The sun reappears
from behind the clouds
beamijg into the narrow opening along the horizon
to shine for a little while
on the face of the city.
Then it sets
and the sunset starts happening:
colorful reflections reach higher
and higher
and the whole sky
is on fire now;
a brilliant symphony of colors!

which reminds me
of those who die
not knowing how their lights
will reach the clouds
and spread in the sky.

It’s a good thought to start a new decade.


“. . .  wine, clear as a lover’s face”

and after a glass or two
the lover’s face starts to glow
inviting me for one more sip.

Let me be the surprise
exclamation on your face, she says,
when you have a sip.

“ . . . her eyelids, tears start glistening”

then, a tear drop leaves the eye,
travels down the cheek,
lands in the glass. I respond

shedding a few of mine too
into the wine. She tastes ever so
salty, full with spices,

and with strong emotions.

“ . . . many a wine, like ripest rose  . . .”

I love age in a woman
especially if she is wine.

The taste that collected years
of learning and ripening.
Give her a kiss and take her in,

you’ll ripen and wise up as well.
Then again, too much wisdom
may give you a headache.

“. . . daughter of an harbour, pleasant to drink”

when she flirts with the cheese,
especially with St. Agur,
she is daring and demanding.

She decides about the positions;
she acts as if nothing is complete
without her know how.

She is, after all, a Cabernet Sauvignon,
who grew up at the beach
freely, proud of her body.

“ While we may not know the heaven in this life 
    Still, we have paradise’s libation”


Your lips
walk on a pristine beach
when you speak the names of places
from your adolescence.
In your green gaze
is a long summer day.
Under the shade of your curves
the words ocean and orange
exchange scents.
I enter your voice
and take an afternoon nap.
When I am awakened
at the call-for-gin-and-tonic time,
just before the sunset,
I am a kid again
walking by the shore
searching the water
for an octopus. A breeze
in my hair and salt
on the eyelids of my tomorrow.
I don’t know of your green gaze yet.
Then again maybe I do,
maybe it has always been with me.
And the fish! Each
created by an Etruscan artist!
Let us swim together
into the evening
all naked. The moon
is about to rise up.


A gray warm day!
I’ve been following the weather
almost hourly
to grab every opportunity to sit outside
and do my scribbling as if my life depends on it.
In a way it does. What else
is there anyway, if not
top write about
a distant sea
and the colorful shell of an abalone
and her relatives in the sky hiding behind the clouds?
And the jelly fish
lingering above the snowy peaks to the west?
And a cup of tea
warming my hand in February?


Minutes are dusting
in the cold outside,
like shy snow particles
hanging in the dark
hesitating to land.

And me
scribbling here
at the kitchen table
like an exclamation mark!

The insomniac silence
is a river with no water
yet it keeps running
and running
making no sound.

Korkut Onaran’s The Book of Colors has received the first prize in Cervena Barva Press 2007 Chapbook Contest. His poem House has received the second prize in 2006 Baltimore Review Poetry Competition. His first book of poetry The Trident Poems has been published by World Enough Writers in February 2018. His poetry has been published in journals such as Adelaide, Penumbra, Rhino, Colere, White Pelican Review, Crucible, City Works Literary Journal, Water –Stone, Review, Atlanta Review, Bayou, Common Ground Review, and Baltimore Review.