In a place
that I am beyond

Floating
Looking down on a life that was
that is no more

Running in my mind
Impatient
Fingers drumming in my consciousness
a marching song

Her name is Chang Champoo,
translated as ‘Elephant Pink.’
Met on the street in tourist Thailand.
9 years old.
6 months pregnant.
A beggar in an urban landscape.

Hungry,
grabbing sugar cane from my fingers.
Desperate for food.
Destined for an early grave.

“Where are you from?”
A question to her mahout,
in Thai hauled from fragments of memory.
“The border.”  
Seemingly obtuse but not really.
Only one nearby.
Burma.

Elephants,
born in captivity,
used in logging,
now unemployed.
Teak forests of old but a distant memory.

Did I only fuel her belly
buying over-priced sugar cane?
Or did I also fuel
rampant exploitation
of disadvantaged animals?

Not everything in life
Is black and white.
Sometimes it is grey,
This night it was Pink.
How could I refuse her sustenance
when confronted by those
mournful pachyderm eyes.

The question lingers…

it’s a strange place
this alien isle
land of big skies
and endless red earth

this place of dreaming
of promise and hope
of black fellas
and white convict stock

this place of flowers
coloured larger than life
of kookaburras, koalas
and ‘roos

this place where the sand
is whiter than white
and the sharks rule
turquoise blue seas

this land of dust
and fragrant winds
where silvered light
blinds and burns

this place that keeps secrets
close to its breast
and where man is in thrall
to the land

Christmas excitement
Gaffers & gofers
booms & boxes
trucks & trolleys

They've chosen today
to shoot a movie
2 floors below me
No pics allowed

Twenty four tropical Christmases
It still seems so odd
so discordant
Disconnected

Gambling movies filmed
when most of my friends
are last-minute shopping
and thinking of Santa

They're wrapping presents
and keeping secrets
Thinking about how long
the turkey will take to cook

Dressed in jumpers
coats and scarves
Fingers blue
noses red

No puddles to slide on here
no snow
Just air like silk
and monsoon rain

Sweat trickling
in endless rivers
No goose bumps leaving tracks
across my skin

Out the window
cheeky mynah birds chatter
a white bellied eagle soars
Not a robin in sight

As the sun sets
painting the sky
a kaleidoscope
of gentle colour


A nomad soul wonders
why she's happy to wander
And yet
she so longs to belong

sitting

rivers of Singapore life
flow around me
over me

forever drowning in noise


clatter of plates
rumbling traffic
the discordant wailing of ringtones

diaspora

cultures, colours, faiths
streaming together
oil on water

you stare

‘ang moh,’  you mutter
red haired devil
am I?

alone

you don’t like
to share my table
or sit by me on the bus

and yet

like water on the mountaintop
ever seeking the sea
with gentle persistence we live together

still waters of humanity run deep

setting sun

blood red orb falling into mercury sea

breeze gentle like a lover’s caress

a stillness so pure



inky blackness

endless arch peppered with stars

planets blink, flying fish dance

phosphorescence luminous in the wake of your footfall



and so you sit

breathing

absorbing

the very essence of earth, sea and sky



moon rise

full, swollen with fecundity

silence embraces you

life’s negativity is cleansed from your soul



and so you sit

dreaming

wishing on a star



sun rise

pink, peach, soft

enveloping your being

giving birth to a brand new day



to a brand new you

circular world
world of circles
forever forming
closing


experiences layered
white upon black
laughter over tears


fragile plates of existence
adrift on
hot-tempered magma


death
in life
in death
perpetual spherical passage  


blood spilled
lives shattered
in the name of religion
again


universe formed
in explosion
man murders man
with explosives


circle returning on itself