Posts Tagged ‘feeling’

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Isles Poetry – Connexion to Mars + Thoughts

November 28, 2013

 The journey is almost complete. I have 1 more hour left of work. I have let my replacement take the rest of my classes and I will…well I don’t know. Have some drinks? Do some writing? Watch TV? I am all excited, nervous, and unsure about what is next. Even the next couple of days. I still have to do a couple of things, but there is nothing really to do but catch a plane and all the shit that that involves…first world problems…really, no plans, except the rest of my life.  Just another step down and a darkened space below. That was a long way of saying, ‘I don’t know what to write.’ Perhaps when I reach the afterglow, when I leave and reflect back I will have some thoughts. I still have many incomplete poems to finish for my poetry project Isles, which recounts my thoughts and experiences of 6 months of life working on a little island in Thailand.

Here is another poem for the compilation…digest.

Connexion to Mars

The speedboat thumps over a sea like broken glass;

sparkling, jagged and blue.

I recline and rock with the motion

shading my eyes while stealing glimpses

of clouds like thought bubbles in the sky

thinking beyond these

of one way tickets to Mars and the fact

that there is nowhere now we cannot go.

Other passengers grumble discontent at the crowds

disturbing their deserted paradise.

Mystery is the bliss

of the ignorant fantasies we create.

But reality and its routines create familiarity.

From one tropical island to the next

we pass dozens more

filling a line up to the mundane.

Plane tickets to deserted paradises

are packaged with paradox illusions.

Connexion has killed isolation.

Mystery dies as we are one step

closer to Mars.

Goldbot

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Isles Poetry Project – Underwater

October 2, 2013

Underwater

 

Alone in the canteen fluorescence riding the bow of a white row of tables.

A pack of smokes sits like flotsam on them, Captain-less.

The chef emerges from the kitchen. He makes a bee-line for his booty and

once restored takes his plunder back to work.

I float again alone on the plastic blue chair. The fridge hums like a gentle tide

along with the thousand rustlings of distant palm leaves.

Not even the clock ticks but glides its hand around silently smooth

only the streak of an albatross high up in the firmament.

If I stare hard enough I could stop its flight. I breathe.

The breath leaves me and I dip into the underwater of the moment.

Creating silence and stillness. Starving for air but letting

the signals for oxygen drown along with everything else.

Feeling for my beating heart. Searching for my treasure.

At times like these I cannot feel my heart at all.

*

AJG

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Saturday Poetry Prompt Fragments

September 15, 2013

I had my little challenge I gave myself to write a few poems about the day and the happenings that was Saturday. I did pretty well writing about 6 poems in their rough and rugged state. I won’t put them all up now as it will take up a lot of space and they are sketches of final products, so I’ll put up some parts of three and hopefully together they will make a picture of my day, thoughts and activities.

Later on I will post up the complete poems individually and they’ll be added to my poetry project called ‘Isles’, which is a compilation of poems reflecting my experiences, thoughts, actions in Thailand.

Enjoy the fragments if only a fragment.

Peace and regards,

AJG

 

1.

It’s a massive cliché to say

that a day brings new possibilities.

Though I’ll say it because it’s obvious;

Appropriate to any day and especially

this one. Justified beyond creativity.

Specifically defined for this moment.

The hours of waking and the eager

excitement of a new awakening.

Seize the day is another cliché

but I’ll grab it as intended

and just like the phrase says.

2.

Centipedes curl in fighting on the ground.

Lizards awaking from their pathway slumbers

scatter into the brush. Butterflies

chase each other through the vines

with one thing on their minds.

A constant whir hidden close in the trees

singing the song of the tropical heat.

3.

A peach sunset falls slowly over the bay.

The beach cools, the tourists shake their towels and stroll,

the shadows on the green hills darken.

I sway in my seat, sip my Singha, and mull.

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Thailand – 15th of August

September 13, 2013

It is hard being patient, sometimes. Especially with little time for it. It can be time consuming. It is one of those hot days where you won’t sweat if you can just stay perfectly still. But I have little patience for stillness or ‘Sabai, Sabai,’ as they say around here. I’m in the back and forth of moving from class to class and I wore a black shirt. Only mad dogs and English men out in this weather, they would say if the British had colonized here.

But colonization is a touchy subject. I hear they are the only South East Asian nation not to have been taken over. But then I hear that is a half-truth and the real history is lost somewhere. An attempt perhaps to start a clean historical slate. A reincarnation of the nation’s consciousness to a higher form. In this Buddhist nation, they must know it doesn’t work that way.

I’m not sure of any of it and not sure if I have the patience to delve into the truth. I’m a transient here to them and it might just be better to conform to their expectations. If they really did repel the white man, then it might be best to do just that. Drink my tea, eat my bacon, and swim in the clear blue sea.

Goldbot

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Driftwood

September 10, 2013

My life is before me.

Like theatre in a dream

I watch it happening.

Recognise that I am the protagonist

but only watch things unfold.

Whether I want them to change

or not

I can only drift.

Tag along steps behind.

The gentle currents of life

and its fates

nudging.

Goldbot

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Heart Shaped Map

September 4, 2013

 I’ve trapped myself on another island

and no heart shaped map

lends me directions from its shores.

They all speak in tongues and tones and

I’m here to bend them to my own.

There are bays and beaches,

towns and tourists and two-faces at every turn.

Everything nearly non-decipherable.

A journey amidst

the untranslated. A paid holiday

to bemusement and the benighted.

Sunsets, scuba, set meals of the absurd.

An alien planet called paradise

at a premium price.

I find myself the most exotic one here.

If I don’t know how to feel

I cannot guess at what they must.

A novelty for a few months

for scheduled interactions and

pleasantries.

Relationships constructed of

fixed questions and replies.

So just for conversation

I write this heart shaped map into a bottle

toss it to the waves

watch it roll right back

and see who wants to talk.

AJG

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Falling – Poem and Thoughts

August 25, 2013

This is a poem for From The Me Of Before collection, which are poems revisited and revised from a while ago. This one poem is from a childhood memory. A neighbourhood friend, Andrew Knight, and I would climb this Liquid Amber tree in our yard, which have really weak branches. So he went to climb to the top with his yellow bike helmet on and this was the result!! A funny thing to immortalize in poetry, right?

I just noticed this rounds out my arbitrary 200th post over about 2-3 years of this blog being on and off and this month is nearly my best month ever! Only 25 more views to make it I think. So thank you all for reading and thank you all for your writing. I hope to be actively involved with a small community of dedicated, interesting writers, Some may already know me and I do try hard to comment and read everyone regularly. I hope we can get to know each other and progress through our writing. Never be shy to comment or criticize. It is how we get better. Peace and regards all.

A J Goldbot.

*

Falling

*

Each branch swelled his pride, pushing him on:

higher and higher, deeper and deeper.

He paused at a wretched twig,

purple and thorny, dark and scheming.

The yellow helmet he had on seemed to shrink

yet he smiled, scanning this way and that

through the green looking for reach,

planning his next move. For too long.

The tree made its own move, snapping gleefully.

He tore away and fell with a scream.

Each branch happily playing its part;

twisting into his path not to slow him down

but to strike him joyfully until he was but

a heap on the nettled ground.

The moment was nailed to the wall for me

as I swear a gentle breeze passing

rustled the tree with laughter.

*

AJG

POETRIES WRITTEN BY VINX

© TALKING TO MYSELF THROUGH POETRY. #Poems

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