An African Fable

Another narrative inspired by my trip into the African Savannah (amazing how just 5 days out of the normative can have such a creative impact). It had been my turn to do the night watch and I was alone, freezing cold watching the fire when a cricket appeared next to me before jumping straight into the hot embers and becoming a charred mess. It made me realise how arrogant humans are…we think because we have such amazing brains we can solve any problem be it nature based or an effect of the work of humans but actually who is to say we won’t ultimately use our brains to create our demise in the future?

Cricket says: ‘My legs are powerful.’
Man says: ‘My brain is powerful.’

The Hluhluwe–iMfolozi Park lies still like an expansive carpet hugging the south-eastern side of Africa. Like the soft padded undergrowth that spreads out in a forest, snuggled amongst its nooks and crannies roam the jewels of the African Savannah: Lion, Rhino, Buffalo. No one questions their formidable strength but under their heavy paws and hooves is the terrain of the insects. And Cricket thinks he is King.

Cricket effortlessly bounds away from the guttural growls and yowls of the dawn’s watering hole gatherings. Like a wind-up toy permanently highly strung, Cricket jumps to look down on the wart-hog as he shimmies across the sandy dry riverbeds before crouching down to embrace invisibility as the giraffes dance with their necks.  Like the player who can’t settle down, he leaps from one patch of grass to another only looking ahead, not back, not reflecting and only focused on where to land next.

Man occasionally visits Hluhluwe-iMfolozi. He stands upright with his burdensome pack heavy upon his raw shoulders and the beads of sweat sparkle around his neck like a watery necklace. In his hand rests on a long rifle. He stares straight ahead, unafraid because he believes he can kill anything that wanders across his path and remain Master.

Man wishes to burrow beneath the park and ravage the secret layers beneath for gems. Money is his food and he feels excitement as his heels and toes crunch the fallen twigs and dying vegetation beneath. He looks across the Savannah and his greedy eyes imagine whirring wheels, lorries, piles of scree and black dust rising into the air. He fingers the oiled wood of the rifle and believes he can feel crisp green notes which he will exchange for smart houses, cars and clothes.

As Man stalks through the wilds he thinks upon his achievements and conquests: he has built boats that can survive the tumultuous seas, created railways that cut searing wounds across the rocky landscape and spaceships that pierce the atmosphere. As he builds his fire for the night he reflects that he has been able to harness light in the form of electric bulbs and feels secure in the knowledge that his brain means he will remain Master of all forever.

As the red heart of Scorpio burns brighter in the darkening skies, he sits by the fire and watches the flames lick the dry twigs he collected earlier. His rifle sits slumbering next to him and he knows no animal will dare investigate what he is doing as to do so would mean death. By the faint blue line of horizon, a line of elephants produce a lumbering shadow puppet performance and vultures swoop and soar above his head choosing a tree to roost in.

Cricket has sensed the end of the day and is vaulting over Acacia and through Whistling Thorn seeking a spot for rest. He enjoys the springy power of his legs and feels exhilaration as he leaps over the slow snake slumbering under the Manketti Tree, past butterflies clinging to the rocky banks like limpets made of cartouche, on and on towards the glittering light he has spotted in the near distance.

Man rests back on his elbows watching the dancing shapes of magenta through half shut eyes, nestled in the womb of an animal pelt and day-dreaming of the ivory keys on the piano he will buy.

Cricket dodges the long inquisitive tongue of a web-footed gecko and lands by Man.

Man lazily turns his head slightly to look at the cricket whose rustle alerted him to its presence and muses that for all the special features animals have such as powerful legs, teeth, weight and camouflage, his brain will always ensure his survival.

Cricket is mesmerised by the flames that reach up into the sky and thinks: my legs are powerful; I can jump over that.

He launches up into the sky and lands in the middle of the searing heat and is immediately turned to ash.

Man’s brow furrows for a moment but then he turns his back and dreams a dark and dreamless slumber.

Miss. Hypocrisy

So this is part of a new project I’m enjoying at the moment. A friend is in a band and I said I would write some lyrics for them. I’ve only written three so far but will be interested to find out what it all sounds like. I might try and figure out how to post it here once it’s all done.

You could say this one is semi-autobiographical based on my experiences as an ex-pat teacher in Saigon; it definitely applies to male as well as female teachers!!

She says don’t do drugs
those things are for mugs
she says don’t drink so much you pass out
and whatever you do
don’t sleep around
those STDs will get you down

She says, she says
she says a lot of things
but then she goes out
then she goes out

She says study hard
makes them read Tolstoy and the bard
tells them off for short skirts
dyed hair and having a personality
don’t smoke any fags
you’ll look 70 and a hag

She says, she says
she says a lot of things
but then she goes out
then she goes out

Miss Hypocrisy
you say a lot of things
and then we see you out
down Lily’s in Bui Vien
doped up, shagged up,
and out of your mind
with your esse hanging out your lips
and your see through shirt showing your nips

You say, you say
you say a lot of things
then we see you on Monday
see you on Monday
and we’ll carry on the charade
we’ll carry on the charade

Past my ‘Sell-by-Date’?

I was recently staying with my parents in the UK who were interested to know more about the man I had been seeing for the previous 5 months. I happily regaled them with whatever they wished to know and remember quite clearly one evening saying to them: ‘if this works out it would have been worth staying single for all these years as he’s great’. I think he broke it off a week later over Skype – life loves a bit of irony doesn’t she?

Apart from the usual discussion we had about why it wasn’t going to work (he hates his job and wants to move back to the states – fair enough) two things have stuck out about that afternoon and as the weeks go by it’s those things that have made me more and more irate; more so than being ditched. And those things are the following:

  1. In my distress and disappointment I asked him what he thought I was doing wrong to still be single after all this time. He told me that living in HCMC wasn’t going to help (I would agree that living in an area with a small ex-pat community, a large number of male travellers just wanting a shag and a huge proportion of Vietnamese men who are approximately 3 foot smaller than my giant 5’8 proportions doesn’t bode well). He continued by saying that sleeping with someone too early wasn’t a good idea either. Sorry, what?
  2. He is 30 and I am approaching 36. I was also told that he has time and he didn’t want to waste mine because (obviously) I am over the hump that is the grand old age of 35 hurtling towards middle aged 40 and my eggs are crying out for fertilising. Of course!

I suppose I ought to be comforted by the fact none of these things are actually about my personality, personal hygiene or intelligence…just plain old archaic and frankly irritating double standards and hypocrisy.

I find myself wondering as I wake up alone again as to when did my womb become an issue as to whether a man was willing to make a sacrifice and make the effort to try and stay with me or not?

Not to sound bitter but if Mother Nature had sat me down at the age of 18 and said the following I might have just given up before I began. I imagine the conversation would have gone something like this:

‘Now dear, here are the cards I intend to deal out. You will be on a long term relationship from 20-30 when everyone else is single and then be ditched just before you turn 30 when everyone else is starting to get engaged and/or buying a house together. This will be to free up time so you can then waste 3 years with a guy who cheats on you and likes to retain his powerful alpha male status by slapping your arse in public before you finally tell him to f-off and disappear to the Far East’. All this so that I can then be single for 3 years and ideally pretend I live in a nunnery and not have any sex during my self imposed years of singledom until some wonderful man decides that because I haven’t put out for a while I must be a decent sort that he shall date and not screw over? Brilliant.

Why is that when I met G and we slept together that night I didn’t judge him and was still happy to meet up again based on his personality but not so the other way around? He claimed that this wasn’t the case regarding ‘us’ but just from his experience back in Canada but he was still a ‘thing’ he brought up. We met randomly on a night out when I was feeling tiddly, reckless and just wanted some fun. How was I to know that we were going to hit it off? Who goes out on a night out, meets someone and takes time to think  ‘hmmmm….if I want this one to be my partner, I shall keep my french knickers on regardless of the fact I haven’t had any attention for months and feel like a wizened, invisible and ugly spinster most of the time while my coupled up partners get to have hugs, kisses and sex whenever and wherever they want. I know! I shall play the game and hopefully he will call me, date me and put me out of my misery?’ Maybe some people do but I thought the whole point of feminism was to give me a choice in the matter so that even if I wanted my cock and eat it, I could.

I was surprised and disappointed (again) recently to learn that a good male friend of mine whom I respect  (he is a very intelligent senior leader) who started seeing a woman a few months back felt that he went off his latest squeeze when they slept together on the first night…the chase was gone.

Seriously? Is this seriously something I have to think about? At the age of 36? In 2015? I still have to play stupid games to find a partner and deny myself basic human pleasures? For a while back there I decided to purposely not play games feeling that if a guy was like that he wasn’t the guy for me but as I enter my 3rd year as a singleton while all around me are seemingly engaged, pregnant or otherwise involved…I am starting to want to give up and just join in with the charade and be as false as the guys want me to be.

Just to add insult to injury, when G ditched me I decided that I was going to fulfil all those other ambitions I have seeing as clearly love in the family way just isn’t happening right now. I looked into MA’s and charitable organisations I would like to work for. I was met with websites that actually said  ‘open to all those who are aged 35 and under’. I could have cried. So men don’t want me because I am 36 and neither do the charities I want to work for. So my unused shrivelled up eggs and womb really do define who I am now and not my intelligence, work experience, determination…in fact all those other facets that make me who I am.

Why not tattoo across my forehead ‘I am 36 and past it – only those with children and/or aged 40+ may apply to be my partner; job optional’. Oh but I can’t because then I’d be accused of being a Feminazi or some other ridiculous term.

I’ll go now and hug my cat whilst tightening the screws on my chastity belt lest I remain forever the ‘spinster’.

Forever Wild?

I’ve recently become heavily involved in a cause that seems to have chosen me rather than the other way around. Two Vietnamese celebrities visited my school back in 2014 to speak with our students about the use of Rhino horn in Vietnam and the tragic consequences it is having on the Rhino population in South Africa. They were promoting a competition that, as Head of English, I ended up running as it involved writing an essay explaining how young people can make a change in cultural attitudes towards Rhino horn. So many entered from the school that I was invited to join two of our winners on a trip to South Africa (amazing in itself) but since then we have all been involved in workshops, meeting with celebrities and promoting saying ‘No to Rhino Horn’ within Vietnam. I suddenly feel passionate about something I was previously quite ignorant about and I really do hope those that still believe Rhino horn has medicinal properties and/or use it as a status symbol finally sit up and take note. The following is an article I have written for a magazine in Vietnam – I have only just sent it off and my track record with getting these things published is pretty poor but I really do hope this one makes it through.

(It did! and you can view it here: http://wordvietnam.com/people-culture/the-stories/forever-wild or here: africa)

‘Leave your bad energy behind. We are leaving civilisation as we know it to visit our neighbours, the animals.’  With these words, spoken by Zondi, a ranger for the Wilderness Leadership School in South Africa (a sister organisation of the Wilderness Foundation Africa), myself and a group of students from Vietnam embarked on an African safari unlike any other.

Back in late 2014, a number of international schools in Ho Chi Minh City and Hanoi were visited by Vietnamese celebrities, Thanh Bui and Thu Minh who are currently spearheading the campaign to educate young people in Vietnam that the Rhino is dangerously close to extinction again in Africa due to consumers in Vietnam and China continuing to believe that their horns hold medicinal properties. The matter is a complex one and involves not just changing beliefs within newly wealthy Far Eastern communities but the welfare state in Africa that almost encourages the poor to poach. However, Thanh Bui and the South African Wilderness Foundation are at pains to promote the idea that the Vietnamese can turn the situation around and, as their slogan states on behalf of the rhino and South African communities that “Vietnam can help save the rhino”.

During Thanh Bui’s school visits, students were shown a presentation highlighting the critical situation in Africa before being encouraged to write essays explaining how they would encourage their families and friends to say no to Rhino horn. Thousands of entries flooded in and from these 22 students were chosen from schools in Ho Chi Minh City to visit South Africa on a 5 day wilderness trail and workshop designed to help them understand the beauty of the Rhino and the importance of keeping them alive. Due to the high number of entries from my school’s English department, I was invited to accompany two of my winning students on the trip and see for myself what life is like for the wild animals of the Hluhluwe Umfolozi game reserve situated outside of Durban on the east coast of South Africa.

The game reserve is a two and half hour drive away from Durban city centre and is famous for being the location of the genetic origin for every single White Rhino in existence in South Africa today. Unlike a normal safari involving the observation of the Big 5 from the safety of a jeep, the students and myself arrived to be told we would be walking through the park carrying everything we needed to survive in the wild for 5 days and nothing more – mobile phones, tablets, laptops, books, iPods and all other 21st century conveniences had to be left behind at ‘base camp, ’ the Stainbank Nature Reserve in Durban city center.

It was with some trepidation therefore, that we left Durban and headed out past shanty towns and into the Savannah. The group was quiet and subdued as we started out near the main gate of the reserve walking in single file in silence to avoid frightening away wildlife, our backs burdened by the enormous packs that held camping equipment and food for the trip. Initially the experience seemed just like a pleasant walk until the two rangers who were accompanying us, Zondi and Janet, stopped suddenly and asked us to put down our packs and follow them to a bank and look down. In the barren and dry riverbed below a group of lionesses were tearing a wildebeest to shreds. It was a strangely beautiful sight in its viciousness but then one of them spotted us and began prowling towards where we were standing. It was only when she opened her mouth and roared a heavy and guttural sound  to warn us off, that I think I realised this was for real and not just a walk in an amusement park looking at semi-tame animals. We were intruding in their territory and they would attack us without a moment’s hesitation. Zondi told us to not move and keep our eyes down until she disappeared; wild cats like domestic ones enjoy chasing moving objects. My heart was pounding and the seconds seemed like hours until Zondi told us it was safe to move back, pick up our packs and continue walking in single file. From that moment on, I realised what we were doing was special; we truly were visiting another world, one which co-exists next to ours but one which we barely take notice of; the world of the animals.

It was in this vein we camped not unlike our ancestors who were arguably more in tune with the natural world as we slept outside without tents. After walking for another hour, observing buffalo, vultures and, much to our delight, a rhino cow and her calf, we began to set up camp for the first time. The Wilderness Leadership School practices no trace camping and we were divided up; some of us had to collect water for disinfecting, others were tasked with creating a fire and yet others to start making dinner. I was in the group collecting water and as the sun began to set we tentatively followed Janet to the riverbed again in search of it. There was a pool not too far from our camp but as we filled plastic bags we became aware that we were being watched. Two pairs of eyes had surfaced not far from where we were standing. Hippos. Janet urged us to be quick to avoid angering them. Hippos, for all their bulging ungainly physiques are incredibly aggressive and territorial and are able to run at speeds of up to 19mph on land and a female hippos bite force has been measured at a frightening 1821 pounds per square inch. Thoroughly unnerved and not looking forward to sleeping out in the open we returned, ate a hushed dinner and were then introduced to the ‘night watch’.

To keep each other safe during the hours of darkness we were to number ourselves 1-8 and take turns, for an hour and half each to sit by the fire and every 5 minutes cast the light of the torch around the camp to ensure no predators were trying to intrude. It was terrifying; I have never felt isolation like it. I was number 3 and therefore was woken up roughly around midnight to sit alone by the fire and keep watch. To sit away from your sleeping companions with only the light of a small fire and the milky way is both inspirational and hard. To help pass the time, Zondi and Janet had left  a journal by the fire so that people could record their thoughts and feelings. One of the students summed up the experience by noting that  ‘in the city so much noise means so little but in the Savannah, so little noise can mean so much.’

Very few of us had time to write that first night as the animals were extremely curious. I had to wake Zondi twice due to the presence of three buffalo that were trying to move in on us and another member of our group, Lucky, was on watch when a rhino began to descend into the camp from the vegetation behind our sleeping forms. Both Zondi and Janet were armed with rifles but didn’t use them, relying instead on noises and the throwing of stones to ward off the wildlife successfully. For all my education and knowledge, I realised very quickly how disconnected I am from the natural world; I really had no idea how to fend for myself in that environment. The sun rose eventually on a group of tired trailists; even Zondi and Janet said they had never experienced so much intrusion from the animals before and yet all other nights were quiet. It was as though the animals had needed to check us out before deciding we meant no harm before leaving us alone for the remaining 4 days.

‘I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach’ (Thoreou) 

During the following 4 days, we were all struck, not just by the beauty of nature but its power and how insignificant we really are in some ways. We would regularly hold ‘Indaba’ (Zulu for ‘business’) whereby we would sit in a circle and take turns to share what we were thinking. I was constantly struck by the profundity and maturity of the students who were with me. We quickly realised that the animals were able to just ‘be’ and yet there we were encumbered by bags, food, clothes just to try and make it through 5 days. Not only that but the delicate structure of the Savannah was brought strongly into focus and reminded me of Ray Bradbury’s short story ‘The sound of Thunder’. In Africa, there is a species of butterfly that can only live off the moisture found in elephant dung. Poach all the elephants and the butterfly will die too. I thought about Cecil the Lion who was killed in a similar reserve in Africa. Not only did he die but his death meant that the other male in the pride, Jericho, would inevitably kill Cecil’s cubs to create his own bloodline in order to take on the role of alpha male. It stands to reason therefore, that if the Rhino becomes extinct something else will have to suffer alongside and the tragic demise of many species becomes widespread.

I was lucky enough to be in the group that Thanh Bui joined later in the week. For all his celebrity status in Vietnam, out there, on trail, he was like one of us, scouring his skin red raw with riverbed sand in order to stay clean, washing dishes and sitting around the fire singing songs with the students to pass the time once night fell. Trail makes you realise that you can get by with less; when everything is gone, all you really need is somewhere safe to sleep and food to eat. Status and wealth become meaningless. There is really no need to deface a Rhino in order to keep ‘face’ in the manmade structure that is society. As Carl Sagan says so well in his speech ‘The Pale Blue Dot’: ‘Our posturings, our imagined self-importance, the delusion that we have some privileged position in the Universe, are challenged by this point of pale light. Our planet is a lonely speck in the great enveloping cosmic dark.’ Ultimately, who are we to take it upon ourselves to kill off a species of animal for our own imagined gain?

All too soon, we had to leave the wilderness and head back to Durban but that was the point whereby the South Africans expected us to take what we had learned and turn it into action. Inspired by what we had experienced, the group reconvened the following day at the Stainbank Nature Reserve and set to work.

‘Consider the weight and responsibility on your shoulders’ we were told by the group of South Africans leading the workshop the following day. This included Cheryl Reynolds (Wilderness Foundation); Matthew Norval (Wilderness Foundation); Dr. Ian McCallum (psychologist), Lawrence Munro (Ranger) and Dr. Will Fowlds (Vet).  For as much as we had enjoyed the trail and come back thoughtful and moved by the beauty of the Savannah, this was no ordinary holiday and we were being pushed to demonstrate how we would spread the message that people need to say ‘no’ to rhino horn when we returned to Vietnam.

For many of the students, the workshop served to highlight that rhino poaching is not just a matter of killing a rhino, it serves as a human tragedy as well. For every adult poacher involved in a cartel whose bail is paid for  once caught, there is usually a poor 15 year old from the shanty towns left to rot in jail. For every poacher that has been caught, there is potentially a ranger who has been shot or killed. The message was clear, whether we like it or not, we are all entrenched within a biological web of life and as Matthew Norval pointed out, there ‘needs to be a recognition that we must protect animals as individuals not as objects or indifferent commodities’ and unite together.

The students were invited to read out their winning essays and I was again reminded of their mature intelligence. Cathy Dao, from the CIS School in HCMC, finished hers by saying: ‘all life is invaluable and magnificent and it is our duty to protect these wonderful rhinos so our children will be able to see rhinos thriving in the wild with their own eyes, not through faded pictures nor works of fiction.’

We left South Africa proud to be representing a change within Vietnamese culture. The students continue to meet and plan how they will spread the message that Vietnam and its people can change this situation for the better. Thanh Bui continues to meet with his group and recently Matthew Norval and Cheryl Reynolds visited the Soul Music Academy in D1, HCMC, to find out how the group has been getting on since arriving back in the country. This is an exciting time to be in Vietnam and there is a real sense of the cause gaining momentum; change is truly afoot and that can only be for the good.

‘The wilderness is not a place but a season and we are in its final hour’. Vietnam – will you be their hero?

Poppy

My dearest friend Zoe has a two year old named Poppy and it was a pleasure to spend the weekend with them recently. Young children don’t really feature in my life so it was a real novelty to play with her and witness her growing (and expansive) imagination. This is dedicated to her.

We stride through parklands of Living Room

Out to where balls can be thrown up, up to the clouds.

And the decking outside is a sandy dune

where we jump from the pier to the sea.

We swim through the treacherous high waves that is grass

and ponder the weeds that are jellyfish.

Dodging crab-like splodges of mud underfoot

We wade our way back to the front,

where rocking horse carriages wait us

so we can travel round roundabout circular roundabouts.

Later at night I sit mindless,

Popped back to reality by phones, crying and diaries,

But in your mind the play still comes like a flooding

Gabbling tales of giants up ladders

and mice sitting on top of your knee.

There’s a dolly that needs fed in her buggy

and a snack that she’d like to be aubergine.

And all of this comes from Poppy’s young head,

I wonder what dreams are like when she’s asleep in her bed!

The Clock of the Long Now

I’ve recently headed back to London to meet up with old friends and spend time with my family. Two of my oldest friends, Lois whom I met when I was 7 at the Church my family attended in West London and Rebecca, whom I’ve known since my first day at grammar school, met me at the Science Museum for a day. We all love Space and spent a considerable amount of time in the ‘Exploring Space’ hall where ‘The Clock of the Long Now’, also called the 10,000-year clock, is kept. This is a proposed mechanical clock designed to keep time for 10,000 years and the two-meter prototype is on display at the Science Museum in London.

August brought us together;
colliding microcosms in the Hall of the Cosmos,
South Kensington.

As Hebe pokes buttons with sticky fingers
I remember the one in the pews
and the other in an icy school annexe.

Time’s hands tick tricks on us all;
as I find myself questioning  those childhood beliefs
and I still have to learn to look at an empty sky
and no longer believe in trees filled with angels.

Can God really stay constant?

The Museum looks different from how I remember it
and our bodies tell tales of 105 years of living.
‘The Clock of the Long Now’ stands unmoving before us
but in those milliseconds we have changed again
and somewhere in the universe another path has been walked
another fate has been dealt
and what comforts me in moments like this

is that change can be hard and unforgiving

but what remains constant is me, you and you.

A Farewell to Friendship

So much is made of romantic relationships and how to deal with the unsettling grief and sorrow that comes along when they break down. But what of friendships? What do you do when you realise someone you were close to no longer feels happy about being friends with you? What are the rules and where is the guidance for that kind of confusion, guilt and distress? It feels like unchartered territory.

I came across the following article today when I was tinkering with my poem. Not only is it bang on topic but the title’s reference to Vietnam was scarily attuned to what’s been happening these last few months.

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/nancy-doyle-palmer-/a-friend-is-someone-who-likes-you_b_3488081.html

We will return the books we once borrowed,
and sports bra memories of runs side by side.

Stuff them in the pigeon holes that
represent our silent communication.

We will take down the photos
and tuck them somewhere safe

or tear them up and feed them
to the bin beneath the kitchen sink.

We will absently use the gifts we gave one another
feathered pens, books and twee camera cases from Japan,

purposely forgetting who wrapped them carefully
in pink paper and in crepe.

We will delete the emails and messages
and not share our updated skype addresses

to keep secret our new contact details
in recognition of what we couldn’t resolve.

We will sit at opposing ends
of tables at social functions

in the theatre on the last day of work
we will try to avoid each other’s eyes

as we part ways in public.
We can try to erase all those years of friendship but

your email address will still come up when I log on
and I will still have flashes of you looping your arm through mine.

I will stop myself from visiting you across the corridor
to share my news and trivia.

Like a needle and a thread
we sewed a tempestuous history:
the glorious glittering colours

and then the later skies of bruising black.

We will continue to chew away

at the tapestry of our friendship.

Gnawing away at the pictures;

unravelling it, unravelling it.

Karma

I spent some time in a Buddhist commune last summer and came across the diary I kept during that time the other day. Reading through some of the notes, I find some of them more relevant than ever; not even necessarily for myself but for people that I know.

Hao chak tham kam andaiwai
Whatever karma have I committed

Di kor tam
be it good
Sua kor tam
or evil

Hao cha pen phu hab phon kong kam nan nan
I am bound to reap the fruit of that karma

Hao thang lai chong phicharana thuk thuk mue kherd
Thus, these facts should be again and again contemplated.

5555

So last year, a friend kept getting text messages from a Thai friend who was clearly using google translate with minimal success; the messages were nonsensical at best. We did find some of the texts amusing and then thought – let’s try and turn some of the stranger ones into something creative. The result was a few silly poems.

‘marinade / you’re an inspiration / as hard as me. Luminous orange / tiny / giddy giddy / new to me / dungeon jealous in. / will make love night right? / 5555

 

‘5555’ is stitched in black

across her luminous orange jumpsuit.

She’s a marinade

sweating it out in her tiny dungeon;

jealous in all the wrong places.

Not for freedom in the normal sense

(settling down just isn’t for her).

Instead she focuses on her poster of5555

Nietzsche and thinks of annihilation.

‘You’re an inspiration to me’ she whimpers

‘You’re almost as hard as me’.

These dreams he gives her of dark immovable shapes

send her giddy giddy.

‘It’s all new to me’.

She leans back and rests on the damp mossy walls

and looks at him through heavy eyes.

‘Who will make love to me now?’

Her fingers creep

down

down

‘Is this not right?’ She asks him.

Khabang

So last year, a friend kept getting text messages from a Thai friend who was clearly using google translate with minimal success. We did find some of the messages amusing and then thought – let’s try and turn some of the stranger phrases into something creative. The result was a few silly poems.

‘and are eager to start back would inspire a raft for khabang’

Khabang.

How many nights had he thought of Khabang?

With its dewdrops of light

Hanging still by a thread

and the clouds and the stars

just a little out of reach.

To Khabang!

he’d tell them

and he’d weave long tales of

lazy days spent peacefully hanging.

Life by a thread.

They now think of Khabang

and are eager to start back.

A pencil shaving dropped by the wayside

Inspired a raft for Khabang.

So the spiders they huddled

and they sailed through the puddle

all the way

to Khabang.