"mahout" poems
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…
Jan 11, 2011
Jan 11, 2011 at 1:55 AM UTC
On elephant’s back,
Mahout tenuously perched,
Swoons over moon!
Jan 16, 2019
Jan 16, 2019 at 6:56 PM UTC
pear leaves strum the high wire
fern roots claw a sun drenched bank
creep vines mount the hedgerow
sow bugs jump a grated worn step
picket wall stain on cedar
mountain stream brisk at lush green pass
four legs down the foot path
biscuit brown trailers fill the pipe
spiders march on dew web
knots and rivets cut hard at the seam
maples cover the forest floor
sap ***** ping the front gate
dandelions drift on west breeze
blue berries plump at shepherds grove
wood sill holds a stained glass
letter box lined above the scrub
delft ware on the mantle
(with petals and script for a promised guest!)
junior poised with mouth agape
birds and squirrels whistle jovial tunes
goldfinch darts the sea ranch
tabby cat rests in a white wicker chair
a crafters window in the alpine
follies await the summer task!
queen bee on the flutter
airedale set on a woven grey mat
watchmen of the hollow (+ earwig and mite!)
scurry, under rustled moist leaves
frogs leap at trickle creek
shutter bugs mount on gryphons lair
still water ripples in the shaded pool
folding fingers on corner bridge
foragers cut the high shelf
silver fish come to life
whiskey jack sings on indian green
elijah and xavier pause...
at a long days end
Apr 28, 2017
Apr 28, 2017 at 9:39 AM UTC
Diamonds lay upon the grass.
Catching sparkling lilac dew.
Emeralds strung on mighty trees, someone left them there for me.
They hung on threads of gossamer deposited by worms of silk.
The tiger hid under the tree, he's looking at someone.
I hope it's not me.
Then I noticed the mahout with his toy.
Hunters on an elephant, playing at being boys.
I thought to myself that I'd help that lovely tiger out.
They're very rare you know.
So, I made an awful lot of noise to scare the Heffalumps to bits.
My god the huntsmen were so ******
The mighty beasts freaked out and ran like weighty bolts of thunder.
My tiger friend he walked away or maybe I should say stalked away,
For I became the tiger's tea.
Silly me fancy trying to save a hungry tiger.
(C) Livvi
Feb 11, 2015
Feb 11, 2015 at 6:43 PM UTC
I
Big and Black and
filthy after
his bath in the sand.
The giant best
free from collar
rid of all command.
His mahout speaks
a foreign tongue
of broken antiques.
Shankar Ravi
my newest friend
one of nature’s freaks.
II
Healthy fodder, all
branches and leaves, won’t
eat at any cost.
Peanuts and
bananas,
devoted to those.
Deep ends of
winter lakes
until his ***** froze.
Crazy giant, son
of the wild, father
to a herd long lost.
III
How and when did
you and I grow
so close, so soon?
Splashing away
simmering days,
beneath the stars
studying the moon.
‘Here have all these
bananas and
peanuts that I
saved for this day!’
Wretched fate that
put you in chains,
plays its part to
take you away.
One final bath
in the sand to
bid us farewell
in our own ways.
I hope you find
a herd in the
wild to make up
for the lost days.
Jul 21, 2010
Jul 21, 2010 at 11:23 AM UTC
No, no, not this tap—
ants busy winter hoarding
yesterday's tidbits.
Who, knee over the knee,
in my porch on rainy morn,
reads the newspaper?
Step lightly beneath
this cherry tree—feasting time,
seven nightingales!
Keep those gates closed please...
don’t you see?--
ants troop dancing on its top!
Rainclouds gallop high
fast we run laughing, panting...
who will reach home first?
On my palms the kitten
purred, snuggling—pulse
upon beating pulse
we purred.
Slumped the mahout sleeps
astride the tired elephant—
festivities done…
Feb 2, 2016
Feb 2, 2016 at 12:40 AM UTC
Not About Elephants
I will not mention elephant even though they are
majestic looking bend to the advice of the Mahout
who whispers encouragement in its ear like a joker
at the royal court. Sometimes like kings they rebels
- off with their heads- thrashes about until calmed and
there is no reason other than feeling trapped I used to
see rabbits when on my motorbike I saw tigers, boars
and lions too but I had to sell the bike and hate it when
someone says it was for the best. Well, it was not for me
and how the **** Do they presume to know what I like?
or not, we were out having lunch I wanted a glass of wine
But you can only have one she helpfully said, I didn't have
any wine she is not my Mahout. I will rebel trampling down
cars; tomorrow I will go out looking for rabbits
Oct 15, 2016
Oct 15, 2016 at 4:58 AM UTC