Life, Loss, Truth & Adventure
A Collection of Poems
By Kelvin Hinz
Life, Loss, Truth & Adventure
Kelvin Hinz
Smashwords Edition
Copyright © 2010 by Kelvin Hinz
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Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Dedication:
For all those who have suffered in this world.
Be strong on your journey, and always remember –
God is with you!
Contents
Anecdotal
Philosophy
Adventure
Life & Loss
Other
~~~~~~
Bird on the Beach
On the sand in Thailand
they offered me a caged bird
as I lay under my usual tree,
one of those touristy things I suppose -
a sparrow for a small fee.
It makes you feel good
when you set it free -
a liberator of sorts,
they say it’s for good luck, maybe…?
So I received a little bird
which I enclosed in both hands
after paying the currency.
Peeking at the feathery one through my fingers
not to tease –
but to savour…
the little creature’s release.
I opened up my palms
to let it free - once again fly,
but it never took its freedom
as it just stayed where it was.
I don’t know why.
I ran my finger along his head
and down the spine,
smoothing back his feathers,
trying to prime him for take-off like a dart;
but I could see and feel
it beating so fast – his little heart.
I held him for a time
urging him on - to no avail.
So I placed him to one side -
somewhere he’d not get sat on
but not out of reach,
and for an hour or two more…
I enjoyed the beach.
As it happens in the Tropics –
the heat saps your energy
making you yawn for an afternoon nap,
so with this little bird in hand,
to my guesthouse I headed back.
Thinking he must be sick
some food and water I gathered,
trying to get him to eat without success.
I left him with offerings on the bedside dresser
and into the pillow I sank,
to take my rest.
As I was slipping into sleep
I heard a small but pronounced, thump!
and got up to check.
There was my fluffy little friend –
flat on his back – stiff -
like a miniature Queen’s guard
fallen over backwards.
He’d gone from living happily in a tree
to being as dead as dead can be.
I never realized rigor mortis
could set in so quickly.
It seemed he was sick after all,
or maybe he simply died of fright,
being held captive just killed his spirit…
no longer will he take flight.
I gathered up his body, already gone cold
and carried the little guy downstairs.
Just outside the bar and guesthouse
a good-sized pot plant I found:
wanting to place him somewhere decent
since he had died,
with my hand I scooped up some potting mix
and buried him there inside.
From his earthy grave I’m sure he’ll hear
many drunken sounds of joy and laughter.
And with the essence that was his
in a life that went wrong,
I hope he helped that plant
to grow well, and strong.
~~~~~~~~
Botswana Haircut
There in Kasane
on the dirt roadway
I walked along the row of shops
looking for the place they cut hair
and once found, in I hopped.
One of the staff led me to a seat,
this was definitely a Barber shop –
as he was a bloke,
and over me he threw
the usual cloak.
“The same as is please”,
I requested, “But a bit shorter all around.”
He grabbed his shears and dove in
with tool buzzing loud.
Straight up the centre he shore a strip,
about a number two – a perfect run,
“I asked for a bit shorter!”
“What have you done?”
Looking into the mirror,
there was my new hair style –
like a runway mown through the forest:
down the middle a short strip,
long hair on both sides.
The logic of listening
his action had defied.
With no choice left, I resigned,
“Ahh – just cut the rest the same.”
For I could not get around Africa
with a head looking like I was part of the wildlife,
some hungry local would surely come after me
with spear or bow ‘n’ arrow, and skinning knife.
~~~~~~~~
A Bangkok Bite
As I enjoyed a frothy brew at the Londoner –
my local you could say,
I was approached by a bespectacled young Thai lady
inquiring as to whether
I’d like to join her and two friends.
Was this my lucky day?
It’s not something that happens
to a bloke too often -
being asked
to accompany three ladies for a drink;
the answer was a definite Yes -
about which I didn’t need to think.
We talked for a time,
till I invited them to another bar
as they seemed perfectly fine;
and being the last Friday of the month -
there – we were sure to have a good time.
So up the stairs
and out onto the street,
we walked along to the Bull’s Head -
the short distance was not taxing on our feet.
To the bar I made my way
through the crowd,
ordering a drink for me and these three -
over the music - speaking clear and loud.
And we clinked our glasses – cheers –
with a “Choc Dee.”
I proceeded to make the rounds, as you do…
to say, How’s it going?
to a few folk I knew.
So the three girls and I,
although in the same drinking place,
just made our own separate ways
through the night at our own pace.
By evening’s end,
I was sitting at the bar
having a roady with a friend.
When from the corner of my eye
I saw the spectacled one
throwing punches at the doorman;
and to his aid I ran.
From behind,
I gathered in her flinging arms,
in what I thought was a pretty good bear hug,
which would keep her from causing harm.
She wriggled and writhed,
turned and twisted like someone possessed.
Not to be outdone -
with her teeth -
she somehow got to my hand
and sunk them in nice and deep.
Between me and the Security,
this crazy lady we managed to subdue,
and she was made to pay
for her drinks, from which
she had tried to run away!
As with most Thais,
I could tell she had a nice set of teeth -
for I carried those perfect impressions
in my flesh, literally, for a week.
Fast forward a couple of years,
till my very last night at the Londoner –
the end of a six year stint in this exotic land.
And who do I spot? – none other
than the lady in glasses herself,
and with a few beers in me
I clearly denounced…
“Hey. You’re the girl who bit my hand!”
She gracefully reached for a glass of red wine,
and with a sharp twist of wrist,
promptly threw it in my face.
As the wine dripped off me,
not wanting it all to go to waste -
I licked my lips and decided -
That’s not a bad taste!
I’d like to say - the Thai people
are in general - kind and gentle;
as for this one - she sure had the devil in her,
with an attitude: just plain mental!
~~~~~~~~
Kids for Comfort
Leaving the Black Cadillac,
along the path and up to the road –
with a slight wobble I head
after a few beers enjoyed;
unaware that even more
my spirits were about to be buoyed.
For then I was accosted
by a troop of little kids
numbering four or more.
They had their hands out for money
but it was the lamest begging I’d ever seen;
dressed in pajamas – although slightly ragged,
they like their owners were fresh and clean.
Me being a white man in India
I suppose they thought me rich –
a rough-it budget traveller
more the truth.
In my light-headed glowing state
I sat down with them
on dusty footpath, back against fence.
They crowded close around me
full of happy-child smiles
and questions friendly;
it seems they thought me –
the bees knees.
For a while we sat,
some dark Indian children
and a Westerner from a world away.
Our backgrounds
could not have been more different,
and yet – we were so much the same.
I found some warm comfort there in the dust
for that lovely young innocence
and pure – small child smell –
they possessed.
After a while
knowing it was time
to head home for sleep,
we said our goodbyes
and I got to my feet.
As I strolled along
I couldn’t help but smile to myself:
here I am – a long way from home,
and even more – on my Pat Malone.
But I felt great!
for I had me some little fans.
At times, those children come to mind.
What became of them?
I have no way to tell,
although I can’t help but wonder –
are they making their way in life well?
They must be grown-up by now
and of me – do they ever think?
or was I simply another stranger...
having a drink?
For I shared a moment with them,
and they – a small part of their lives with me –
leaving me the better for it:
as my life they have enriched
that so important little bit.
~~~~~~~~
The Bolivian Barber
I decided it was time for a cut,
as I was tired of long hair in the heat,
so in search of a barber shop in Santa Cruz
I headed down the street.
I found one not far along
and with twin snip of scissor fingers,
I gestured…OK?
With a return nod of head I stepped inside
and asked “Cuanto Vale?”
whereupon he answered, “Twenty Five.”
With me seated in his black chair,
an aluminium comb he grabbed
and gas flame – he ran it through –
with a push of trigger on bottle,
so now – it was good as new!
Then in the slick-back Latino way
he combed my hair;
to see a gringo done in such a fashion,
is fairly rare.
Next came a pair of shears:
and he quickly roughed me out
like Speedy Gonzalez
to a more manageable state;
preparing me…
for a tidier fate.
Scissors now in hand,
trimming me down
he snipped away with his blades
to what I thought was neat and complete –
it seemed a decent haircut he had made.
But then he pulled out a weapon
which caught me by surprise! –
looking like something akin
to a cutthroat razor –Swiss Army knife.
Still in wrapper
he procured a new razor blade,
and so niftily flexed it between thumb and finger
priming it…for its place.
And with his contraption
he shaved so precisely around the edges,
even between hair and ear.
With his expert eye
I hoped he couldn’t miss;
but to say I didn’t move an inch,
doesn’t do the danger any justice.
With another bottle
and pull of trigger this time
around my head lightly he sprayed;
and that nice sting told me
the disinfectant had hit its target:
those fine lines where he’d shaved.
Then with a few waves
of a chunky wash-ya-car sponge –
(this guy had all the gear) –
all about my head
he lent a cool refreshing air.
Still not finished
he seized a final pair of scissors
and stepped back a yard or two.
With small shifts left and right
his gaze held level and perfectly still,
looking for more to cut…
eyeing up my head
like he was lining up a putt.
With imperfections spotted
he gave the tiniest snip here and there,
and between the eyebrows
off came a rogue hair.
Finally satisfied, he brushed me off
and a little flick he gave,
like a bullfighter…
as he whisked away the cape.
That Senor could’ve been a sculptor
creating things of beauty from stone;
for a raw material I’m sure he’d have wished:
one that held no limits, but his own.
~~~~~~~~
Beware of What You Ask
Wanting to get to know
the little lady I’d started seeing -
“What does your father do?” I queried,
“You don’t want to know!”
Why not - his job being?
Of a large corporation
he’s a district manager
which goes by the name – The Mafia,
and truly, none could be nastier.
His forte -
the trafficking of drugs,
of which he is a master -
he and his thugs.
While on the side -
a matter not small:
a few people whacked -
his order, his call!
Freaking out and thinking -
that’s some kind of bully,
I must know, “Does he know about me?”
Don’t worry, he’s retired now, fully.
Having her there
gave me some comfort,
for in my mind’s eye I could see
some mean burly gangster
come after me.
Door bust in -
Gatling gun in hand,
a fine shield she’d make
as I make my stand.
For surely the boss’s daughter
cannot be whacked?
~~~~~~~~
The Cruel Side of Nature
My cat trotting in,
interrupting my dinner
with bird in mouth – like some wild thing.
At first I was proud that little Jazzy
was stealthy enough that day
to catch one with such an advantage -
with wings to fly away!
But upon hearing the bird’s terror
Squawk Squawk!
I’m Gonna Die, I’m Gonna Die;
my attention switched to the mass
of tattered and damaged feathers,
all shrieks, broken and scattered.
Jazzy about to toy with it:
a slow and mean death
upon the dining room floor,
but none of it would I have
and somehow freed it from her jaw.
Not wanting to give up
her patiently won prize
she stuck out a limb of grey
and with her paw of white –
made another grab at her prey.
I was forced to remove her bodily,
out of the way.
Held cupped in hands,
panicked, heart thumping in its chest;
“You’ve got one chance at this.”
I urged from the landing
above the deck.
I gave it a good two-handed under-throw
hiff, and release,
hoping the little creature could find salvation
and continue life for now at least.
She got her wings going
and like a crippled aeroplane,
only just cleared
the mountain range,
which happened to be the neighbour’s fence.
Maybe all I accomplished
was sending the feathery one
to death by another claw;
fate was out of my hands now
as from the birds plight I had to withdraw.
If she survived – I’ll never know.
Not happy though
with Jazzy’s mean method,
I would appeal to her better nature -
Can’t you just kill quickly?
if to the animals I could talk,
and she might reply
Next you’ll have me eating
with a knife and fork.
For, as a bird is a bird
A cat is a cat.
And there’s nothing I can do
to change that.
But a truly cruel streak
there really does exist
in a thing of such
incredible wonder and beauty,
as Mother Nature most certainly is.
~~~~~~~~
I Believe
I believe
in the bond between man
and his four-legged friend,
loyal and trusty,
a true companion to the end.
From each being to another
I believe in goodwill and respect.
I believe other life exists
on some distant planet.
I believe
the human spirit has fire
which can conquer adversity,
no matter how dire.
I believe
for the pain of others
we need to care.
I believe in miracles,
though surely rare.
I believe in true love,
that certain someone to fill your heart
and make it soar
on white wings of dove.
I believe
once we’ve left behind love
and mortal remains of bone and dust,
our souls will fly,
and we will see our loved-ones passed.
But before all this
and this is true –
most certainly my friend
I do believe in me and you,
~~~~~~~~
The World’s Worst
Lately I’ve got to sitting down
and pondering some things in our societies
that truly make me frown.
The world it seems
is being held back
from being ideal
by a few things -
most disagreeable.
If I had my way,
Most certainly -
run off our planet,
these offensive rogues would be.
Supposing, cloaked in cape and mask,
some kind of superhero
I were to become...
I’d kick them from here
to kingdom come.
So here they are -
those that must go
if the human race
is to live long and well.
Totally bewildering –
the first on my list...
Ignorance.
If ignorance were an ostrich,
a strong tug of neck
out of the sand,
with a few slaps
to clear its mind.
A mirror I’d dangle
in front of its dormant head
so the stupid thing could see
just how pathetic it is.
Look around you - Fool,
and take in the Truth,
which leads to number Two...
Arrogance.
If arrogance were a bull,
cut off its privates wouldn’t you just;
hang them from its nose ring,
and behind the ears
place some lovely flowers
and declare:
What you thought was superior,
you staunch idiot,
turned out to be -
just your own bullshit!
That takes us to something,
when unwarranted –
should be banned by decree,
and that is number Three...
Disrespect.
If disrespect were a snake,
I’d trick it
into biting its own tail;
the vile distaste
coursing up through its throat
so it can know a bad taste in its mouth.
That gets us to a thing we witness sometimes,
not only in the courts -
here is number Four...
Injustice.
If injustice were a lion,
I’d capture and bind it by all fours;
sew a piece of its own dried dung
to the end of nose and tongue.
And it could have a whiff
of its own unfairness.
So now we arrive at the last -
number Five...
Cruelty.
If cruelty were a crocodile,
swim after it I would -
agile - with sword in teeth.
I’d lop off its head
and make little shit bags of the underbelly,
as tokens of just how ugly it is.
Imagine a world
without these things,
for they create ill will,
bitterness and hatred.
Without which our world would be
such a peaceful place for all humanity -
the future of the children,
and you and me.
~~~~~~~~
The Truth
Inside us all
is a small part
that rings true
in mind and heart
when the Truth is spoken, or done.
Some may call it God:
of this – I cannot know.
But when the Truth is said
it certainly strikes a chord,
leaving us with that Aha feeling -
a knowing - that what we just heard
is undeniably True.
In our world, unfortunately,
exists a thing we might call - the Lie:
such as dishonesty and injustice,
cruelty and untruth -
often fabricated to suit one’s own designs,
leaving us uneasy,
with a bad taste in our mouths.
For the sake of our good living on this planet
we all need to abide by that Inner Knowing –
that of the Truth,
to stay in tune with its vibration
which will never let us down.
Let us follow the Truth through
with our words and actions
to support the striking of that chord.
As the Truth is
what the world so desperately needs,
for it is that,
which will set us free!
~~~~~~~~
An Appreciation
A hot afternoon in Calcutta,
riding in a taxi was I,
clean clothed,
camera by my side.
Down the busy bridge,
swerve left, curve right,
and there – him – I did see,
dwelling like no human should ever be.
On his haunches
in the dust and grime,
except for loincloth wrapped – he was bare.
Living under an overpass was his only shelter,
traffic fumes his breathing air.
Our lives touched a glimpse,
for his searching aboriginal eyes
were wide open - as a window to see,
an understanding mutual
I felt there to be.
On his part,
I saw no shame;
but in me,
a small twinge of guilt arose:
For we have no choice
of where we come into this world!
Many such as he suffer poverty,
conflict or disease - a daily strife,
please know how lucky you are, and appreciate
all the good you do have in your life.
~~~~~~~~
Words
They can send your heart on wings
to soar like an eagle;
Or they can rip slivers from it
with sharp nails.
They can make your heart
do happy high-jumps;
Or they can dig deep -
and bury it in the mire.
They can bring you
to the front of the class
to reveal you in all your brilliance;
Or they can belittle and degrade -
make you face the corner
naked - for all to see.
They can captivate you
with their warm magic;
Or they can dumbfound you
with a mean careless trick.
They can leave you at ease
with honesty and solidity;
Or they can trouble you
with innuendo
and elusive riddles.
They can awaken your heart
with a gentle kiss;
Or they can cool it
with frozen fingers.
They can fan
the embers of ability;
Or they can douse them
with icy water - stinging cold.
So:
from parent to child,
old to young;
sibling to sibling,
neighbour to neighbour;
friend to friend,
one to another.
Place your feet in the other’s shoes,
and please choose your words...
with care in mind.
~~~~~~~~
A People’s Pain
Are you feeling flat, without flavour?
Do you miss an appreciation? –
that smile-to-yourself
whistle-while-you-work life ingredient.
Do you taste that special spice? –
the one that depends on no-one else.
Are you lacking the vibe? –
that simple joy of being alive.
If the Daily Grind is taking its toll,
please join me on a small journey
and I hope it will breathe
a life gratitude back into your soul.
If you can envision
yourself somehow
in a nation tropical,
which goes by the name -
Cambodia.
From Phnom Phen,
barter for a ride on a motorbike taxi,
get the driver to take you there,
only fifteen k’s from the city
once you agree on the fare.
Chug along
the dirt pot-holed road
bike all squeaks ‘n’ clacks,
and be forgiven for thinking –
is this it?
as you arrive hot and dusty.
Pay your Cambodian Real or U.S Dollar
to the lady at the rickety gate,
but first – you may need to find her.
Once through,
there’s no turning back
and no place to hide,
for you are now there at the Killing Fields...
You can now behold, soberly bear view
to atrocities of a cruel regime –
one of no rules:
as civilians, women and children
were murdered here in their thousands
by the Khmer Rouge.
Make your way
along the dust bare-dirt path,
feel the stillness and hear the quiet...
for you are about to witness
a harrowing sight.
Peer down
into the deep square pits
and read the signs around:
So-many headless corpses,
here – were found.
As you begin to wonder
What of the heads?
You’ll find the skulls nearby
lined up and labelled:
here an old lady,
there - a six year old.
Stand where the children were clubbed –
next to the tree,
and the fatal thud of impact –
ugly impressions in the bark
you will certainly see.
How those poor little souls
must have felt a sick foreboding
of a dreadful demise,
standing there shaking,
bound and waiting.
Imagine the horror in their eyes
as the club falls
and they shockingly realize
there is no reprieve or escape,
a brutal end to their lives.
So many people
stricken by a horrible fate.
How can man be so cruel
to his fellow beings – Why the hate?
When will the human race
stop this grim insanity?
We must learn reason
and with all around us –
live in harmony.
To experience such a thing
makes us realize how life –
really is precarious.
And must surely make us savour –
that to be given something so precious,
we have been shown incredible favour.
But also,
laid with us is a certain responsibility:
to create for the greater good –
a world that is free,
by ridding the earth of such horror,
so the children to be can truly live in peace.
~~~~~~~~
How Much Respect?
The way I see it
as a wondrous living thing,
from the cradle, every baby should be granted
as their birthright: respect - in a healthy dose.
A creation hopefully born of the love of two,
and on ‘n’ up they grow.
And yes, age does earn you
a certain amount more
as through life’s challenges you make your way
and hardships you bore.
However, age alone cannot command
respect absolute.
Do you have total respect for a Saddam Hussein?
And what of Hitler
if he’d lived to be an old man?
For throughout life,
respect is gained or lost
depending on a person’s merits -
made up of one’s morals, words and deeds:
of cruelty or kindness,
rude or dignified,
wise or foolish.
As for bullies:
bulging muscles, hard head and fists –
they do not qualify you.
For the use of fear and intimidation
should not be confused
as they cannot gain you
a respect that is true.
So Beware!
In the eyes of others
and in the Big Man’s upstairs:
The thoughts and intents
you hold in mind and heart;
the things you say and do -
displaying cruelty or care
shall determine how much respect
you will receive,
for you must earn the Lions Share.
~~~~~~~~
Bush Barbecue
Cruising along on back of safari wagon,
the air whipping our faces.
Getting that feel-alive beer-in-hand pre-party glow,
with promise of an evening
to surely know.
Swerving off-road
into the bush we did glide,
for the seeking of wild beasts -
all with eyes peeled wide.
A Sable antelope spotted,
striking bolts of lightning white
piercing its black face -
an awesome sight!
Arriving at the waterhole
two ostrich we disturbed,
drinking with necks down
and pointing up their fluffy rear.
Male and female – black and brown
off they tore in top gear
with bounding strides...
feathers - floating on air.
After finding a good spot
we jumped down on our feet
and went gathering firewood
to cook our meat.
With belly full and night falling
I felt compelled
to keep my back to the fire,
to be wide-alert to the dark
for a shape sinister - anything dire!
But a scaredy-cat
not wanting to appear,
I suppose I surrendered,
gave in, not a care.
And in the end
feeling great and so alive
with good company
and stories told.
Just a group of folk
enveloped by African night
enjoying our chosen tonic,
warm in circle of firelight.
~~~~~~~~
The Chobe
Running some errands
in a town called Kasane,
there was a greeting and a How’s it going?
as Clive ran into his friend Louie.
It was a stroke of fortune
because it was true he
was a Safari guide.
He casually offered us a cruise
and to keep our end of the bargain -
we’d simply provide the booze.
So for the dry throats of us four
we keenly sped to the Liquor store.
Piling in beers and ice to chilly bin,
Do we have enough? crossed my mind -
betraying our satisfaction – wry grins.
Jumping into Safari wagon
we made a start
and under the big arch we passed
leading into Chobe National Park.
Not far in at all,
we were alerted by some shrill cries,
looking down into valley below
I just couldn’t believe my eyes.
For a large herd of elephant there was -
a few dozen strong -
big ‘n’ small, old ‘n’ young,
seemingly startled by something
as they trotted along at quite a pace;
like a dry sponge my mind soaked up the vision -
rendering me totally amazed!
As the big greys hurried away
we came upon some tourists with black tour guide.
Language in African tongue was exchanged
and through the friendly banter –
some cats had just been seen - it was explained!
Heading to river - around right,
upon the spooked elephant culprits we came,
us, wide eyed; them, just so content!
For there lay a warthog flat on its back,
as very recently the kill had been made,
all fours pointing straight in the air
with its guts eaten away.
With their prize stretched out in front,
Two lioness’
lying under brown brush shade,
tongues heavy and panting from the African summer
and the exertion they had made.
Just a skip and jump away from our truck
lay the last tawny body - a young male –
first tufts of mane barely apparent.
Twisting in sandy earth scratching his back,
belly full with eyes rolled in top of head.
With a lion so close I felt a bit tense,
but he was totally at ease -
oblivious to a human presence.
Stepping out and onto the river shore,
I couldn’t believe we stood there
relieving bladders before hopping on board,
with our backs to three big cats -
not a hundred yard away.
We chugged along the Chobe,
all aboard with beer in tow,
on the look-out and soaking up the atmosphere -
cruising nice ‘n’ slow.
A small band of elephants this time
washing themselves -
big ones and a baby or two.
Dipping and sucking up water,
arching back their head and trunk,
expelling it with a huff.
Trumpet blasts piercing the air -
shrill shrieks of delight
as they gave themselves a wonderful shower,
What a sight!
On we went, the beers flowing smoothly now,
and at intervals
you’d hear someone shout -
“There’s one!”
Protruding from huge flat head -
only round nostril and ear
betraying its whereabouts,
as the odd hippo rose for air.
Further along, and from creature of water
to creature of sky:
there on bare tree remnant
on branch poking out of river
perched a barrel-chested Fish Eagle.
Arrogant and statuesque
with his proud head and hooked beak,
regal in his reign…
barely tolerating our presence
in his domain.
On we came to our landing point,
and feeling amazing we disembarked.
At Louie’s place we continued
with beers that still remained,
enjoying the conversation
with his African flatmate and friend.
Showered up and smelling fresh,
for burger and chips,
to Tebe bar we head.
Like the lions now -
with our own bellies full.
Taking pleasure in the company
and our drink of choice
through that evening in December,
into the night we did celebrate,
on a high - from a day to remember.
~~~~~~~~
On Machu Picchu
Our little tour with local guide
through the ruins of Machu Picchu
was full of wonder -
complete with ancient truths.
Such as when the sun peered between two mountains
on stone calendar a certain shadow would be cast,
letting them know when to sow
what they would later harvest.
During most of the tour,
at our backs towering steeply
stood the highest mountain –
after which the site is named.
There was a path up
built by the Incas themselves:
the incline was outrageous
but you could surely make it
if you were feeling courageous.
In my group
an American guy and I declared
“We’ve gotta climb that mountain” -
we’re not scared -
the one with the flag on top,
and in mind I got myself geared.
His name was Kelly, and he was game,
I thought it to be a good omen climbing with him:
first three letters of name
being as mine - just the same.
Tour concluded,
up the roughly compiled stone path we set;
on back our day-pack, camera and water
with which our dry throats we’d wet.
Not too far up we came to a thatched shelter
with visitors book in open view;
I suppose they want to know who’s passed that way,
and for safety reasons too.
Date, Name, Age, Nationality -
I filled in the usual columns with ease,
and Sex: where I wrote
Yes please.
We carried on, on our trek upwards
and it became pretty narrow,
all the way a steep rise,
stepping a metre the wrong way
would’ve seen your demise.
The steps were uneven, like scrambled rocks.
I wish I’d worn shorts that day
as my knees - with the sweat -
grabbed my jeans
and I was forced to hold them up.
It also kept them out of the dirt,
but it felt uneasily feminine for a bloke:
like a maiden gathering up her skirt.
My legs were holding their own,
but I had no real fitness
and ground myself to a stop a number of times.
Chest heaving, bent over with palms on knees,
resting against the bank
or a handy tree.
Much of the last part
I was forced to climb on hands and feet,
ahead seeing only the next step;
but upon reaching the top
it sure was - worth the effort.
For there we stood – not far below the clouds,
absolutely surrounded by mountains
and at the ruins, looking down.
With the Cusco flag fluttering gently,
apart from those few clouds of white
it was a beautiful day with sun aplenty.
I found myself a private spot
up there amongst the splendour.
And as it being a place of the Gods,
I did as to my Aunty I’d promised:
I said hello to her lost son
simply saying that him - they loved and missed.
I spoke to everyone in that time
from the peak of Machu Picchu:
to all that I’d lost in my life.
And although nothing in reply was received,
I hoped they were OK and could hear -
I can only believe!
The other few on the summit
eventually left, leaving me sitting alone
under a shelter from the sun.
As to the top arrived one or two,
the grandeur and majesty of it all I fully took in
as I admired the view.
But the clouds around…began to darken.
A few raindrops wet the dusty earth
then before long, we were four
sat huddled under the shelter,
and I hoped it’d not rain much more.
We all commented on the situation,
as the wet rocks
would make for a treacherous return.
Now it was getting late in the day,
and as we pondered our fate
Unbelievably…it started to hail.
What if this persisted until dark…?
Were we to spend a long night with eerie hosts,
up there in the cold
with the Inca ghosts?
But the Gods did smile on us
for the rain and hail ceased,
giving the rock steps some time to dry,
I got to my feet.
With just so much purpose,
placing each foot on level rock -
checking for good purchase,
I very cautiously made my way,
back down.
~~~~~~~~
Lost in Botswana Bush
“Go for a game drive,” my friend offered
as he laid his keys in my hand.
I thought - no way I’m going out there
first time in a four wheel drive
and alone in the African bush,
I prefer to be here alive.
After the water tower I painted,
with nothing to do in particular
I sat for a bit...
But suddenly the spirit seized me
and I found myself heading along the road
in a red Toyota,
of what I was getting myself into,
I had not one iota.
Into the bush from the tar-seal,
hopping out to click the drive into four wheel.
Large troop of baboons very near,
ugly and fierce faces,
watch them - but show no fear.
Cruising along, something caught my eye,
out of vehicle to investigate...
Unbelievably, a tortoise crossing the dirt tracks
in this land so dry.
I took a left as pre-instructed
when to the end of the cut line I came;
tyres sliding and grabbing in soft earth
and sure enough, I got my first sight of the game.
Pairs of animal eyes fixed on me
by a small herd of zebra,
all side on - with young in front.
They stood on guard in set formation,
and I was witness to something unique.
For amazingly they crossed over –
their stripes of black and white,
a gift from Mother Nature
to confuse...the Lion’s sight.
Ahead, some wildebeest I approached
but only to a distance they deemed safe.
For as I crossed the invisible line,
they’d bound away
with long loping strides
and from a position of defence
gaze at me again - eyes open wide.
When to the game I was remotely near,
I would never escape their stare.
On that hot day
to see the creatures I did go;
but I realised, incredibly, that out there –
I was unwittingly the star of the show.
With a three point turn required
to end of trail I came
and spun the steering wheel,
heading home - my aim.
Coasting along nicely and feeling light
till I reached a point
where I sensed all was not right.
And my doubt confirmed
when in the very next mud-hole I got stuck!
It was painfully obvious I was lost
in the African wilderness - there in the muck.
For a right turn I had forsaken -
this ain’t no joke!
out here, I’m as good as bacon.
And a huge dark raincloud
hovered above...
to compound the situation.
Check left, check right, check straight ahead;
tawny wisp in the grass
What is that?
I could be dead.
What now, a walk toward the road -
through snakes and scorpions?
Not wanting to become a feast
for any roaming beast,
best I stay here.
Ration my liquid supply -
bottle of water, three cans of beer.
I can’t die today!
want so much to live, see my family,
rummaged through the glove-box -
a mobile phone – Yippee!
Two Yarpies
came to save my hide,
out of the mud,
smiles a mile wide.
Back to the lodge
and out of the car
with muddy sneakers I headed...
straight for the bar.
“Drinks are on me!”
to my rescuers I declared,
Thanks for saving my skin,
out there...the worst I feared.
On stool, elbows on bar
into the early evening I sat
celebrating life...
And as nectar from the Gods
so the beer tasted,
knowing it all might’ve ended in grief,
as in the wilds of Africa
my life could’ve been wasted.
What a relief!
~~~~~~~~
Kindness on Koh Samet
It’s great to have you here Mum,
but out of bustling Bangkok let’s get.
An awesome island retreat I know
and want you to see,
it’s called Koh Samet.
Four hours due East
off on air-con bus we set.
From the mainland I grabbed
a couple of large bottles of wine
and onto the ferry we stepped.
Reaching land later than ideal
and making our way along bush track
to a pre-determined bay our gear we heft,
upon a fork we came
and with scratch of head
I guessed - left!
So down and down we climbed,
arriving at a bay unknown
with reception and cabins.
To the young Thai lady proprietor we appealed -
How can we get over to the next?
Now becoming slightly concerned
in-sync with approaching night,
as I realized at the fork
we should’ve gone right!
Upon noting the now-nearly dark
“I’ll take you,” she said,
and she summoned her brother to lend a hand.
I grabbed my mum’s bag to lighten her load,
then up a different path we went
as the torch-bearing lady in front we followed.
Continuing on our little trek
to find our spot,
my mum I heard -
having some trouble with uneven track,
whereupon I turned my head
to look back.
But worried, I needn’t have.
For there was the young Thai man,
holding her hand – helping to keep her footing -
with a gentle pull-up when needed.
And so he walked my mum till near the next bay,
along the bushy path
until we had our bearings – could see our way.
As the Thai twosome slipped back into the night,
I offered a grateful
and decent – “Kup Kun Krap.”
I’ve at times wondered since:
if races reversed -
Would a young white Westerner
have done an Asian lady such favour?
I’d like to think so.
For those acts of unselfish kindness done,
break down the barriers
of race and religion,
and a bit closer we all become.
~~~~~~~~
A Wild Xmas
I found myself that year
not in my normal Xmas spot
but in the bush in Botswana,
in the African hot.
There with Afrikaner family
we cracked open our first beers,
eager to be amongst
the festive cheer.
Feeling in the swing of things
as the day moved up a gear
but needing something solid in our bellies,
mouths watering as dinner neared.
Crowding around –
to cast iron pot we were lured
by that sumptuous stew called potjie
not to be stirred.
Smoothly the drinks flowed
as others arrived
from the likes of a hundred k’s away -
just up the road -
as the locals would say.
And there we all were
from this land and that,
I thought about time
I grabbed my gat.
Serenading the ladies
one aim,
playing guitar -
I thought my game.
But the instrument I couldn’t play
and the tunes – I couldn’t carry ‘em -
head swimming,
with beer and Lariam.
The young ones
feeling it was time
for a change of scenery
proclaimed, ”Let’s get out there”,
amongst the greenery!
Into the vehicles we piled
and sped off,
into the night wild.
Engine revving ‘n’ whining
through mud-holes flew our truck,
windscreen awash - can’t see
how’d we get through all that muck?
We arrived with bells on -
noisy as hell,
at where we wanted to be.
And to a nearby waterhole,
on foot with Dutch courage
into the night we stole.
The so-many yards
seemed a mile.
Anything to kill me out here?
Got back safely with a smile.
But I have to say
moonlit African night -
captivating it was,
bush drawing you into starlight.
With our energy diminished,
we got back to base
still, not quite finished.
We sealed an awesome time,
on that celebrated date,
with a night cap or two
at a pace more sedate.
To sleep I went – happily drunk
and feeling amazingly free!
What a day that was –
Xmas Day 2003.
~~~~~~~~
A Fall for a Purpose
In the M’topo hills
on a blue sky day,
with odd shapes of granite all about,
up the big rocks we made our way,
led by a local guide
to the age-old caves.
We climbed to see some ancient art,
made by living man,
drawn by the people of Southern Africa,
known as the San.
Their depictions of village and wildlife
adorn the cave walls -
preserved there through the ages.
When our interest we’d quenched
we stepped out into the sunlight,
and began our descent.
For an unknown reason,
the guide chose a different route
to our waiting vehicle -
from the one taken up.
Making for a difficult climb -
more direct,
but at much greater decline.
I was forced to traverse
at right angles - being so steep –
with body heading down sideways,
to keep from falling head over feet.
But unluckily I lost my footing
and was found facing disaster -
flying through the air head first.
With only rock to land on,
it wasn’t hard to imagine the worst:
in the days to follow,
I’d surely be taking a ride
in the back of a Hearse.
It was a long way down,
and as that second or so slowly went by
I did have time to think…
It’s a beautiful day to die!
Bang, Crash…
my head hit hard,
momentum flipping me over with ease
and throwing me down even further,
to land on my knees.
For a few moments I lay
before groggily lifting my head,
to get my bearings and sit up.
To my surprise,
with blood everywhere it mattered not -
for I was still alive!
They wrapped some cloth about my head and knee
to staunch the bleeding,
and made for the nearest hospital -
there in Bulawayo.
But in getting me some help urgently
they really did fail,
as along the way, incredibly,
they stopped at a pub for an ale.
Back out they headed towards me
with a box of brew in tow,
and from back of truck in dazed state
I simply said “Give me a beer”,
wanting to celebrate the fact…
I was still here.
To survive like that
highly against the odds,
I know that I must surely have
someone on my side.
And I realize that God,
to have kept me alive,
must have a certain plan for me
to grant as such…another life.
I’ve known for some time now,
It is to write!
To wrestle with thoughts and ideas
until the truth is found.
Then to finally put it into written words
with every ounce of ability possessed,
and from my heart and soul…
the very depths.
~~~~~~~~
Mum’s Poem
When ten I was,
as in my bed I lay
I was drawn by a sound -
a mellow hum.
Slipping out and onto the floor
I headed quietly...
for the lounge door.
Placing my ear there upon
I was captured by a warm sound -
a music earthy and soothing,
enchanted; to the door I was bound.
Knowing my Mum was there inside
for only a few songs I would stay,
not wanting...
to give the game away.
A number of nights
off I went
on my little escapade,
and in those times it’s safe to say
a Neil Diamond fan was made.
Through all this,
my Mum sitting there
enjoying the music I imagined;
of her distress...I had no idea!
For she was weeping,
mourning the loss of my Father.
Maybe listening to Neil
gave her solace,
helping to heal.
It must have left her heart
ruptured and torn
to lose a husband,
and father of four.
Sorry Mum...
for if I’d known
through the door
I’d have flown,
and I’d be there…
to give you a hug.
~~~~~~~~
The King of Pop
At such a young age you were a star,
you grew up in the spotlight,
we watched you, and heard your voice from afar.
Up there with your brothers
the little one in front was you,
you guys made the Jackson Five
and you sang so clear and true.
On your own you branched out -
inventing your own brand of rock,
with a new dance – seemingly from outer space.
In history, and in our memories
you have cemented your place.
You sang of the Man in the Mirror –
Were you comfortable with him?
For we can’t help but wonder
why you changed your looks so much,
as you were already a dude –
although with a gentle touch.
During your career
you were accused of this and that;
one of immense talent will arouse in others a fear,
but none of this can stick
as you were found innocent,
by a jury of your peers.
With beautiful melody and a human theme,
you sang of love and world healing…
Was that your dream?
The world was quiet and sad the night you died –
as we all paused to reflect.
It’s nice to know you’re at peace now
and what you brought the world - we won’t forget.
For you were very much…one of a kind.
~~~~~~~~
A Life Untouched
She hailed
from the islands Galopagas,
Taronga zoo keepers
her - surely they will miss.
For she has passed now,
on her merry way.
Sure left her mark though:
a hundred ‘n’ seventy-two-year stay.
Of her sea turtle gender
she would have told them
if only she spoke.
You see, for more than a century
they thought she was a bloke.
All her life
she never mated,
she really have oughta,
no-one to make love with
for a century ’n’ three quarter.
Poor old dear...
~~~~~~~~
Robin
This is a little poem
to an unknown brother,
I have only one,
you were the other.
There are so many questions unanswered -
of little things we are left to wonder:
as colours go -
was your favourite red, blue, or another?
Did you eat all your veges first
and save the meat till last?
Did you hate pumpkin the worst?
Chocolate, strawberry, or vanilla -
which ice cream did you prefer?
For times of transport
to go near or far;
would you have sat your backside
on a motorcycle,
or in the seat of a van or a car?
Would you have married
a brunette or a blonde?
To make a living
would you have used your hands,
your brain, or your mind?
Inside you – was there a beautiful talent
you would have found?
You enquired
as to how the stars got there,
we’re still not sure,
even among the great minds here.
Maybe now of that -
you know what is true,
for up there
you do have a wider view.
In all certainty
I’ll be there one-day,
where you are...
way above the clouds,
so very far...
When that time comes
we’ll find ourselves a comfy spot,
and marvel at the glorious vision
of the universe and earth blue,
as finally you get to know me,
and I you.
~~~~~~~~
Downhearted
When you truly are down
food has lost its taste -
sustaining yourself is a real effort.
For when your heart is low
it’s like winter without warmth,
a lump of wood with no fire -
nothing inside is alive.
You just feel empty and tired.
We have to somehow,
taken from all the good we see about us -
just keep a slight glow
and trust in nature’s way of spirits rising -
through us anew, that good feeling will flow.
For we need to keep our hearts alive
because someday soon
when the spark of life does arrive,
your heart must be ready with a small ember
so it can ignite and once again be full…
of delight.
~~~~~~~~
This is for my old dog: Penny
Doggies Deceased
There comes a time
when each of us must leave this world,
this plane at least.
And we humans have named
such a place – Heaven –
for the well-behaved.
So we are placed
in a wooden box,
lowered into the ground
and covered with earth.
Or maybe down to ash we burn
and simply poured into an urn;
or scattered somewhere special and sunny -
as determined by our wishes,
culture or society.
But what of man’s best friend?
A doggie crematorium
I’ve neither heard of nor seen.
As for doggie coffins, we don’t build:
such a confined space should not be
for a soul who loved to play,
and with nose in the wind...run free.
So,
where do our doggies go
when they die?
It must be –
to the place they dream of...
that great big bone
in the sky.
~~~~~~~~
Please Grieve
There is a need for your heart to bleed...
Let the thorns of pain rake open your heart,
the hurt burst from the wounds
and with your heart’s blood
flow down your cheeks...
Let it pour -
let your heart rain forth its tears
and your pain be washed away
till the first rays of healing appear...
~~~~~~~~
Lasting Beyond Life
Our loved ones taken too soon
leave behind broken hearts in time
which will make it through.
Tears eventually fade to fond memory:
from grief to gratitude.
Once their souls have soared
and their flesh has returned
to whence it came,
Love is the one thing of essence
that truly remains.
~~~~~~~~
For as long as he could remember,
he’d been homeless -
seeking shelter where he could.
Eking out survival – he’d surely die
if not for the coin
of kind passerby.
His existence was a long lonely fight:
no warm companionship, no one to love,
no one to hug goodbye or goodnight.
Until one day a homeless one,
such as he, came into his life -
panting softly and wagging its tail,
helping to ease his strife.
This she-dog snuggled up to the Old Man
and together, the nights were warmer.
This put a gently content smile
on his face – full of creases,
and feeling calm and more secure
he slept in peace.
A half-worn brush he found
and took great care -
with long even strokes
he brushed his dog’s hair.
And the dog loved the feel
of the fine needles of the brush,
never before for her – had anyone cared.
For hours at a time
the dog would disappear,
but she’d always come home
to her safe sleeping place -
where the Old Man was very near.
Season upon season
they shared their lives;
and for the Old Man
there was always just enough:
just enough food and shelter,
just enough warmth
and just enough love.
Surviving day by day,
they grew
so very old this way…
One morning
the Old Man awoke as usual –
with his companion’s head on his lap.
But when he shifted she did not stir;
and although no breath moved her body,
to no avail – still - he tried to rouse her
until he was forced to give in to reality.
With middle and index finger
he smoothed back the hair on his dog’s face,
in keeping with the grain
so all perfectly lay in their place.
The Old Man held his dog’s head in both hands.
And with every ounce of tenderness he possessed
in his heart, and in his soul,
he kissed his dog just once
as a final goodbye,
on the forehead -
right between the eyes.
The emotion welled up
from inside his very being
and streamed down his cheeks.
As life’s rejection and failure
and all that was unfair
gushed forth…and his dog’s face
was washed clean with tears.
The Old Man realized now,
that his own life
had run its long course.
And so it was,
that he just lay there -
as he was.
And he too, upon closing his eyes
was taken to a haven of love and grace,
as he so peacefully drifted away…
into God’s place.
~~~~~~~~
Don’t Be Bitter
When we’ve lost a certain someone –
a person truly dear,
it is hard, especially
when taken too soon.
As into pain your life is hurled,
you may keenly feel an injustice
and be bitter: against the world.
But to carry a bitterness
exacts its own cost,
it’s like losing a part of your own life,
on top of the one already lost.
I feel we need to find
from the knowing and loving of them
something to ease our heart and mind –
a special little gem.
We can become better I trust
by taking the very best of that person
and making it…a part of us.
~~~~~~~~
I dedicate this to the memory of my cousins: Debra, Shona & Craig
They are not Alone
In life there is living
and there is loss.
As certain as you were born
one day you will die –
that is about the only rule;
life just doesn’t play fair,
at times...it’s even cruel.
Anyone who’s ever known and loved
someone very dear
and seen them stolen away:
heartbreak - taken too soon
by an illness or tragedy,
this poem is for you!
Be not worried of them way up there,
do not fret for them being OK or lonely,
for they have been welcomed into the fold -
by a crowd of such quality.
The likes of Mother Teresa and Ghandi,
the flowing words of Shakespeare,
joined by the soaring heights of Pavarotti -
in the greatest of company they share.
With the beautiful soothing voice of Elvis -
returned to its rightful place...
and together with loved ones gone before
each and all will find...
a loving embrace.
They will be forever entertained:
enveloped in a warm light all will be
at a huge heavenly party
of love and peace.
No more hardship or fear,
never again suffer pain,
only of joy...will they find a tear.
And always remember:
there’s a mutual something
taken away with them,
and left behind with you.
It is your love of them…
and theirs of you.
~~~~~~~~
A Driving Force
The passing of a dear friend
has given me a wake-up call of late,
a tragedy at the hands of cancer
has jolted me, to contemplate...
Of the good stuff
she was made:
warmth and compassion.
She has left us –
but never her love.
Such injustice
is hard to bear,
as hers...
was only half a life I fear.
It’s doubly hard to take
when she was the last person
deserving...such a fate.
Her death has propelled me,
driven me deep inside to search for meaning,
and to somehow find the words
to express our heart’s truest feeling.
~~~~~~~~
Juanita
The Incas must have thought the Powers Above
to be with them displeased
as they decided a sacrifice to the Gods
was needed to appease.
A beautiful young teenage girl was pre-chosen,
unblemished and of pure innocence.
From a modern day marvel of discovery
she has been known since as Juanita.
In the Inca capital Cusco
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