Poetry

A lot of poetry around my woundedness has been coming up, so I thought I'd share. Most of the scenery poems are way old (from Thailand and Laos) and not that good. Most of the woundedness poems were written in Vietnam and Cambodia:

//
Ode to those I left behind

If I lied and told you I'd been kidnapped in a Cambodian jungle,
would you come lay with me on this tropical beach?

If I return to Utah's amazing red-rock desert,
will you forget your beloved and be with me?

Do you still wait for this woman you met and fell for so quickly
that promptly flew half-way around the world to chase her dreams?

If I return, can we pick up where we left off,
as though no time had passed
and no journey had been taken?

Should we?

//
Spiderweb clings to morning dew
thirsty for her sparkling decoration
while it lasts.

Morning dew clings to spiderweb
hungry for purpose;
fearful of dripping and disappearing into the ground.

Neither sees the starvation
their vanity brings
for the webspinner
and the Earth below.

//
What purpose has a fierce gate
across your driveway
with no fence around your yard?

//
Children, no grown-up inhibitions.
so beautiful!
Let us all laugh and sing so freely

//
If we are all one (and we are),
If it does not matter where we are
nor what we do (and it doesn't),

Then why not see beauty?

Whatever the test,
laughing is divinity's answer

//
Gentle tropical breeze whispers
"Come to me"

Barely a hint of the monsoon gales that rip through in their season.

Seashells lay quiet on the sand,
secrets of the ocean and the universe revealed to the patient
and the willing to search.

I pocket a handful, carefully selected mementos;
reminders of the magic where I've been.
Tokens--pieces of what I've seen to share.

//
No pen and paper, my love?
Dance poetry with your body.

Lost your voice?
Sing to me with your eyes.

This place, This place! you cry...
Always mirroring your soul

//
The rising tide ripples onto shore,
laps at your ankles,
offers you a smile.

Give up your problems, worries, and cares!
This ocean is a big vessel.
Let her lighten your load.

//
Monkeys play "tease the tourists"
Tourists feed them for their tricks

Thai boatman watches both.
I see all and smile

//
I want, I want, I WANT!!!
shhhhhhh.

//
Too hot to hurry
Even small grasshopper walks
No flying today

//
5 H'mong girls and a western tourist
Tangle of arms and legs and toros.
Heads point in all directions.
Web of humanity,
woven on a too small queen-size loom,
insulated by a too thin blanket,
a chill wafts through the air,
biting exposed fingers, noses, shoulders, toes.
I am greatful for a middle spot.
One edge rolls away with the blanket
and sleepy tug-o-war begins.
Crick in my back and I shift,
rolling over requires plowing through body parts
like an artic ice breaker.
Uncharacteristic for my generally contracted sense of self.
but it works.
bodies shift, space is made, voids are filled, heat retained.

I am part of the weft of life here and I am in love.
Ker has captured my heart--
clever, beautiful, dilligent girl.
My new little sister.
The radiance of the sun has nothing on the radiance from her heart,
illuminating and reflected in my own.

//
Bloated Catfish on the Mekong river.
Salvaged!
Culinary boone, or waterborne vector?
perspective?

//
Red sentinels, 150' high
strength in my darkness
beauty for my appreciation
I am not remiss in my duty.
Seed carried by high water
growth in a line
planted by nature,
nurtured by this River.
Here and now, we are one.

//
In the wake of your flame, I am burnt.
Structure and order things of my past.
Am I better off?
perhaps.

//
I contemplate the razor.
I hate what I see in the mirror.
I want my outside to show what I feel inside.
Maybe then someone will help me
will see me as I see me
will understand.

//
There is a deeply wounded little girl in me.
Sexualized, cast aside
She grew up under her father's alcoholism,
in the shadow of a popular big brother,
distanced by her mother's co-dependency and 80 hour work weeks.

Gangly limbs, crooked teeth, shaggy hair...
where does this bright, tallented little girl fit
in this cold hard world she does not want to see?

She stands within me, dripping with pig's blood
from a cruel trick at the senior prom,
begging for attention I do not know how to give her.
She reaches out through me to amelieorate wounds in others,
seeking salve for own
gaping
holes.

//
Crossing the boarder into Cambodia,
Big Yellow Capitol Tour boat like a surfaced submarine
Air quality about the same.
We chug steadily upriver.
Up this big, wide, ocean of a river,
So different from the Mekong in Laos,
yet the same.

Boat driver's clear bottle steadily drains.
Rice wine?
probably.

Riverbanks support gardens and cattle and bamboo thach huts.
Smiling children play in the water, waving wildly
screaming "Hello!!" to us tourists,
safe in our boat on this river.

Are they as desparate to be seen as my inner child?
I wave back just in case.
and because I want to.

//
I am consumed. By mosquitos, sticky heat, and self-doubt.
My inner critic is on a rampage and I don't remember how to stop her.
I want to be present for my experience here in Cambodia--to make the most of it.
But I feel in this country that is so poor, I don't know what that means.
I try to move forward without expectation. I want to meet up with Tani from Sapa, or Sam or Hailey from the slow boat in Laos. I want someone to lead me by the hand through this country so I don't have to face my fears alone.

//
What treachery lurks in the human heart?
Genocide, Homicide, Suicide.
All forms of violence;
symptoms of deeper illness.
Wounds festering, untreated
infected, inflamed.
That fire burns weakness wherever it can,
seeking inner strength from external destruction.

What succor does this violence bring?
none.
It only breeds more anger and hatred and suffering within and without.

But it is the way we know.
We repeat ourselves in absence of learning.
In defiance of our teachers.
Insanity.

Do we expect different results this time,
or do we just continue
because continuing is all we know how to do?

//
There is a deeply wounded little girl in me,
wandering my inner darkness,
she is lost and alone and afraid.

How can I teach her, 23 years too late,
to stop this bleeding?

Can direct pressure and elevation help a puncture wound in the heart?
or perhaps
she can use the fire of her inner light
to cauterize the flesh?
Burn away impurities and leave radiance in their place?

Drink the sweet, salty tears
on her cheeks and those cried by her friends and family
in her many hours of need.

Will any of this purify her?
Does she need to be purified?
Or just seen and heard and held.
It seems I only notice her when she stumbles
or bumps into a wall at the edge of this being I have constructed,
a container for the darkness of my youth.
My outside is big and strong and capable.
The perceptive see through cracks in my shell.
Do I need this shell anymore?

//
My sexuality is a caged lioness
pacing the same track in her circus cage.
Onlookers gawk,
impressed and a bit frightened by her capacity
for strength and cunning.
But this lioness is Hungry.
Desparate.
Sad.
Alone.

My wounded child sits on the red-brown earth opposite her cage
in a pool of her own blood
screaming for attention from the passers by.

She wants desparately to be seen
and heard
and cleansed
and held.

She is terrified by the possibility of human contact
but she does not want to be wounded anymore.

How can this lioness and this little girl co-exist in one heart?
one body?
Share the same soul?
Be governed by one mind?
If consciousness opens the cage, will one consume the other?

How can I heal this trapped lioness?
Rehabilitate her.
Nourish her, no longer under- or over- fed.
Ragged coat restored to its original lustor,
Body trimmed and toned,
Muscles strong and limber.
Tawny, wild, and free once again.

//
White phantom in the corner,
all seeing, unseen.
I flash in
and out
of existance
to exchange a shy smile,
Ask for tea,
Receive my meal.
Khmers of all ages and sizes
mill around me and pass by on the street.
I have nothing more to say here.

//
The illusion begins to shift
blown by the flap of a butterfly's wings
in this blessed ancient jungle.