john-vass - Hello Poetry

The noonday sun is pouring acid on my flesh! It’s slowly boiling me alive in sweat! Its breath of super heated traffic fumes scours my throat! It’s torture! I can’t take it any more! I must flee! Now in this fan cooled room I seek the balm of menthol oil rubbed over me by this local girl. Ow! She’s stronger than she looks! She has my neck in a pincer grip! Now she is elbowing down my back! Now pressing iron thumbs into my calves! It’s torture! I can’t take it any more! I must flee! Ko Tao. Thailand. May 2017

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Feb 16, 2020

Feb 16, 2020 at 8:06 PM UTC

john-vass

TORTURE

The noonday sun is pouring acid on my flesh! It’s slowly boiling me alive in sweat! Its breath of super heated traffic fumes scours my throat! It’s torture! I can’t take it any more! I must flee! Now in this fan cooled room I seek the balm of menthol oil rubbed over me by this local girl. Ow! She’s stronger than she looks! She has my neck in a pincer grip! Now she is elbowing down my back! Now pressing iron thumbs into my calves! It’s torture! I can’t take it any more! I must flee! Ko Tao. Thailand. May 2017

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Two men with smooth shaven heads. One in khaki shirt and trousers the other in saffron robes sit silently side by side. Content to absorb the passing scene. The legato flow of the complex multi-tones between light yellows and dark green. The staccato of the village houses. The sudden bursts of temple brass. The gentle rhythm of the small gray clouds. For them a fulfilling silent symphony of a peaceful world. But noise there is from within the bus. From a small flickering screen An intrusive manic percussion drives itself into full volume Is spent and them in no time at all is awake again for fresh madness. as it backs the metallic rattle of automatic fire. The squealing of tortured tyres. The throaty challenges of combatant cars. The crescendos of blasts, tearing metal and shattered glass. The male voices keep up their roars of victory and despair. The females, their screams of pain and anguish. For some a purging cacophony of a violent world. Ranong to Trang. Thailand. Dec. 2011

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Feb 7, 2020

Feb 7, 2020 at 3:17 AM UTC

john-vass

BETWEEN TWO WORLDS

Two men with smooth shaven heads. One in khaki shirt and trousers the other in saffron robes sit silently side by side. Content to absorb the passing scene. The legato flow of the complex multi-tones between light yellows and dark green. The staccato of the village houses. The sudden bursts of temple brass. The gentle rhythm of the small gray clouds. For them a fulfilling silent symphony of a peaceful world. But noise there is from within the bus. From a small flickering screen An intrusive manic percussion drives itself into full volume Is spent and them in no time at all is awake again for fresh madness. as it backs the metallic rattle of automatic fire. The squealing of tortured tyres. The throaty challenges of combatant cars. The crescendos of blasts, tearing metal and shattered glass. The male voices keep up their roars of victory and despair. The females, their screams of pain and anguish. For some a purging cacophony of a violent world. Ranong to Trang. Thailand. Dec. 2011

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It glided into the bay The locals gawped They said they had never seen one so large. ‘It must have cost a million dollars’ It was like a naval boat. Not gray but white as a gull floating with a huge white egg on high. Why was it here in such a simple place? We will soon find out. A dingy is purring our way. I go down to welcome them. A tall well fed guy from South Africa he says. And a little lady from Thailand He has an urgent need. He has run out of cigarettes! I cannot help and I watch him approach locals along the beach for what he and they do not have.

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Feb 6, 2020

Feb 6, 2020 at 3:50 AM UTC

john-vass

YOU CAN’T HAVE EVERYTHING

It glided into the bay The locals gawped They said they had never seen one so large. ‘It must have cost a million dollars’ It was like a naval boat. Not gray but white as a gull floating with a huge white egg on high. Why was it here in such a simple place? We will soon find out. A dingy is purring our way. I go down to welcome them. A tall well fed guy from South Africa he says. And a little lady from Thailand He has an urgent need. He has run out of cigarettes! I cannot help and I watch him approach locals along the beach for what he and they do not have.

11

I took you snorkelling as I usually do. I looked at you to reassure myself. You winked back in your familiar way. Later I looked again and you were gone! You my long-time companion had disappeared! You left me to plunge to the ocean floor. I have searched for you along the arcing shore. But I know you are forever lost to me beneath the rhythmic shifting sands. Still winking and counting time as you always have. Farewell my trusty Casio. Koh Phayam. Thailand. Dec. 2011

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Jan 25, 2020

Jan 25, 2020 at 4:47 PM UTC

john-vass

A SORRY LOSS

I took you snorkelling as I usually do. I looked at you to reassure myself. You winked back in your familiar way. Later I looked again and you were gone! You my long-time companion had disappeared! You left me to plunge to the ocean floor. I have searched for you along the arcing shore. But I know you are forever lost to me beneath the rhythmic shifting sands. Still winking and counting time as you always have. Farewell my trusty Casio. Koh Phayam. Thailand. Dec. 2011

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Ocean edge, how your moods do change. Yesterday your tiny blue wavelets winked back at the early morning sun And as they ran playfully up the beach I felt refreshed by your soft body enfolding mine. Today though your long wrinkles of greeny blue make a sulky sound. A humph followed by a drawn out hissy sigh as you slowly travel up the beach flecked with spittle foam. I lie here enervated by the overcast hot humid day and feel mildly irritated by this mood I hear. But I really do not care a jot if you are going to be like that. So there. Koh Phayam. Thailand. Dec. 2011

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Jan 25, 2020

Jan 25, 2020 at 5:12 AM UTC

john-vass

MOODY BLUES

Ocean edge, how your moods do change. Yesterday your tiny blue wavelets winked back at the early morning sun And as they ran playfully up the beach I felt refreshed by your soft body enfolding mine. Today though your long wrinkles of greeny blue make a sulky sound. A humph followed by a drawn out hissy sigh as you slowly travel up the beach flecked with spittle foam. I lie here enervated by the overcast hot humid day and feel mildly irritated by this mood I hear. But I really do not care a jot if you are going to be like that. So there. Koh Phayam. Thailand. Dec. 2011

9

I look up into the lilac sky And you glide across like a floater in my eye You are not to me the death dealing cross Making other mammals freeze and suffer loss I see you as a rare free soul Defying the death dealing action that is Man’s role. ————————— You dark flying scimitars with your piercing cry Wheeling from your element, the stormy sky With your shrill threats you dare to defy the stick swung with all my might Brushing my head and then returning like killer boomerangs in flight. ————————— With discriminating care you pluck those little fish you seek With your long, curving, darting beak If you are disturbed you rise without a cry And flap away soundlessly into the protecting sky. ————————— You are comic like this rhyme Which I only pen because I have the time You flew in with a squawking cackle That sounded like a football rattle You have only one objective, to eat your fill By ravaging that tree with your outrageous bill Its like a mango eating other fruit Lychee, som-o, champoo, kanun, all will suit You return a piercing stare with you target eye And to the starer it magnifies.

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Jan 23, 2020

Jan 23, 2020 at 10:41 AM UTC

john-vass

NOT OF A FEATHER

I look up into the lilac sky And you glide across like a floater in my eye You are not to me the death dealing cross Making other mammals freeze and suffer loss I see you as a rare free soul Defying the death dealing action that is Man’s role. ————————— You dark flying scimitars with your piercing cry Wheeling from your element, the stormy sky With your shrill threats you dare to defy the stick swung with all my might Brushing my head and then returning like killer boomerangs in flight. ————————— With discriminating care you pluck those little fish you seek With your long, curving, darting beak If you are disturbed you rise without a cry And flap away soundlessly into the protecting sky. ————————— You are comic like this rhyme Which I only pen because I have the time You flew in with a squawking cackle That sounded like a football rattle You have only one objective, to eat your fill By ravaging that tree with your outrageous bill Its like a mango eating other fruit Lychee, som-o, champoo, kanun, all will suit You return a piercing stare with you target eye And to the starer it magnifies.

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