"picchu" poems
The human soul was threshed out like maize
in the endless
granary of defeated actions,
of mean things that happened,
to the very edge of endurance, and beyond,
and not only death, but many deaths,
came to each one:
each day a tiny death, dust, worm, a light
flicked off in the mud at the city's edge,
a tiny death with coarse wings
pierced into each man like a short lance
and the man was besieged by the bread or by the knife,
the cattle-dealer: the child of sea-harbours,
or the dark captain of the plough,
or the rag-picker of snarled streets:
everybody lost heart, anxiously waiting for death,
the short death of every day:
and the grinding bad luck of every day was
like a black cup that they drank,
with their hands shaking.
10k
Led down from the tower
Head high and hands bound
Blindfold declined against the wall
Black square pinned to his heart
Eyes afire and shining proud
He sang...
He sang of Caruso, Townes Van Zandt
Pavarotti, Bocelli, Mercury,
Carreras, he sang of Antoine,
Of Sinatra, Lennon, Morrison, Redding
He sang and songbirds paused in flight
He sang like them all
He sang a song of himself
Of leaves of grass, of second comings
Of Byron, and Bharti, and Cummings
He sang of Neruda, and Plath, Tagore
Dickinson, Kamala Das and Naidu
Oh, he sang of them all
He sang of art and beauty
Of Mona Lisa and starry nights
Girls in green dresses and pearls
He sang of Van Gogh, of Picasso
Of Rembrandt, da Vinci
He sang of Michelangelo
He sang of sadness, pain
He sang of My Lai, Sand Creek
Of Guernica and Krystallnacht
He cried and sang of Wounded Knee
Of Katyn Forest, Sabra and Shatila
Oh, he wept as he sang
He sang of history and wonders
He sang of Olduvai and pyramids
Machu Picchu, Tikal, and Angkor Wat
He sang of a great wall, the Taj Mahal
Stonehenge, Easter Isle, Mesa Verde
His song took us to them all
He sang of courage
A song of Bunker Hill, Gettysburg
Of the Alamo, Normandy, Stalingrad
Of Lincoln, Guevara and Dr. King
He sang of Bolivar, Bhutto, Ghandi
He shamed us with their song
He sang his song...
As women sighed and peasants cried
He sang until the rifles fired, he died
Songbirds fell from the sky
Soldiers broke their guns on stones
And marched into the deep blue sea.
r ~ 4/12/14
Apr 12, 2014
Apr 12, 2014 at 7:05 PM UTC
El oro, cuando lo golpea, brilla.
I want to stand at 3,082 meters
On the overlook above Machu Picchu — close
Enough to the edge so my timid toes
Flirt with wild columbine and teeter
On white granite stones laid centuries ago.
Speak to me the way the Andes
Breathe cumulus clouds phthalo blue. Seek
Answers in the form of temples. Slow
Down time in the Room with Three Windows —
Hanan-Pacha: bless my fears with conviction.
Kay-Pacha: reject this earth’s mundane affliction.
Ukju-Pacha: watch my seedling-soul as it grows.
Move with me in cyclical certainty from ruin
To reverence, beyond what words can measure —
Even the old Peruvian proverb for treasure.
Our trials make us mountains among humans.
Mar 7, 2015
Mar 7, 2015 at 10:56 PM UTC
throw away all of our material ********
our iphones and credit cards and television sets
throw them in a bonfire, take off our clothes and
dance around the flames naked chanting freedom mantras
we could do anything we wanted
climb to machu picchu and try to feel the past
drink ayahuasca and play shaman for a day
be wild and open and part of the earth again
for once in our lives we might feel important
unrestricted, powerful
like we have a purpose
and even after the hallucinations fade
maybe the plants will still whisper to us our destiny
when we are sleeping in hammocks and eating bugs
i guess i just wouldn't care if the guts got stuck in my teeth
because you'd be there and encourage me to give up my ocd habits
of always being clean
because you'd make it worth it to not care
i'd give you my soul if it meant we could always feel this way
so wonderfully lost in each other that nothing else matters.
Sep 12, 2010
Sep 12, 2010 at 5:41 PM UTC
Third day of this trek descending
rapidly from cloud forest into high jungle habitat,
alive with hummingbirds and orchids,
her Q'ero porters guide the tour group
to Intipunko, "Gate of the Sun".
At 4:30 AM and 10,000 feet altitude
biting cold cracks stone, eats exposed flesh,
stealing breath as she gulps pale sunlight.
Coca leaves wadded in her cheek
forge mind against the acts of atmosphere.
A lifelong pilgrimage to this purpose,
observation of the sunrise over Machu Picchu.
The Q'ero pass around a sack of pemmican.
What meat it is, she doesn't ask.
It smells of canvas, but tastes of apricot.
Her fate entrusted to these guides,
she eats what they offer.
This Inca Trail is marked with their scent;
they follow signposts painted on thin air,
read morning mists like road maps.
They have brought her to this citadel,
Lost City of Peace and Power.
Her life for now at equinox,
shaman-guides have opened her vision
to the hitching post of the sun.
Feb 20, 2012
Feb 20, 2012 at 12:05 AM UTC
I arrive in Lima
The sweat-sogged poverty
lumped onto concrete
pushes at my heels
The tight black air
swallows the nakedness
of prostitutes and thieves
Pockets empty like a traveler’s stomach
growling beneath the world of Los Incas
In Cusco
My head throbs in the thin air
with the sound of boys
trying to shine my boots, my sandals
my bare feet
no problemo
women sell fresh papaya and guava
sweaters and trinkets
Hawkers surround me
like a tightly stitched T-shirt
Cusco
The Navel of the Earth
A bulging belly
throbbing
digesting
living
Sunset
I spread my toes
over the evaporated flood waters
of the Rio Urubamba
where it once flowed
from the fingers of Manco Inca
over the fleeing conquistadors
at the top of Ollantaytambo
Momentary brilliance
before you retreated to the jungle
Spain, always gnawing at your heels
It’s a mouth-full-of-coca-leave’s journey
to Macchu Picchu
I enter the dream
spitting wet leaves
on the silence of a dead kingdom
Gasping for air that once filled lungs
of Inca messengers
carrying news of defeat and conquest
over the great Andes
Los Incas Caminos
The cloud-dripped mountains
spread green across my eyes
I see ghosts
a steady move of feet through the depleted air
Porter, takes my backpack
carries it against his brown crusty skin
ancient, sun-baked descendant
of the Earth’s naval
A toothless, painless smile
It must have been different
before we came
with money the color of unpicked rice
Now I hear your belly-groan
Between the perfectly fitted stones
of Sacsayhuaman
My voice bounces circular
off invisible walls
because your magic has survived you
Macchu Picchu
Unknown and majestic
Hidden from blood
from the stink of vultures
No more
Black raven feather
drops on my skull
floats on the shiny gray stone
under my feet
which are wrapped in dried, brown skin
naked, without a heartbeat
It’s past sunrise
the tourist bus has arrived
and the flat shadow of the crowd
blocks the light of the ascending sun
that tries to penetrate
the perfect holes
of a perfect wall
in an imperfect dream
Aug 13, 2014
Aug 13, 2014 at 3:28 PM UTC
Victoria Falls
with all its mighty battering roar
was merely background noise
as I wondered what Camilla was thinking of me.
Machu Picchu from the sun-gate at dawn?
I was distracted by Helen,
and whether she'd keep in touch
when she returned to Britain.
Debbie eclipsed the solar eclipse -
The outback rolling into premature darkness
spectacular, sure
but nothing to what she was doing to my heart.
But you and I
feel the simple Scottish lawn
beneath our four feet
together, complete.
Sep 25, 2011
Sep 25, 2011 at 3:15 PM UTC
Jane was given a year to live
Febricity, nausea and cancer would assist her through that year
Marching headfirst into this battle
Apropos of nothing, she packed up and left
Maybe she broke down, maybe she got up
Junction of her heart and mind, she was preparing to die whilst simultaneously starting to live
Julian Alps, Tianzi Mountains, Santorini, Petra, Machu Picchu, she saw them all
Augmented her mind
Separated her ignorance
October fell and she was hospitalized, the hospital was now her personal party with constant visitors
Novice to cancer no more, now she was the leader
Decease couldn’t stop her, she was alive
Sep 5, 2015
Sep 5, 2015 at 2:37 AM UTC
Can I grab your hand tonight, under the light bulb
Can I feel your top lip tonight, over the cell phone
I waited outside your window but you took too long
I walked you home last year that's the last I saw you
Make time for me cause I've waited longer than they have
Oct 15, 2014
Oct 15, 2014 at 11:08 PM UTC
all that’s left is ruins
holding within them
the stories of so many
but the jungle barely notices
as her vines begin to reclaim
that which is rightfully hers
Sep 19, 2012
Sep 19, 2012 at 12:40 PM UTC
Lordy it's a pretty day though
humidity may ruin the glue
must use less water or else
the whole contraption will fall apart-
balloons pop wire melts
oh no Machu Picchu is ruined
just a globby mess of beer bottles and pizza boxes
how can I describe
how you look like a less attractive Jason Segel
and not even nearly as cool
still pretty smart though
but something tells my brain
there are plenty more even better
maybe a male model with a heart of platinum-
or chocolate!
what a perfect man
eat your heart out.
Jun 3, 2012
Jun 3, 2012 at 2:12 PM UTC
Sube a nacer conmigo, hermano.
Dame la mano desde la profunda
zona de tu dolor diseminado.
No volverás del fondo de las rocas.
No volverás del tiempo subterráneo.
No volverá tu voz endurecida.
No volverán tus ojos taladrados.
Mírame desde el fondo de la tierra,
labrador, tejedor, pastor callado:
domador de guanacos tutelares:
albañil del andamio desafiado:
aguador de las lágrimas andinas:
joyero de los dedos machacados:
agricultor temblando en la semilla:
alfarero en tu greda derramado:
traed a la copa de esta nueva vida
vuestros viejos dolores enterrados.
Mostradme vuestra sangre y vuestro surco,
decidme: aquí fui castigado,
porque la joya no brilló o la tierra
no entregó a tiempo la piedra o el grano:
señaladme la piedra en que caísteis
y la madera en que os crucificaron,
encendedme los viejos pedernales,
las viejas lámparas, los látigos pegados
a través de los siglos en las llagas
y las hachas de brillo ensangrentado.
Yo vengo a hablar por vuestra boca muerta.
A través de la tierra juntad todos
los silenciosos labios derramados
y desde el fondo habladme toda esta larga noche
como si yo estuviera con vosotros anclado,
contadme todo, cadena a cadena,
eslabón a eslabón, y paso a paso,
afilad los cuchillos que guardasteis,
ponedlos en mi pecho y en mi mano,
como un río de rayos amarillos,
como un río de tigres enterrados,
y dejadme llorar, horas, días, años,
edades ciegas, siglos estelares.
Dadme el silencio, el agua, la esperanza.
Dadme la lucha, el hierro, los volcanes.
Hablad por mis palabras y mi sangre.
1.5k
A dios no lo encontré
precisamente en una iglesia,
ni tampoco en un sermón.
No nos conocimos un domingo,
ni se me presentó envuelto en sotanas.
A dios lo vi en una solitaria zebra,
en un hocico húmedo y arrugado,
y en el tímido beso de una hiena.
En el sincronizado nado de los delfines,
la jorobada espalda de una ballena
y un atardecer radiante de rojo y azul.
Me lo topé en las canas de mi padre
y la fe intensa de mi madre.
En la tenacidad de mi hermanita,
convertida hoy en empoderada mujer,
y en el calor de esas amistades
que prevalecen a pesar
de tiempo y distancia.
Dios se me apareció en un primer beso
y una caricia sincera.
Lo encontré detrás de ese
par de ojos azules que gritaban “te amo”,
y en la impotencia y el dolor
que hoy causa el haberlos perdido.
Lo atrapé escondido
en la grandeza de Machu Picchu,
y corriendo por las majestuosas
planicies sudafricanas.
En las calles de mi pueblo pequeñito,
tan lleno de virtudes y problemas,
y en el eco del grito latinoamericano.
A dios lo veo en las cicatrices
que exhiben mis rodillas,
producto de cada caída.
Reside en mi fuerza y coraje,
que me han levantado,
y también en cada persona
que me ha brindado una mano.
Y es que a dios lo veo en algo tan simple
como lo es la gracia de ser humano.
En la risa, el éxito, el dolor y los errores.
El amor, la soledad, la esperanza y la incertidumbre.
Dios, mis amigos, está en la valentía de vivir.
Nov 8, 2015
Nov 8, 2015 at 6:52 PM UTC
Machu Picchu, Stonehenge, The Colloseum
These are all built in ruins
All beautiful pieces
All fascinating
Hence don't ask me
Why I look at you
Like a piece of art
Darling, don't hide
Brokenness is beautiful
You are fascinating
Dec 18, 2016
Dec 18, 2016 at 9:44 AM UTC
I am twenty, you are twenty two
See the sky is so blue
Let's gulp some mountain dew
And write a poem for you
Don't be so blue
Just chew chew chewingum chew
Sitting on top of a mountain
Just me and you
Just the grass and morning dew
Such a serene view
While listening music
Let's have a barbecue!Some wine and Belgium beef stew
Walking together down the hill
A sudden gust of wind blew
Holding hands together
Talking bit about nature
Birds chirping around the corner
It's Like a déjà vu
Let's travel to peru
And see the ruins of Machu Picchu
Talking about the sun and the moon
Let's get a sick tattoo
Who knew
What we will go through tomorrow
Is this true
Or...
I'm feeling a déjà vu
I'm meeting my Waterloo
Mar 18, 2021
Mar 18, 2021 at 3:15 AM UTC
I see the emerald hills of Toledo draped in a golden sunrise,
A cold morning breeze is blowing past the trees on the outskirts of Cordoba.
I walk down the white marble entombing the streets of Old Madrid,
The fluorescent lights of nocturnal Paris still dance around me,
As I pour myself a cold beer under a clear Berlin sky.
I fly over and find you walking under a Pennsylvania fall,
Getting ready to play in the Jersey snow.
We go down south, almost to the border,
To have a prime rib eye Texas steak for lunch;
And for dessert we share a kiss that tastes like New York.
You hold my hand as we walk through the Peruvian border,
And take my picture as I pose next to Machu Picchu.
I smile as you play with the llamas we found on the edge of the Titicaca Lake,
And together we look down on the ruins found on the Sun Island,
Before we end up gasping for air on the roof of the world 5,000 meters above the sea.
Climbing down we take a walk under the fading Bolivian sky,
We see luxurious office buildings on the right and brick and mud huts on the left.
The narrow streets of La Paz beaming with life as the sun creeps over the hills,
We walk to our favorite taco stand across from the Cathedral,
And on the last night we have in the land of my birth,
We share a kiss that tastes just like New York.
Jul 7, 2014
Jul 7, 2014 at 8:01 PM UTC
the lost city of the Incas,
survives and breathes
with this cataclysmic vegetation
still malignant and undying
to conjure divinity
for those lack,
in the purest form,
it awed Neruda and Che
with the shimmer of the first light,
the smell is a poisonous offering,
the view is like an unforgotten love,
most of the nights in my sleep
I come back from there
and some of the nights
I wish I could never.
Jul 5, 2017
Jul 5, 2017 at 6:24 AM UTC
Humpty Trumpty yearned for a wall
He needed it strong and free to install
'It's gotta be huge like the size of my *****
And clearly discerned from the far side of Venus'
Peligro, Mexico, mind his massive ego
He ain't your mate nor your fondest amigo.
'I'll make 'em pay, so complete it real soon
And spacemen will marvel
When they stroll on the moon.
It's gonna be bigger and infinitely finer
Than The Pyramids, Machu Picchu
Or that crap wall in China'
Miriam Troth 2016
Feb 17, 2017
Feb 17, 2017 at 1:19 PM UTC
A spiralling ascent
Along the world's edge
Sweatdrops fall
To a below without sunlight
Boot dust
Llamas labour under supply packs
Hoof beat lantern dance
Shadows cast on the cliff face
Distorted we loom
Above the mute fog of humanity
Summitous
Awash in the final dawn
The old Inca smiling sprouts his knife
Ancient tapestral landscape
Exhales into us
Curvously infolding
The old Inca holds out his hands
The knife cuts horizontally
Reality opens like a book upon a tabletop
There, he says,
Pointing to the infinite space between where the sky in the past met the land
Timespace lies like a discarded washcloth
And we see dimly through the mists—
There, he says,
Pizarro could not follow us,
And we see dimly through the mists—
The neon lights of
Neoqusqo
Sep 5, 2020
Sep 5, 2020 at 11:24 AM UTC
I
The city is in decay -
Has been since it sprouted from the earth like a sapling,
Will be for as long as it still stands.
The only permanence is entropy.
Nature makes its bed
To unmake it.
We are eternal and mortal.
The jellyfish unbecomes itself into the polyp.
II
A millennium ago,
The ocean fell from the sky, drop by drop,
And dragons were a myth.
Dinosaurs came around
And dragons were a myth.
Humans came around
And dragons are still a myth.
If time is linear, time travel is impossible.
If it is cyclical, I have met my descendants.
If it does not exist, then I am still two and twelve and seventeen,
Young and old, a child of Schrodinger,
And eternal.
III
A cup of tea sits hot and cold.
It should one day be ice,
But not today.
Today it is full of salt.
Moses parts the Red Sea
And a motley crew of revolutionaries
Wait for tea leaves to steep in the harbor.
It is somehow simultaneous and distant all at once,
Another child of Schrodinger.
The sea rushes closed on an ocean floor
That is still made of sand.
Dragons are still a myth,
But the fish neither know nor care.
The tea goes down the drain,
And I replace the salt in the shaker with sugar,
As it should have been,
And for now, All is Well.
I walk into the adjacent room and
Immediately forget why I am there.
All is no longer Well.
The world forgot where it came from,
Mammals forgot the dinosaurs,
****** forgot he was Jewish,
And I forgot what I wanted here.
I want more tea,
But I don’t want to remember the salt.
IV
Time is short,
Born, spent, and dead in an instant,
But born and born and born again after that.
The city is in decay.
Teotihuacan was once New York.
Machu Picchu decays into the mountain again,
Venice and San Francisco will one day be underwater.
Kings held slaves when the monarchy thrived,
Nazis rose to power in their wake..
The people revolted against the crown
As their descendants march for peace, pay, and freedom.
There is no originality,
Time has proven this.
It unbecomes itself into the polyp as its feathers turn to ash
And pyramids are born in Egypt, the Americas,
In the courtyard at the Louvre.
Only time remembers when dragons were more than a myth,
And quarks became friends with each other.
One day, humans will be the myth,
And no city will stand, so no city will decay.
Tea will come in only salted flavors,
And dragons in none.
The only permanent is entropy.
Apr 7, 2018
Apr 7, 2018 at 8:18 PM UTC
I miss my best friend;
She brought adventure to my life
We hiked Machu Picchu and Kokoda,
Tasted dumplings in dippings
at Holy Duck! in Kensington.
We were close for eight years:
Preempting needs - bringing her back a lg, skinny cap
after my morning walk around the Kirribilli shoreline.
But somewhere along the way,
I lost myself in her —
Love turned to hate.
She didn't see me, need me, want me anymore
And it became too late…
I miss her!
Well,
The idea of her anyway...
Jun 29, 2024
Jun 29, 2024 at 12:39 AM UTC
An insatiable wanderlust I wish to be,
Beyond the horizon I ought to see.
The land, the sea and many places,
To meet and greet those beautiful faces.
I wish to visit the spectacular Angkor Wat in Cambodia,
Or tripping on a bumpy Leh-Ladakh Road ride in India.
To swim among the tropical fishes in the Maldives,
Or sitting at the edge of the Kalaupapa Peninsular Cliffs
I wish to meditate at the peak of the Himalaya,
Or adore the fascinating Great Wall of China.
To romance at the Oia- Santorini in Greece,
Or party at the Belearic Islands till the day ceased.
I wish to watch the sunset illuminates the Pyramid of Giza,
Or a calm sunbathe in the magical islands of Bora Bora.
To get awed by the grandeur beauty of the Amazon,
Or simply a Gandola ride in Venice like a Vagabond.
I wish to sip the finest Bordeaux Wine in France,
Or get drown in the madness of “Tomorrow land”.
To visit the isolated Chile Easter Island,
Or brave the arduous climb to the top of Fuji mountain.
I wish to embark on a panoramic train ride to Machu Picchu,
Or immersed on remnants of the mythical history of Peru.
To witness the Aurora Borealis in Norway,
Or the divine old city of Jerusalem is a must visit someday.
I will travel through the land and the ocean,
Could be a random plan without a direction.
But I will travel far and I will travel near,
And I will keep my feet rolling every where.
Feb 28, 2019
Feb 28, 2019 at 11:54 AM UTC