August Postcard Poetry Festival 2016A Poem by KWP I participated in this wonderful festival again this year. A free flowing poem a day for the month of August - on a postcard and sent around the planet. This year my them was from my recent trip. Borneo Sunset Clouds dancing to a unique rhythmic waltz refusing to be stirred from reverie. Acting out their very own fairytale, as hues of pastels whisper the story to the sky. Fighting to finish the last act, before the sunset depletes. The dark night sky wins yet again. Virgin Borneo Rainforest Living, breathing, all as one ….. walking into the heart, of the rainforest. Air wet, stifling heat, movement adopts a new heaviness. Moss, pear, pickle, basil, pine, sage … all the greens thrive alive underneath the heavy canopies, a freshness of what it means to survive one hundred million years, nurturing, feeding … the circle of life. Swallow Spit ‘Madam, I promise you, it very good for you.’ He’s trying to sell me the saliva of a swallow. ‘Madam, it good for your lung, it good for your blood circulation.’ These birds (swallows) make their nests out of their own saliva. ‘You see this nest, we already clean it for you, then we make the drink.’ I cannot imagine drinking bird spit, swilling it in my mouth, forcing myself to swallow. (No pun intended.) ‘Oh no madam, the flavour is exquisite, why you crinkle your nose?’ They say this saliva is a rarity, good for older people, good for complexion, also very expensive -not a bad taste either. ‘This good market price madam, Borneo price, please try.’
Ho Chi Minh War Museum Cool relief inside the museum, from the heat of a Saigon day where perspiration slides down arms, back, legs and intermingles at the bottom of my hairline, reminding me - I am alive. A moments reprieve before being launched face first into atrocities almost forgotten. Warned before entering this Vietnam War exhibition. ‘They show it how it happened,’ they said, ‘Not one sided, just the truth.’ The photographs lining wall after wall advocating the story of this war - I will not describe, no, I will not paint a picture of soldiers tortured, nor chronicle victims of land mines, I shall not attempt to illustrate horrendous affects of agent orange, or convey how a town appears after it has been bombed. I cannot translate for you a mother’s face when she realises she has lost her entire family in one momentous blast. Neither will I express the hurt, pain and anguish I saw in the eyes of those -
I will however make mention of the tendrils of sadness encasing my soul, the loaded burden of the dead, disfigured, and affected crushing my heart, scene after scene displayed squeezing my innards, constricting my breath. Each photograph my mind skips its own override, as the gross point gravity lands upon my upturned hands in askance of why?
A Vietnamese Feast
Rice wine to start the feast, dutch courage it will bring, you better make mine a double, to wash down everything. Goat breast, white meat grilled on a tiny flame. Dissected frog - dip in sauce, only if you’re game. Frog tastes like chicken, the bouncer didn’t get away. Skin tastes very fishy - confusing in every way. ‘Wash it down with beer my friend, for now they bring Balut, the embryo of a duck it is, cooked in it’s eggshell - oh that’s just beaut!’ (oh no!) ‘Marinated in tamarind, forget the bird is there, munch down on the beak my friend, a delicacy we like to share.’ Dessert is served, balance regains - rambutan, lychee, mango, breathe a sigh of relief I do, I survived the Vietnamese Streetfood tango. Street Frogs With Desire Two best mates named Chuck and Bill, always thinking of food. Until one day Chuck did declare, ‘Diet time -I no longer look good in the nude!’ So Chuck set out and made a plan, daily running, waters edge, by the hollow Chuck liked to lead, thought he was boss Bill his best friend did dutifully follow. That morning Chuck browsed the internet, he was searching for new sneakers. ‘Nike is for me,’ he declared, while Bill inspected Nike’s features. Not impressed, Bill spoke his mind, ‘Sneakers make you slow. You’ve been gifted with the bounce my friend, Purple Nike’s won’t allow go-go-go!’ ‘Stop fussin’ Bill,’ Chuck did demand, his mind made-up and set and clear. Trendy purple Nike’s he did purchase, dreamt of how he’ll look in his new gear. Bill boinged away shaking his head, Chuck had left him feeling in a poop, the last frog who had bought a pair of Nike’s disappeared to rumours being boiled in a humans soup. Bill was practising his callisthenics, when Chuck proudly wobbled by, Purple Nike’s on Chuck’s back feet, Bill thought they bought out the lime-green of his eyes. ‘Now look at you,’ Bill did yell, ‘You can hardly muster a bounce, you’ve gone from fast to slow, in your own silly show, it’s your stupidity you flounce.’ Chuck made to comment, but all too late, a giant net swooped, depositing him in a bag. ‘Humans!’ Bill cried, but all to late, for Chuck was now a human-dinner-snag. Chuck did fight with all his might, jump out of the bag he could not do. His purple Nike’s weighing him down, He screamed, ‘Why did I buy these shoes?’ The bag was tied, hung on the side, of the fat boys sparkly tangerine bicycle. Salivating at the lips was he dreaming of frogs fry and a berry icicle. The boy gave Chuck, to his mum said, ‘please mum cook him for my dinner.’ Throwing Chuck’s Nike’s in the bin, he laughed knowing who, in this story, is the winner. ‘Mum,’ he said, ‘It’s funny how, frog tastes like chicken mixed with dirty socks this one was wearing purple Nikes, I may not have caught him in Ree-boks!’ Pygmy
I see you there, idling along the river bank. For what brings you here alone? Food, water, stillness? I’m told you only travel within a pack. I mean no offence when I admire your itty-bitty size. Fully grown your pint-sized everything makes me scrunch my face at your delightfully adorable all. Toot? can you give me a toot? Surely a trumpet from that weeny trunk is too much to ask. No? ah - instead I shall enjoy this moment, just you and I, companionless companions, eyeing each other in wonder. Apple Stew Kind of Moment It seems there are equal measure of good and bad, perhaps it is meant to be this way, you know, to keep the balance. The universe is no stranger to conflict, in fact the very core of this Granny Smith style existence has been built on a fracas of clashes and collision. Moments of beauty and truth exist in the stillness of the everywhen. Goodness is an inherent treasure to be found blossoming face up, laughing raucously as the world collides in a cold stew of conflict, knowing goodness himself will finally reign when we accept in totally the finality of the now (no strings attached - just the now). Head Hunting Today
I met a young man in Borneo, he called himself Mac Allister. ‘Mac or Allister, you decide which one you like,’ was his suggestion. Mac is a descendant of the Borneo head hunting tribe and the eldest of his two brothers and one sister. Being the eldest comes with great honour, his father’s duty - to show him the ways of the tribe. When Mac was still a tiny fourteen year old boy, his father plied him with rice wine one evening, so much rice wine, the house walls wobbled like the noodles in his mothers fish soup. So much rice wine the shape of his fathers head started resembling a market fresh jack fruit. So much rice wine …… Having lost control of his limbs and rendering himself in a state of ‘not in control’, he gave up the fight and lay staringly lifeless on the straw matted floor. Bordering on unconscious he watched on as his father lay his heavy ‘like a coconut dirt filled head’ in his lap. Quite unexpected, shocked and deliriously upset was Mac when he realised, all too late, before he blacked out complete, his father was administering the age-old headhunters tradition of breaking each of his incisors right out of their sockets. He was about to loose his front teeth!! ‘The Headhunter’s do this for a stronger blast on the sumpitan.’ Sumpitan you ask? ‘The blow pipe for hunting.’ Mac, smiled his perfectly all too perfect smile as he remembered his father’s act. ‘I was upset for many days,’ he assured. ‘But now I have false teeth, it does not matter, and yes, I have honoured the head hunting tradition.’ Rainforest Rain
The wet season of Borneo promises rain, each and every afternoon. Pin pointing the exact time can be queried only by the clouds, everyone else will be given about thirty seconds warning. Buffeting ears with the sound of millions of droplets of water converging all at once, piercing their way onto, through, the dense canopy up yonder. Whoosh, it is upon you, a wall of water, rapidly escalating to a deluge, rain drops pricking at your skin as if you are a voodoo doll done bad. Hair, clothes plastered to head and body. A refreshing hiatus from the days trollop through the humid walls weighing you down so heavily you feel you have the footprint of an elephant mixed together with the energy of a sloth. Turning your face up the the flood from above, wash away the days deeds, you notice the sun smile through, and the rain continues on, without you. Trilobite
Not much has carried it’s own weight through the ages without feeling the need to evolve. One evening, in Danum Valley, Sabah, Borneo, I was out with my friend Mac. Mac was born and raised in the rainforest. ‘I don’t like cities,’ he affirms, ‘why do I need to when I have this?’ And, with a long inhale of one hundred and ten million year old, virgin rain forest surrounds, I was in complete agreeance. It was not long off after the torrential rains had stopped, we trekked, torch in hand, to visit the nocturnal ones. Owls, flying squirrels, tiny bats, mouse deer, frogs, spiders, all presented themselves for my special delight. There was one young bug-lass, who caught my attention, she goes by the name of Trilobite. She’s sturdy, long, flat, with large scales protecting her body. She and the rest of her kind have been foraging through this virgin rainforest floor for millions of years. I noted, she is not ‘bugging’ anyone, she is ‘at one’, because she is one, with the everywhen of her surrounds and eternity. Mining the Land
Taking only a millisecond, a farmer in the Mekong, will change the course of the lives of both him and his family forever. It’s not like in the movies, I was told. No, in the movies, you first of all hear a ‘click’, and once you hear the ‘click’ the thoughts of a trillion stars flash before your eyes - then BOOM!
or, you have had limbs blown right away from their bones. after enemies recoil to lick their wounds, after the rebuilding of a nation - life goes on. play lotto with life, treading hopefully to avoid the remaining 500,000 to 2,000,000 they can be thankful of one tiny luxury unlike the movies, it’s instantaneous, there is no click! Borneo Moon
You wrote… You asked… when was the last time you really saw the moon? I smiled. La Luna in all of her grandeur, her magnanimous beauty, her waxing lyrical, without even having to utter a word, her waning so seductively, winking at me as each night passes, for she knows, I have always been in awe of her, slipping her svelt form, momentarily away, until she is reborn, for me, - yes only for me. We do the nightly waltz, her and I, she’s a tease, tempting me, always offering more than I have ever been ready for, and I wouldn’t have her, any other way.
Danum Valley Rainforest in Borneo
G is for Green green of the rainforest, we absorb the mildew, squelch upon the moss, inhale the minty overtures and seek emerald leaves. The still breeze of constant renewal, murmurs through millions old vines. Ancient mosaic of an embroiled symmetry cascading canopies, flourishing for the soul purpose of existence … ah, we humans have much to unlearn. Mama & Baby Borneo
‘Hey Mama,’ ‘Yes baby?’ ‘What are those humans doing down there?’ ‘They are looking at us baby?’ ‘Why Mama?’ ‘Well baby, many years ago, there were many thousands of Orangutans.’ ‘Thousands Mama?’ ‘Yes Baby, thousands.’ ‘What happened Mama?’ ‘Humans, happened baby, they took away our home, the rainforest, the tribes of Borneo used to kill us for food, sometimes Orangutans are even stolen so people can have us as pets. Our Orangutan population has dwindled so much so it has made the few of us who are left prized and protected specimens.’ Baby frowns, trying to understand. ‘Is that why they are looking at us mama?’ ‘Why do you think baby?’ ‘Maybe to prove to themselves, and their children, that, we were once real.’ ‘Maybe baby, silly humans are always trying to prove this or that, one day they might learn to take the hand of the everywhen, instead of always fighting against it.’ ‘What does that mean Mama?’ ‘You already know in your heart what that means baby, one day you will understand in your consciousness, let’s hope it’s no too late.’ In Every Direction
The vines, they whine and hinge up the spine. The vines, the whirl, they twirl like a girl. They wrap, suck sap, they flip and flap. The rainforest vines are everywhere, on the ground on that three there. Vibrant green so lush, they make me gush. The vines sublime last through what seems eternal time. Red Leaf Monkey you face leads me to believe you are forlorn. And yet, you dance you prance jump at a glance. Fly through the air relinquishing all care, from one tree to the next I watch perplexed as you bound through life in the rainforest air looking sadly - yet you are free up there. Or perhaps you look, sad for me. Because I have not the freedom like you, to just be. Tarantula It was unfortunate really, July in Borneo means nest time. Staying put in their nests, deep in the ground, protecting their many hundreds of eggs. Three weeks later promises mummy spider, and all of her hundreds of tiny offspring, (Tarantula) would be running hither tither, all over the base of the ancient tree, right above where she built her nest. Can you even imagine that sight to behold? Golden Ray ‘A little ray of sunlight… ‘ yes, go on, sing it … ‘on a Borneo Rainforest day.’ Wondrous is a word I’d like to capture for the tiny moment when the morning sun reaches the perfect angle to weave it’s way through the rainforest canopy. The mist thick, hanging low promising I can climb aboard that Ray Of Sunlight, frolic my way to the treetops, meet up with the Orangutans, the Proboscis, maybe even the Red Leaf Monkey. Just to be, in the tree, needing nothing, but me ….
Hot Ah, it’s hot, hot and humid down in the Danum Valley Rainforest. I hear the river, water calls to cool. One foot, two feet in tepid water, the only luxury required. But wait… hundreds of fish hot tail their way to each foot suck, suck, sucker! Planting mouths on bare skin, like thousands of tiny needles piercing only the uppermost skin. Sensation almost unbearable, I hold tight and observe. Only in Borneo can I get my feet cleaned by three inch fish. known to be a delicacy to them. Eat on little fish! Humidity Walking through a wall of thick set air that is laden with sunlight, water and it’s own special kind if heat is not easy. As soon as the sun hits the skyline with it the air becomes heavy. One feels it with each step. feel the sweat beads rolling down your back, between your breasts, travelling between the skin and fabric of pants, pants stick to skin, argh, it’s even harder to walk. Cambodia is no stranger to humidity. People of Cambodia are up close and personal friends with humidity, unlike myself, always seeming to battle against the wave of heat, instead of relenting, relaxing in the cool on a hammock, like the locals. Centipede of Borneo Oh, giant centipede, you have a bundle of legs, enough to keep you in supply of tiny toes for the rest of you life. Hmmmm, do you have toes? Do you have feet? Do you have any requirement for socks? I am not very handy at knitting, but if you tell me you get cold in the deep winter months in the rainforest, I will certainly learn this craft for you, your feet and your thousand toes. Oh yes, that’s right. Borneo sits very close to the equator, thank you for the reminder, you will never ever need one hundred pairs of tiny socks. Phew! Swimming In Borneo
There’s a rock in in the Danum Valley River, it has the look of an elephant. Big round eye looking as you cross the bridge, trunk pointing upwards. He looks happy, this elephant rock. I made a point of swimming in this river, surrounded in every direction by deep rainforest, Red Leaf Monkeys, Orangutan, Otters (stay out of their way - angry critters), Silver Tailed Monkeys, swimming snakes,
they can’t bite, Sucker Fish, Hornbills, Proboscis, and not to mention the elephants themselves, Pygmy Elephants. Mali, my son and I would swim upstream, catch ourselves in the current, (which was quite strong as it had torrentially rained just moments before), and direct ourselves for elephant rock. We had to get a fast grip as we passed, water gushing, flushing all around us, we had to hold on tight, then climb. We’d sit on elephant rock for a bit, take stock of our surrounds, ah, our surrounds, a divine moment, then swim upstream to do it all again. Shine On
Worth it? Oh yes, I would say it was worth every moment. Rising early in Danum Valley, Borneo, that’s 3:30am early. Driving for one hour through thick rainforest, reaching the Danum Valley Field Centre, climbing the tower, and waiting for the sun to rise. The stars, oh the stars in the pre-dawn darkness, as I stared into the silent sky, gazing upon history already made, remembering we all have our own tiny significance. As the sky lightens, we bare witness to a blanket of cloud, across the Valley, mountain peaks pushing through, patiently awaiting the sun, to say ‘Hello Borneo, I am back to settle here for another day, and together we can all - Shine On.’ War Mekong, history has taken a fair play with you. Yet, here you are today, with your own special glow of forgiveness. A lesson many still grasp to understand. Forgiveness
There is a special kind of warmth in the hello, the smile and greeting, given by the people of Cambodia. This warmth you can feel, right down to your core, if you choose to engage it. Now let us remember, The Killing Fields, the Khmer Rouge, the Vietnam War, the land-mines, the dead. A country where family, friends and livelihood, were stripped away. And yet, on this day, I am greeted by them, with LOVE. No Ordinary Massage Pin pricks screaming in their descent from the sky. Thousands upon thousand of them. Each lands on bare skin, so sharp they whisk the breath right out of you in a gasp. No reprieve, no-where to go. Escape is not an option. And so it is, the afternoon rains in Cambodia. Unleashing their army of raindrops, to wash away the days decay. After the assault of pin pricks, one is fresh and free, naked of humid sweat, and enlivened to the point of celebrating the rain. Immersion Come take a walk, deep within, total immersion awaits. Danum Valley Rainforest, where, the humidity cocoons, heavy set morning mist languishes awaiting the sun. Species stir, in their own way, homes not yet disturbed (by humans). Layer upon layer of foliage, a green rainbow unto itself, across the canopy, vines, trees, shrubs growing side by side, on top of each other, ever so slowly engaging in their own version of ‘survival of the fittest’. Ground covered, a mossy hue, insects scamper, hither tither. never in a hurry. Breath a zephyr, culminate’s with ancient surrounds, realising our own immersion. Romancing The Temple Angkor Thom, what secrets do you hold of the Hindu’s. then the buddhist monks, to the wide eyed tourists. Touch your walls, your carvings, your history. It’s all here, presented and accounted for. Now temple walls - speak to me of ancient truths. Cambodian Buddhist I see you there, a lone Buddhist Monk, robes of bright orange, lighting gifts of candles, to all of the Buddha’s, in Angkor Wat. We are so different, our conditioning moulds us, and yet, intrinsically, we are both the same. Tell me, have you found your answers yet? The Queen ‘Come,’ said the guard, who was on duty down at Angkor Thom. ‘Come, I show you the Queen.’ Moving through ancient corridors, where walls have smashed into rubble, scrambling over rocky mounds, darkness around each corner. ‘Come, for no-one ever visits the Queen.’ Follow through, cold, dank temple of another time, turn this corner, that, a splash of sunlight peeks through the ceiling in ruin. One more turn. There she is, The Queen. Adorned in candles, golden scarves and frills, the sculpted Queen rests alone, awaiting me.
Fishy Fish Oh sucker fish of Borneo, it takes all of my will to keep my immersed feet steady and still in the river passing through Danum Valley whilst you go to work with pin-prick like precision, cleaning my feet. Oh man, unbearable! Rolley Poley Giant Centepede, oh wait, are you a millipede? I cannot remember. Rolley Poley, you are so big, I watch you as you pass in front on me, in your home, the rainforest. Forgive me Rolley Poley, for I cannot help but to disturb you, forcing you into self preservation mode. You are now round and the size of a ping pong ball, stripes and all. You make me smile at the sight. I place you down, out of harms way, and carry on happier for this day. And Then There Were None
Baby Lom, Baby Lom, what does your future hold? You are up the tree, with your mummy, eating leaves life still free. Palm oil - a lurking fear, the more we use, the more they come near. Wiping out forest, and with it your home, Baby Lom, Orangutan’s soon be gone. Foresight in humans, something we lack, forgive me Lom, forgive the loss of your habitat. Orangutan’s extinct, and that was that. Emerald Green, Looks Like a Bean. Did you ever see a six inch snake, emerald green, in striking pose, ready for action? Tiny head quivering, body curled, caught in a circle of human admirer’s. With a little lack of awareness, and one giant boot, that little snake, would be splatter cake! Phew! StreetFare of Vietnam chicken dinner.” “Er… no chicken.” ‘Whaddya mean it’s not chicken?” “No chicken.” “But it has white flesh, consistency of chook.” “Yes, but not chook.” “Come on, what is it if it ain’t chicken?” “You remember today at market, you saw animal been skinned, still alive, jumping around. You pointed it out to me, it no longer had head. You thought it was fascinating thrashing about alive, no head.” “I remember - a fat headless, skinless frog.” (Points to meal.) “You eating frog.” “Noooooo.” “Yeeeesssss.” (Smirk) “But….” “No you stop complaining, you said Winner, Winner, means you were enjoying the chook of the swamp. no longer like chicken dinner, skin taste like fish, you can now switch to ‘Winner, winner, what is my dinner?’ (Chuckles to himself). To Market
It’s hot, real hot at the Kota Kinabalu Market. Not much shade, yes, I will have a fresh squeezed sugarcane juice to keep fluids up. Now what else. Dresses and skirts, Salwar sets. Rings, lots of rings. They sell puppies and fish, tropical fish, kittens and duck, many ducklings. I see fruit and veg, there’s breast milk soap. Yes ‘Breast Milk Soap.’ I may have missed a golden opportunity not making my own soap when breastfeeding. There are kettles and kitchenware, magnets for tourists, all with Orangutan, and Proboscis and elephant, Pygmy Elephant that is. Ah its hot, yes I will have a freshly opened coconut to keep me hydrated, But wait, what’s that… Swallow Spit! Guaranteed to fix all ailments. Ah it’s hot … Rambutan You are spiky, I still wish to rip you open peel your skin away and devour your white flesh. Your colours of pink and green and all in between proffer a smile, yet I desire to tear it off, toss it to the ground, so I can slurp at your juices. You are colourful and spiky yet, soft in my hand, and I continue to dream of the moment when your taste relinquishes itself on the buds of my tongue, where I will swish your meat between my teeth, over my tongue until all that is left is your seed. Only then, Shall spit you out! Kampuchea And even though your country has witnessed atrocities such as the Vietnam War, the Khmer Rouge and The Killing Fields, landmines still filling your earth, husbands, wives, fathers, mothers, children, grandparents either dead, or amputees…. and even though you country lives in poverty, with child sex trafficking rampant, kids on the streets commonplace, no wifi at home (heaven forbid!) no wifi, each day a struggle, little help from government. Yes even though it seems as if Camdodia’s scales were never set to balance, in your hearts I see lightness, in your soul I feel peace. I commend you, observe you, I learn from you. Thank You. © 2016 KWPReviews
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KWPSydney, NSW, AustraliaAbout'The kernel, the soul — let us go further and say the substance, the bulk, the actual and valuable material of all human utterances — is plagiarism. For substantially all ideas are sec.. more..Writing
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