Arabesque

Gold cherry
Poem of the week

By Turlough

Wed, 18 Feb 2026
  • 651 reads
31 comments
 

 

Arabesque

 

Each afternoon

Passing his open window

With her basket of pastel shades

She laughs in harmony

With the cheers for the buzuq player

Joining smiles to worried faces

Like water to fire

Like happiness to the saddest stare

She’s the last page torn from a book

That followed a journey the length of time

But she doesn’t know she’s there

 

Engorged with reflections of his own image

Yet surrounded by his blindness

He turns from feasting in the mirror

Where cracks reveal man’s twisted tale

Through cirrus barricades moonbeams ricochet

To merge with daylight rescued from a faded past

He sees her in a vineyard hiding

Faraway

So very long ago

 

Through a mind the size of heartache

His ghosts blow wilder than the Khamsin

Might he ever touch her thoughts?

Might he fill that desert space

Between her eyes and his gravestone?

He ought to leave but which way to turn

Without her star to guide his way?

 

Sitting in his room

Peeking through a tragic cover

The silent music of solitude deafens

He’s never sung his song before

But when she hears it, she will know

 

Image: Part of a handmade magic carpet from the mystical East. My own photograph.

 

 

 

Certificate 12
Poem
Poetry in Commotion
Surreal
Love

Comments

Submitted by D G Moody on

A good poem Turlough, it reimagined for me the East, the way you've evoked it in the lyricism; and I just had to go and watch a buzuq video - my favourite. 

Dougie Moody

Submitted by Turlough on

Thank you Dougie.

Turlough

Submitted by HarryC on

'She’s the last page torn from a book

That followed a journey the length of time

But she doesn’t know she’s there'

Wonderful images - and so evocative.

Submitted by Turlough on

Thanks for that Harry. After I'd posted it I began to worry that that bit might sound like I was referring to a cheeky magazine. But I definitely wasn't. Honest!

Turlough

Submitted by HarryC on

The thought never entered my head! I was thinking of a fine old volume of stories.

Submitted by Turlough on

Phew! Thank you. 

laugh

Turlough

Submitted by GlosKat on

So atmospheric.  I loved 'Between her eyes and his gravestone'.  Guess a lot of us silver singletons are coming to that stage of our lives when we wonder if we'll ever have a partner again, or even if we want one.

 

Submitted by Turlough on

I used to be such a determined singleton that people would call me Valerie. I met another determined singleton purely by accident and that determined singleton status was the main thing that we had in common and enough to bring an end to the singletonness for both of us.

So you never know! There are many fish in the Cotswold Water Park.

 

Turlough

Submitted by Turlough on

Cheers for the cherries, dear cherry people.

Turlough

Submitted by onemorething on

Very lovely, very evocative. It's our Pick of the Day. Do share on social media if you can.

 

Submitted by Turlough on

Thank you very much 1MT. I'm thrilled and delighted by the news.

Turlough

Submitted by insertponceyfre... on

Now my fingers have thawed out long enough to type (very cold here) - congratulations on the golden cherries Turlough and what wonderful imagery in this - also what an absolutely magical magic carpet! Does it fly too?

 

Submitted by Turlough on

Thank you IPFN.

The carpet doesn't fly but it often has flies on it. Not today though as they're all huddled up trying to keep warm by the wood stove.

It sounds like your bit of the world and mine are experiencing opposite ends of the same bit of weather. 

Turlough

Submitted by insertponceyfre... on

No snow here, but a very loud and cold wind which is blowing in completely the wrong direction for my house!

 

Submitted by Turlough on

Only six weeks to April. Just keep that in mind and you'll be grand.

Turlough

Submitted by celticman on

warmed the cockles of my cockles. wer'e tough, up North. T-shirt weather. And I'm out and about strumming my buzuq and going to the boozer (too cheap to stick the heating on). We must entertain ourself by Cossack dancing.  

 

Submitted by Turlough on

My dad used to get Cossack aftershave for Christmas but switched to Old Spice because it had 'No Cossacks were harmed in the manufacture of this product' printed on the side of the bottle.

I'm surprised your buzuq remains strummable in such climatic extremes. 

 

Turlough

Submitted by GlosKat on

The lute is mute on Bute.

 

Submitted by Turlough on

That's because it's the Isle of Ill Repute.

But it's a joy to hear the khloy on Hoy.

Khloy Joy

Turlough

Submitted by GlosKat on

smiley

 

Submitted by marandina on

"His ghosts blow wilder than the Khamsin"

Hauntingly beautiful and evocative. And that's a great last line.

This would make a great one to do an audio version of. 

 

 

Submitted by Turlough on

Maybe you're right about the recording Paul, but I'm shy. Perhaps when I've a couple of celebratory glasses of rakia in me after the football on Saturday I'll give it a whirl.

But in the meantime, thanks for your kind words of encouragement.

Turlough

Submitted by Makis on

Some lovely haunting imagery here Turlough. I enjoyed this. Many thanks.

 

Submitted by Turlough on

That's very nice to know. Many thanks to you too Makis.

Turlough

Submitted by skinner_jennifer on

I don't know the story behind this poem Turlough, but that makes it even more interesting to read.

I love the Eastern flavour of the lady passing the open window with the basket of pastel shades and how she laughs in harmony with the cheers for the buzuq player. Such a beautiful instrument that conjures up a magic carpet ride into the desert, or a small village of locals sitting in the square enjoying the entertainment while sipping mint tea, or other drinks.

You also capture the bond between the deceased man and the woman he loves, and can't move on because of this love that she can only cure. A sad but perfect ending that brought a tear to my eye.

Jenny.

 

Submitted by GlosKat on

oh god, is he dead ?  I didn't pick up on that at all sad.  I thought he was looking forwards,  towards the end of his life, wondering how he was going to fill it.

 

Submitted by Turlough on

No Kat, he's not dead. He's actually in a very good state of health but just feeling sorry for himself. He'll be grand!

Turlough

Submitted by Turlough on

Hello Jenny.

Thank you for reading this. You've pretty much grasped what I had in mind but the man's not dead. He's in a desolate space somewhere with his gravestone waiting for him in the background, though it doesn't really matter how people interpret it. It stems from a collection of memories of places I've been and ideas I got from lines in songs and poems.

And I'm delighted that you enjoyed it. I know it's hard to beat a drop of mint tea at a buzuq gig.

Turlough

Submitted by skinner_jennifer on

Thanks for explaining Turlough. 

Jenny.

 

Submitted by Di_Hard on

Congratulations! This is Poem of the Week!

 

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