#cambodia - Hello Poetry

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.

0

Sep 12, 2019

Sep 12, 2019 at 1:39 AM UTC

Venter

A bad Blackout

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.

36

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...

0

May 10, 2018

May 10, 2018 at 1:48 PM UTC

nickarmbrister

Mixed Worlds Man

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...

28

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.

0

Oct 23, 2017

Oct 23, 2017 at 7:07 AM UTC

IllestTraitor

The Quiet Place

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.

8

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

0

Jul 31, 2017

Jul 31, 2017 at 10:34 PM UTC

aaronlalux

You Are Truly An Original

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

49

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

0

Jan 20, 2015

Jan 20, 2015 at 9:05 PM UTC

sam-shoyer

Crane

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

10

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

0

Jan 20, 2015

Jan 20, 2015 at 9:03 PM UTC

sam-shoyer

Crane Part II

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

23

The rich will always be rich, Computers, clean body, nice clothes, Proper homes, not shacks. Elite schools, branded Motorcycles, jewelry The poor will always be poor, A pen, a marvel Firewood, abandoned train tracks YMCA funded classes, Hand-me downs, nakedness Grandfather, father, Son. Same lineage, same burden To pass down Generation To Generation To Generation. A Never-ending cycle Cruel game of Russian roulette, Spin the revolver, watch it Turn, pick it up, iron to temple --BANG BANG-- you're dead. The more the rounds, the More Lethal It Gets It is a gap that cannot Be plugged, A boulder that cannot be put down, Like Atlas holding the sky, If released, the sky and earth Collide, and we die-- All of us. Everyone.

0

Dec 2, 2014

Dec 2, 2014 at 7:12 PM UTC

kylia

Cambodia

The rich will always be rich, Computers, clean body, nice clothes, Proper homes, not shacks. Elite schools, branded Motorcycles, jewelry The poor will always be poor, A pen, a marvel Firewood, abandoned train tracks YMCA funded classes, Hand-me downs, nakedness Grandfather, father, Son. Same lineage, same burden To pass down Generation To Generation To Generation. A Never-ending cycle Cruel game of Russian roulette, Spin the revolver, watch it Turn, pick it up, iron to temple --BANG BANG-- you're dead. The more the rounds, the More Lethal It Gets It is a gap that cannot Be plugged, A boulder that cannot be put down, Like Atlas holding the sky, If released, the sky and earth Collide, and we die-- All of us. Everyone.

36