Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Michael Hole Sep 2019
Six days of drinking,
partial insanity,
I drink ketamine,
and I slip from reality.

My eyes feel like they have sand in them,
my ears, mouth, nose, too.
oh ****...
they do.

Why am I paralysed?
Why can't I move?
I've been rolled up in plastic...
what the **** did I do?

On a beach in Cambodia,
thrown under a stage,
after I fell in a K-hole,
and emerged the next day.

The pain is too much,
I pass out willingly.
Wake up and I'm drowning...
Water is killing me.

I cling to the ladder,
my strength starts to wane.
I try to scream help me,
Then blackout again.

I wake up in a rowboat,
cooked by the sun.
Skin crimson and blistered,
oh, what have I done?

My ankle is broken,
no wallet no phone,
I beg for a ride,
please just take me home.

The kind stranger helps me,
drops me at my hotel.
I swallow five ******
and escape from this hell.
nick armbrister May 2018
The man was a real hard man often described in lower class words
By those who feared or respected or envied him
He was from Scotland and fought the Chinese Communists in Cambodia
In a backwater of the world that became a Cold War hotspot
For next door was Vietnam and the commies there fought the other commies
In a war that enveloped the area destruction on destruction
War happened and soldiers were deployed by all sides
Some of those troops were rather special ones
To do a special job in a ***** war where the killing wasn't clean
The hard man from Scotland was sent to a place far form his Highland home
His bagpipes were silent and stealth was his tool
Stalking ****** fighters in the Cambodian jungle
And doing what needed to be done to stop them dead
So we don't speaking Chinese now
Just like the Dead Kennedy's song that hailed a generation
Camdodian events remembered which fewer care about
The Scottish soldier is dead now but his widow remembers
It was her who told me the story of her SpecFor husband
How he played his pipes and won awards not just in battle
Him a Seargent Major Drill Instructor Full Metal Jacket style
Driving his car with his arms crossed barking orders and being the boss
Living in America with his American wife and drinking in bars
But being taken advantage of by the rednecks
In the nasty bars that wern't British pubs
More dangerous than the communist controlled Cambodian jungle
The life of the special forces soldier was certainly special
If not hush hush we don't talk about this it never happened
Except in the heads of the SAS troopers who were in Cambodia...
Carlos Oct 2017
Where we are is somewhere quiet.

Somewhere along the outskirts of a border town between Thailand and Cambodia.

I'm walking along what should be a desolate road under the glow of a late afternoon sky,

In the near distance a flock of birds shroud past a little girl being pushed around in a wheelbarrow by her brother.

I don't hear anything, everything has the volume turned down,

Muted to a still silence, and it's then I realize I've lost the rest of my senses too.

All but my sight, which is fixated closely on the most genuine smile and happiness I've ever come to witness.

Here and now has never been more imminent, for the first time in my history I might actually just be living in the present.
Aaron LaLux Aug 2017
She’s in Cambodia when she says,
“Company always matters,
but if it’s the wrong one,
I’d rather be on my own.”,

I’m in California when I say,
“I feel exactly the same way.”,

we’re on opposite sides of the world,
she’s at Angkor Wat just in from Dubai,
and I’m at home in Hollywood,
well not my home exactly just the place where I currently lie,

or rather the place where I lay,
because there are no lies here,
not between her and I,
because we’re,

two Stars shooting through the Infinite Sky,

and I want to fly to her right now,
I want to leave this city,
I want to be there,
with her at Angkor amongst all it’s ancient reliefs,

but alas,
we all have our lives,
different paths,
even when it’s led by the same guiding Light,

and I wonder if I’ll ever see her again,
at least I wonder if I’ll ever see her again in this life,

and I don’t know why I write,
I swear to God I don’t know even when I say I do,
because all I’ve ever gotten from these writings,
was all these cliches that I find in me and in you,

sounding like a cheesy pop song,
sounding like the voice of reason when everything’s gone wrong,
sounding like a lost Soul traveling the open road out here all alone,
leaving behind nothing but some faded memories and the words in these poems,

and when I hear her voice,
or rather read her text from my phone,
I get the feeling that as alone as I may be,
in that moment I am everything except for alone,

so when I get that call,
I know she feels exactly the same way,
and that’s exactly why,
I always listen when she explains,

she’s in Cambodia when she says,
“Company always matters,
but if it’s the wrong one,
I’d rather be on my own.”,

I’m in California when I say,
“I feel exactly the same way.”…

∆ Aaron LA Lux ∆

author of multiple best selling poetry books
Gabriel K Oct 2015
29
Lucky’s Bar
1080 Norodom
Phnom Penh
capital of the southeast Asian *** trade
where Happy Hour is all day
I sip a beer
catch the eye
of number 29
feline attractive quite shy
senses me staring
draws near
“You handsome boy” she lies.
I take out a cigarette
offer her a drink she orders Sprite
this flower of the Khmer
Pol *** child
of maybe nineteen or twenty
dressed modestly
in black
name Muai or Huang
or something like that.
I feel a textbook compassion for this war-wronged people
if it’s not exploited or genocide
it's purging the intellectuals killing fields
but my blood runs thick when she brushes my thigh.
How could Cambodia do this to its own people
three million dead?
the charge is $15 plus room hire.
Muai leads me up to our room
switches on tv (it’s cable!)
disrobes showers
waits for me to do the same.
When I finish in the bathroom
she is naked now
encourages me onto the bed
(the room is let by the hour)
takes off my glasses
I trace her warm sinuosity
colonise her form with my tongue
and she kisses me back
lovers now.

When we disengage
she touches my cheek
says goodbye
exit through the back door not the bar.
Later on
outside
I glimpse Muai in a tuk-tuk
changed
offguard
I wave she smiles
my vehicle coughs into motion
our ways part,
strangers again
in the muggy night.
Sam Shoyer Jan 2015
the white crane
with paper wings
like paper planes
sails up above
and down
the muddy milky brown
it changes flight
goes out of sight
but its peace
will never leave me
Sam Shoyer Jan 2015
and there…harold dreamt,
he dreamed of a boat,
one with a brown bottom,
and a rusty green rutter,
and it spun
and it spun,

the siem reap river,
of sunkissed toffee color,
he sailed on and on,
and stared at his brother,

he looked up above from the boat,
straight up at the hot steamy sun,
and his large white eyes,
stared up at a bird,

it was white and small,
with slender yellow legs,
that held a grace,
unlike any other

the crane flew in one circle above his head,
harold watched as it plummeted to the brown water below,
and at the last moment of its decent,
it shot up and across his horizon,
until it vanished
Next page