Showing posts with label Poem. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Poem. Show all posts

Chiang Rai living, On Such a Winter’s Day ...


All the leaves are brown
And the sky is blue not grey
I rode out on the trails
On this winter day.
I am safe and warm
Cause I’n not in L.A.
Chiang Rai livin’
On such a winter’s day

I stopped into a field
I passed along the way
You know, I grabbed my camera
And I began to click away
Oh, the farmers like a show
And they know that I won’t stay
Oh, Chiang Rai livin’
On such a winter’s day

My apologies to the Mamas and the Papas.  My brain went into loop mode on the trail the other day and came up with this little ditty that stuck with me most of my ride.
On the Pai trip.

Winter in Chiang Rai brings with it cooler temperatures, a different light and the occasional splash of color in an otherwise browning and hazy environment.  On my Pai trip there were a few areas where the forest was trying its best to impress.  But a recent outing on the Trek had me remembering past winters and wondering why things were so dull and lifeless, in our area this year.



Closer observation revealed that it was primarily the rubber trees that gave this impression.  Their dull brown leaves lying lifeless on the ground and skinny naked arms stretched desperately to the sky seemed to suck the joy right out of my ride.  Each year more of the native trees are displaced by the rubber scourge and this has me struggling to find a touch of color to brighten my outings.  The fruit orchards at least stay green.


The other morning I had thought to take the Ninja out but things got in the way and by the time I was free it was too late to go where I had planned.  Plan B was to get some exercise on the Trek.  As I headed east and out through the rice fields between us and the mountain range that fills my entire eastern view, I began to notice a difference.  High on the range there were patches of color.  I was drawn off course toward the mountains in search of a better perspective for a photograph.


The closer I got the more my view was blocked by trees, houses and power lines.  Passing through a village my attention was diverted by the most precarious of structures being assembled in the grounds on a local temple.  A few quick pictures to record what I had seen and then I remembered being told of a reservoir in the mountains behind another nearby temple.  Perhaps that would get me closer to the colors I had seen from a distance.


I was about to ask a question about the trail to the dam when I overheard a guy entering the temple grounds, teasing the others for not talking with the Farang.  After he finished chiding his fellow workers, I jokingly asked him why he didn’t just talk to the Farang himself instead of giving the others a hard time, which seemed to satisfy the others no end.  With the ice broken it was easy to get directions to the trailhead.

They weren’t convinced that my bike would make it up the trail but yes it would be okay coming down.  They estimated it was something like four kilometers to the dam.  I correctly interpreted, the trail was a bit too steep to ride up and indeed found myself walking much of it.  Fortunately the more you suffer on the way up a hill the more fun it is on the way down.




I didn’t know I was near until it suddenly appeared in front of me.  It was not too unlike our own reservoir but on a grander scale.  Nestled between bigger mountains that came right down to the waters edge and reached high into the sky from the far shoreline.  After quenching my thirst, taking a few photos and soaking up the atmosphere I was soon revitalized and ready for a quicker run down the mountain.


I suppose I could ramble on longer but I would rather share a few shots of flowering trees and touches of winter color here in the Rai.  These were taken just two days before the ride to the reservoir but seemed to fit the theme of winter days and winter colors.

Food for the Soul ...

Yesterdays romp on the wild side was all about enthusiasm, determination and a fall.

Exercising demons and having a goal. 

Perhaps a wiser man would have lounged pond side, dampening his audacity and gall.

While feeding both the spirit and the soul.

Today I sat back as Cookie drew swirling, hypnotic patterns on the mirky surface of our bog. 

Hopelessly pursuing tiny leaping fish completely unaware that she is not an otter, but a dog.

Alas today I’m wiser and not that other guy.
  
So here is to the mellower me and a look at my evening sky.

New Poem ...

Another poem is probably not what you’re looking for.
And I know that I’ve written on this subject before.
But I seem to be in need of a little more therapy.
So please bear with me and accept my apology.
Should I write from the heart and say what I feel?
Should I measure my words for greater appeal?
Should we relate through poetry or prose?
Speak of happy things or share our woes?
Do we ever really listen to what others say?
Do we just speak louder to get our own way?
Is there a way to give answers without causing hurt?
Is there a way to avoid answering without being curt?
Some suggest that I should be a bit lighter.
But wouldn’t that make me, less of a writer?
I could fake it guess, making my words airy and light.
Somehow deep in my soul, it just wouldn’t feel right.
When I look at people I wish they thought so much more.
I am equally certain many find me a terrible bore.
Serious questions about life’s meaning and our role.
Never delve below the surface or plumb the soul?
Searching for meaning, answers or direction.
Which to choose, deep thought or bold action?
Being serious and thoughtful is not the present trend.
People aimlessly wandering from beginning to end.
No life goals of things to do along the way.
Just bills and possessions and how do I pay.
Do you head down life’s highway, full speed ahead?
Do you ride the brakes until the day you are dead?
Will a final accounting be filled with blessings or regrets?
Will you beg for more time, claiming “I’m not ready yet”?

Happy Thai New Year

Tis the Thai New Year with so much going on.
Everyone home for the holiday but soon to be gone.
They don’t live in the village they’ve moved to the city.
Not living near family and friends is really such a pity.
Before it seemed that village life was more than enough.
But now their kids seem to need so much more stuff.
They look so much happier when they are all home.
But for money and possessions they find they must roam.
As I play protector of my family, there is an image in my head.
But its not of fun and revelry, its of the growing number of dead.
I have no issue, with people wanting to have fun.
Just wish they could do it, without loosing anyone.
Soon they will leave, but no need for a long goodbye.
They will have to come back, for all those who will die.
Sure I wish things were different, but what can I do.
Except of course, to write it all down and share it with you.
So Happy New Year to all and to all my best wishes.
Here things are a mess, so I best help my wife dry the dishes.

Mother, Mother can’t you see ...

Mother, Mother can’t you see,
The stranger before you is really me?
Your second son,
The distant one.
I have traveled so far to see your face,
Please don’t deny your loving embrace.
Have read all about it and understand your condition,
Still can’t help looking for some sign of recognition.
If I could peer into your troubled mind,
I can’t help but wonder what I would find?
Is my dear Mother hiding somewhere,
Or is there nothing behind that stare?
I’ve heard it called the long goodbye,
For me it’s just a terrible way to die.
Pain and pills, depression and despair,
After living a good life it just isn’t fair.
I know you don’t mean to hurt those around you,
But the pain we all feel would surely astound you.
Father is doing the best that he can,
But he’s not a saint, he is merely a man.
My visits are often extended from six weeks to six months,
While the rest of the family is hard pressed to manage six days, even once.
Ideas and suggestions of what I should do,
All things I’ve thought of and nothing new.
My dear Father is an archetypal old fashion male,
Getting him to do anything is a very hard sale.
I’m under pressure to get more done,
But he is the Father and I the second son.
Mistakes we have made opportunities missed,
All written down would make a very long list.
Perhaps life’s entrance is meant to hurt,
A poignant reminder we are all headed for dirt.
We think of our bodies as strong when they’re frail,
No matter how one lives in the end our systems fail.
Writing today has led me to weep,
Reminded what we sow is what we will reap.
Let passion and love fill your life everyday,
Be bold and live well don’t let fear get in the way.