you talk about
everything
and nothing
and somehow
the time flies
till the next time
you talk about
nothing
and everything
other writing
the pounding of one’s heart
step
by step
along an oft times
perilous journey
one walks runs
perhaps crawls
toward the vision
one beheld
before doubt
fear confusion
clouded one’s eyes
there
lies the path
toward the source
of the pounding
of one’s heart
remembering fresh figs: for Ali Rıza Esmen
we scamper
among the trees
Ali and me
two kids again
in a farmer’s field
plucking figs
from trees
and giggling
as we split them open
to taste their sweetness
guilty pleasure
a break from work
washing our hands
in the sprinklers
before climbing back
into a waiting car
to return
to the business
at hand
eyes moon clouds
I stand
on my terrace
gazing up
at the moon
4 am
Izmir time
miles upon miles
from your eyes
gazing up
at the same moon
there perhaps
our faces reflected
on its surface
eyes meet
one time more
before clouds
drift across
our gaze
how it works out
sometimes forward
is back
and back
is forward
funny
how it works out
that way
remembering a San Francisco New Year’s long ago and balloons: for Little Chuck & Big Chuck
hope rises
like it’s supposed to
a balloon
floating
toward heaven
our eyes cannot see
but it is there
above us
keeping dreams
alive
reposting Notaları Bilmek for İbrahim Kadioğlu who once again took me to Şirince for breakfast and graced me with his friendship
there it was
on the board
at breakfast
in Şirince
Kadın, hayattaki, en mükemmel enstrümandır. . .
Fakat, ne yazık ki, her erkek nota bilmez. . .
Woman is the most perfect instrument. . .
but unfortunately not every man knows the scales. . .
and I thought
conversation
could have ended
right there
with a nod to Li Shang-yin: here on the shore of the world
here I stand
on the shore
of the world
settling
yes, settling
into the view
while an owl
somewhere behind me
perpetually asks
the question
I myself
long to answer
here
on the shore
of the world
from lines by Su Tung-p’o
no use trying to remember
when forgetting is so hard
and all the years
fall and rise
like dreams
both good and bad
so sleep is welcome
and yet restless
as clouds drift over hills
there in the distance
as clouds drift over a heart
here in this chest
over time: New Year’s Day, 2018
time comes
it goes
a day a month
a year a decade
vanishing
like so much dust
carried away
through an open window
leaving fragments
of images events faces
long forgotten
to reappear
out of context
a life lived
in segments
over time
always
over time
which has the habit
of slipping
away
Leonard Durso 