George Craddock
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God’s Love Blessing Life Affirming Feel In Istanbul
Istanbul city of contrasts history diversity
city enigma Bosporus beautiful divide city
continents but never meaningful hearts souls
once I crossed flowing waters week days daily
proud transcontinental worker leap continents
living in Istanbul Europe working in Istanbul Asia
teaching English grammar tenses learning eyes souls
oriental scents exotic mystic swirls feel mirror minds
hold mirror images sight pierce centuries mysteries
riddles of sphinx learn layered here in humane ethnicity
civilizations customs traditions society imbue humanity
human flesh live way of life heart beats love for humanity
literal arts distinct cultures sciences God bless soul divinity
cosmos creator with a word love bless heart beating diversity
embrace all races love so much wonder felt in creation divinity
poem by Terence George Craddock
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The Garden
CHOKED with ill weeds my garden lay a-dying,
Hard was the ground, no bud had heart to blow,
Yet shone your smile there, with your soft breath sighing:
'Have patience, for some day the flowers will grow.'
Some weeds you killed, you made a plot and tilled it;
'My plot,' you said, 'rich harvest yet shall give,'
With sun-warmed seeds of hope your dear hands filled it,
With rain-soft tears of pity bade them live.
So, weak among the weeds that had withstood you,
One little pure white flower grew by-and-by;
You could not pluck my flower--alas! how should you?
You sowed the seed, but let the blossom die.
poem by Edith Nesbit
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The Mouth!
Everything that goes mouth is sensual!
the toffee run up and down,
the noise to blow up a tasty gum,
the mouth open in surprise!
Oh! ! ! !
Everything in your mouth is sensual!
the cleaning of its corners with the napkin,
the clicking of his tongue before you saying yes,
the soft against your lips when they meet one another!
Ah! ! ! !
Everything in ours mouth is sensual!
the dropp we exchanged wet through
Ours lips moving slightly,
Our kisses!
Hummm!
Everything in ours bodies is sensual!
what gonna in yours mouth!
What remains in it and
All that comes an goes!
Ui! ! ! ! !
poem by Mirna Morgan
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That Is God
Waves of strength
Surging in You and Me
That is God, That is God
Stream of compassion
Flowing in You and Me
That is God, That is God
Trembling consciousness
Quivering in You and Me
That is God, That is God
Creative juices
Flowing in You and Me
That is God, That is God
Undying Spirit
Burning in You and Me
That is God, That is God
Throbbing Heart
Overflowing with love in You and Me
That is God, That is God
poem by Renu Rakheja
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That is God
Waves of strength
Surging in You and Me
That is God, That is God
Stream of compassion
Flowing in You and Me
That is God, That is God
Trembling consciousness
Quivering in You and Me
That is God, That is God
Creative juices
Flowing in You and Me
That is God, That is God
Undying Spirit
Burning in You and Me
That is God, That is God
Throbbing Heart
Overflowing with love in You and Me
That is God, That is God
poem by Caleb Jones
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the Golden Horn Of Istanbul
THE ‘GOLDEN HORN’ OF
ISTANBUL
It is an inlet arm from the Bosphoros Strait,
Which stretches inwards towards the west;
And curves up like a deer’s horn, -
Known to the world as the ‘Golden Horn’!
It separates the old Istanbul’s historic city,
From its modern counterpart in the north;
Forming the world’s longest natural harbor,
A waterway almost 7.5 km long!
The harbor was once the Naval Headquarters
of the Byzantine Empire!
When a heavy chain guarded the inlet’s
entrance;
Stretching across the mouth of the ‘Horn’ entire;
From the Old City to the Galata Tower! *
The old city stands on seven hillocks, once
known as the ‘City of Seven Hills’;
And top of every rise, a temple, or a mosque
or a monument is seen, -
With its steeples, towers and minarets, the city
stands solemnly still!
Each building here has a story to tell;
In 1453 to the Ottoman Turks the city fell!
As I stood ruminating on one such high rise,
And saw the sun going down in the west;
The inlet waters appeared bathed in gold,
Glittering in the sun’s setting rays!
And at that moment I realized, as I looked at
the inlet nice and long,
How aptly it has been named, as the inlet of
‘The Golden Horn’!
-Raj Nandy
New Delhi
13 May 09
(*Galata Tower is located at the entrance of
the inlet- in the northern half of the city.
‘The Golden Horn’ waterway divides the
city of Istanbul into northern & southern
halves!)
Gulf Turkish Holiday Heritage
“To return at last from Turkey
with my memories safely stored
between thin clear plastic pages.”
This is all I save from Turkey
where youth beauty are service bled
lifeblood devalues faster than wages.
Its January 1991 Saddam Hussein
is finally getting his ass kicked; during
the war I remained in Istanbul but
a holiday toward the scud threatened
border was too cheap to refuse; strange
watching fearful flee direction opposite
alive adrenaline rush alive dead chickens
would give warning gas was about to;
claim take our civilian collateral damage
lives; but as written record reads scuds
were never fired into National Turkish Airspace? ;
and Andrew died of virus lung infection
a few years later caught pumping gas
at a London petrol station during cold winter;
weather we had but in brief in Istanbul.
Copyright © Terence George Craddock
Quotation from the poem ‘Turkish Heritage’.
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Stratum Thoughts Timeless Imaging Womanhoods
wow such style pride
in the walk of the character
with fine hat finesse set
at an angle of precision
the boots
the personality
the cloak
she walks a cloud plane
of existence her own
separated several levels
from normality street life
she is no clay cast offering
to gods or a mortal man
she walks on air rarified
passing mind image appealing
women stripped bare projecting
clothes too soon price pealing
passing votive female offering
stretching out naked emotive offering
pleasure timeless sensual offering
all manner of embraces
time of interlocked limbs
time of timeless couplings
into past shadows sinking
into places sweet sweat embracing
into perpetual life releasing
next to placement nude like an offering
time cast in an embrace producing
Earth Mother Mother Goddess enduring
meaning merges into meaning lines merging
meaning is implied
offered accepted
at viewers will rejected
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Pears Erotica
seductive
curvaceous
sensual art:
Anjou, Bosc…
pears/
entwined as
one
moistened
orgasmic
sweet juices
flow on to
my tongue
tasting
the
voluptuous
lust-filled
passion
of its
buxom core
we,
lascivious pair
Gift of
the Gods
to the
mortal
Mystic
In my mind afloat
Drifts a mysterious small boat,
Lulled along
In contemplative song,
Upon a magnificent sea -
The far reaching ends of it all
That give quiet call,
Are far beyond me.
It all moves like waves wended,
And dreams rended,
Flowing into a vague speculation
Toward the acquisition of the ineffable;
Yet, ever accompanied by a fear
Of being unable to find the unsubvertible.
- I row - I go - for I must
Somehow know, and find
The place, the time,
That distant - near land, with
No more groping, nor grasping,
For lasting love, or the guiding hand of man.
Life has a mystic pulse
That touches all the earth,
Mystery has a meaning
Filled with unfathomable worth.
A mystic castaway resides
On an island in my mind,
Awaiting - and bringing - an appointed purpose,
Beyond the bonds of brains and time.
Speaking words of truth
- perhaps foreign to me -
A lavish love language
Of the truly free.
The translation to be found
When the captives are unbound;
The compass, the map,
The forward motion
That keeps me from turning back.
These living esoteric laments
Reveal great Beauty to my heart
- often blended within sadness -
Found in the metaphoric ways of nature and art.
It all gets to me
In the mystery I feel, of
A flowing vision,
In a world nearly surreal.
The mystic
Devoid of worthless words, in
Dialogue divine,
Puts one eye on eternity
And one eye upon time.
I've oft here been lost,
yet for only a season;
Stranded for merely a spell
For there is truly hope at the end of reason -
Granting pure life through it all
The Mystic within
Ever remains,
Vast and strong
Guiding beyond
Life's dark waters
Never leaving me to drift,
Completely alone.
'... mystery is as real as the air we breathe... ' - Kathleen Norris.
poem by Smoky Hoss
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Praise God As Blessed Peacemakers
Aya Sophýa Istanbul
church built to honour our God
became prime model
for all mosques to honour Allah
after Islamic invasion of Istanbul
Constantinople Byzantium fell
all houses of God
are sacred holy places
no true worshipper
will suicide bomb any worshippers
no true worshipper
makes war on poor women children
enlightened souls
tolerant compassionate peace lovers
praise God as blessed peacemakers
embrace all races as God’s children
respect honour all cultures religions
knowing only God in authority judges
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Who knows
It was just one kiss
Just a soulful look
Just one close embrace
That’s all It took
Just one touch
Of fingertips…
Upon palm of hands
Then yielding lips
Just one faint whisper
In early dawn
A silhouette…
And then she’d gone
Destiny said “twas not to be”
Our paths never again crossed
We only found… just that one kiss
Who knows… just what we lost
poem by David Whalen
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