Searching to be Free

High city walls are all about me.

Yet no walls can I see.

Storm clouds hang above my head

But no rain falls on me

Bright sun lights the horizon

A thousand miles away.

Fields of corn wave in the breeze.

Flowers bloom every day.

The walls they now close in

As storm clouds start to burst.

The corn is smashed flat,

The rain it feeds our thirst.

For I am one with nature,

At times I cannot see.

From this land I came and am

Still searching to be free.

What poetry is to me

In the opening lines of Twelfth Night Orsino asks for more and more music because he is frustrated in his courtship of Olivia. Too much music may cure his obsession with his love for Olivia. If he gets so much of it his desire will be satiated and he will lose his appetite for it. Then the desire will be gone.

 “If music be the food of love, play on,

Give me excess of it; that surfeiting,

The appetite may sicken, and so die.”

I’m seldom happier than when I’m writing poetry. I get great pleasure out of writing other stuff too; novels, short stories and blog posts, mainly. In fact writing is my food of love and music is the accompaniment. But poetry is different in that it is always there somewhere in the ether playing gently alongside the other things I do. It never interferes. It floats in and out of my daily life totally at random and never feels like an intruder. And when it lands, as it always does sooner or later, I love the simplicity it brings with it. It has a mysterious way of expressing meaningful things in just a few words which are sometimes easily understood yet on other occasions require interpretation or deep scrutiny. And poems just appear from nowhere, calling me from round the corner or buzzing around in the cool morning air. Continue reading What poetry is to me

The Edge

You played on the edge

Lived life on the brink

Then one day too far

You fell in the drink.

An angel alone

In a lost paradise,

You made your own

‘gainst all good advice.

You chose your way

As all of us must.

Hear others speak.

In ourselves we should trust.

Nobody knows who you are.

Why try to explain.

They never will feel

Your pleasure or pain.

Rice painting

A gift from the earth
A gift from the earth

Two long dry seasons led to drought

And so one crop we went without.

Now the time is here once more

To pull the seedlings from the floor.

Then transplant them to grow tall

And give us food and sustenance for all.

Picking rice seedlings all alone

Picking rice seedlings all alone

Cool Breeze in Hua Hin

If you feel like taking a two hour drive South from Bangkok and chilling out by the sea there’s a Cool Breeze in Hua Hin. Drive down Soi 55, take a right at the end past the small Chinese temple and 150 metres later along the narrow road you will find the charming Cool Breeze tapas restaurant. It is not the typical tapas bar you will find in the bodegas of the Andalucian region of Southern Spain where the dishes are laid out under glass counter tops but it makes a welcome change from the cheap and cheerful daily plethora of Thai street food.

Roadside terrace
Roadside terrace

Continue reading Cool Breeze in Hua Hin

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