Ditty for a Turkish Pen-Pal in a Turkish Bath Written from a Turkish Prison

Ditty for a Turkish Pen-Pal in a Turkish Bath Written from a Turkish Prison
For Barrack Obama
by quasimofo

Drawing pictures at the coffeehouse:
you may not be ready for this world
if you’re not of it or above it
sayd the mullah yodeling atop his sweatshop minaret
drinking jello shots twirling daiquiri umbrellas
into gabriel’s grainy wind..
—the well of allah water he sips is still distilled..if not divinely willed..
And in that caravanery no one buys from e-bay
to save the local economy.. they go to the local winery
…{lots of hoopin’ and hollerin’ [and wallerin’] these days}..
take an Arabic number on your Arabian thoroughbred,
curl up snug as a dervish bug, wrap the turban
round your head, on these chill Arabian Nights,
…cause all the shahs khans and sultans
are busy with their porcupine concubines,
ahh-ouch! They are not all the same in the dark!
Eastern architecture here reigns supreme in steamy bath female figures
.. i once was a towel-boy and hall-monitor there..
–‘Sheik it babey! Sheik it!’–
But really, Anatolia’s nowhere near Mecca—and it’s a heckova
lotta desert to be getting’ sand down your crack.
Ka’aba over and get it Ramadan camel-jockey!
A Mesh of Secular and Religious equals effective camouflage..
If there’s a flamin’ ‘R’ in my front yard, you’ll know
the rednecks have been here..
I swear those boys need medication,
[watch out for that mount Ara{rat} trap].
though i’m not really in the mood for life
right now with its lackluster
bric-a-brac labor laws flooding the whole hole
of mandatory machiladora overtime 16 hour work day joke..
Back to your carpet-loom by the Bosporus, boy!
..find someone to make it all worth while
in the jihad of hot hell{espont} spot survival,
put the veil over any magnanimous bologna chef
that says otherwise…people’s paths are theirs
and eat some gruel to forget about the cruel
rule of silly Suleiman-named poofy hat guys..
Mirror mirror on the bathroom wall, who’s the biggest badass of all?’
I just aged an epoch right now!

Miniaturists Paint no idol images of Mohammed
This could be a poem written on my wife and girlfriend’s
naked backside or a poem for a poet pumping gas
or Ode to Horndogs or Defense of Designer Clothes
or Why I don’t watch the 10 o’clock news—but it’s not—
i’ve got to keep myself in business with such wittiness…
Cleanliness is next to godliness and since
you only prayed and paid 2 out of 5 interest periods
you better pick this shit up pronto!
put a visor on the vizier—nothing grand about it..
call out to the California caliphs..
click your clogs 3 times and bam—instant Istanbul—
grab it by the golden horns!
eat sweet dates from your frequent flying miles Persian rug
and fancy mystical elixirs while rummaging with Rumi.
All the best Turkmen are Blacksheeps in the family..
their color blind beggars only see black by the Black Sea..
say, would you give that Otto(man) a hand—
he’s a contributing member of the band..
the harem is hungry
so ante up and raise the steaks, then baste them well done
with hickory smoke bar-be-que sauce..

The Rubied Yacht of Omar Benochea’ (a Puerto Rican friend)
If on/ly i/ could dare/ a Dar/ ius
And min/ ors were/let in /Asia/ Minor
I’d eat/ my fill/ of wild/ Aspar/ ugus
Telling/ them all/ to kiss/ my Mus/ lim Ass..
..on the other serious side,
if Turkey wants to join the European Union,
they need to grant more civil liberties,
construct better gas stations,
give out free cartons of Camel cigarettes,
acknowledge the massacre of millions of Armenians,
and devote more funds to Universities for Bellydancing!
in a past life i was a finger-cymbal clappin’ bellydancer
descended from a long line of bellydancing bellydancers..
—sorry, this 3rd oldest profession is only for confessional
professionals..and we confiscate belly rings..
so don’t push our belly buttons!
i’d rent a war galley in an art gallery
and row by the Barbary Coast,
sail with my clothes-line past those
darned Dardanelles where Troy was,
and amphibious assault the gates
with flip-flops t-shirt conversion to true faith’s
fate or death..
*just a side-note—if you’re ever in a galley,
don’t whip the oar-slaves if they’re the same
nationality as the galleys that’re about to board you..
i’d balk at the Balkans, lay in more mosaic arches,
and let those who ran from the Koran rebuild
crescent pillars in Islam’s cruddy caribbean island
the infidels sank with an all night 20 kegger..
Hey Ali-Pasha! The way i see it is:
more and more men can’t teach their boys
to be men more,
and the more fathers
ready their sons for the rough world
the more assholes there are to make the world rough…
*Look at the man-made jam on the Janissaries*
lick lick mulberry!
i am Alexander the Great!
Give me Grapes!
i am Sinbad the Sailor!
Give me another flavor!
A Pilgrimage depends on a Pilgrim’s age..
I’m the bleeding pig who
didn’t make his home of brick..
kids are taking my jobs,
and they have better cars..
—what are the odds of those scars, Hombre?
the correspondence was brief but to the point:
she said she was 34 and interested in learning
English, i said i was 36 and in desperate
need of a Turkish bath and a band-Aid..
she said bring an extra towel and a scimitar..
i said send bail money…
i’m still
doin’ time
for being
in a

0 thoughts on “Ditty for a Turkish Pen-Pal in a Turkish Bath Written from a Turkish Prison

  1. “A Pilgrimage depends on a Pilgrim’s age:
    I’m the bleeding pig who
    didn’t make his home of brick..”
    Where do you come up with this shit? What kind of genius are you?
    I had posted a poem about Obama but I took it down last night. Maybe I should’ve left it up.

  2. Yeah, see i made my house out of straw and you made yours of sticks…and we end up in a bag of pork rinds! Thx for your encouraging comments. I don’t know if there’s any genius involved in these poems but there is a lot of fun and goofiness.
    I was actually messing around posting this in drafts when i put ‘For Barrack Obama’ under the title, on a whim. Sorry if it insults anyone, i’m actually a die-hard Hillaryite (being practical working class vs. academic liberal?)and since she was not named VP i will probably sit this election out or go McCain. I know, I know… But enough politics.
    I had been reading a lot of Orhan Pamuk, turkish author of ‘My name is Red’ and ‘Snow’ etc. when i wrote this poem…and actually had a pen-pal from Turkey for a while. There’s a lot of shit going on there right now with secular vs. fundamentalist in the govt…which is a common thing in the Muslim countries attempting to modernize…see ‘Persepolis’ about an Iranian girl and those times. But yeah, poem is not without its share of shock value also…some might say distasteful, and i might agree in the name of nihilism…ahh, to plant that seed of critical thought in so many bristling Chia-pets!

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