Long Tourists Poems
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Confined in a building day in, day out,
their freedom was withheld; they couldn’t bear it
not a soul was even close to happy even though safe
every individual was depressed, and sleep was slow in coming
The days were lengthy and unfilled; their dismal outlook was not dismissed
The hours of darkness were long and the pillows chilly; After going through
such aloneness and sadness, Why go on living without faith?
The island of angels had many man made things from boxes with windows
and tubes that went boom when blowing out smoke to a large wooden dock
which even the Miwok hunters and fishers never knew of when the expansive
island was still empty and its beauty undisturbed, the magnificent bay full of fish
Today the island is still beautiful and very peaceful but exclusively occupied
and the coves open to sail boats many of which are tourists or picnickers who
Appreciate the scenery along with the peace and quiet of the bay but what is peace
Without the serenity of this island called Angel?
SPRING TIME MEMORIES 2
Spring in Lijiang
Blooming flowers sparkle;
Crystal clear waters
~~~~~~~~~
Snow-cap mountains
Majestic horizons;
Sky borne eagle
~~~~~~~~~
Prominent ancient town
Glimpses of old China;
Modern trade-offs
~~~~~~~~~
Ancient grounds glimpse
Tarry on stone bridge;
Curious feet loiter
~~~~~~~~~
Common grounds
Local folks ponder;
Observe tourists intrude
~~~~~~~~~
Old bazaar shoppe
Ancient gentleman smiles;
Pipe smoke patterns
~~~~~~~~~
Photo snapshot
Memory milestone;
Still life ambience
~~~~~~~~~
Brisk browse
Snatch good feel;
Takeaway trinkets
~~~~~~~~~
Ancient village moments
Emergent present;
Fast food restaurants
~~~~~~~~~
Lijiang in spring
May joy sets three days;
Heart wanders home
~~~~~~~~~
Picture story
Glimpses of Lijiang;
Vivid colours dance
~~~~~~~~~
Feast for the eyes
Magic moments stray;
Vivid visit
~~~~~~~~~
Cobblestone lanes
Petrified tryst;
Personal memoir
~~~~~~~~~
Silver everywhere
White metal textures;
Precious distractions
~~~~~~~~~
Once upon a tour
Lijiang in China;
A kind host
~~~~~~~~~
Winding pond
Willow tree murmurs;
Morning salutation
~~~~~~~~~
Fragrant Pu-Er tea
Tasty brew invigorates;
Round roll blend
~~~~~~~~~
Spring time sojourn
Far far away;
Horizons merge
~~~~~~~~~
Leon Enriquez
19 August 2014
Singapore
Once I have been to that city-
the city of ritzy splendor and hoary grandeur,
a gargantuan pile of steel and granite.
It stood an enigma on the banks of Hudson,
lulling the waves to sleep in the garish light of neon bulbs
with an eternal tumult heating up its nerves.
Walking down its streets, eerie scenes scurried past-
men and women- of all climes and continents
all ethnic denominations, all shapes, sizes and colors,
blonds, brunettes, blacks and whites,
tourists and nomads, in flashing styles
outlandish costumes, tonsured, dyed and tattooed,
speaking different dialects, trundling down busy streets
that never go still with sleep and awakening
where each day is an eternity and each night- a New Year’s Eve
a banal hubbub- a hoarse discordant clamor!
Broad roads that stretched endless seemed to lose themselves
like the mazy tangle of complex minds,
and pavements littered with a thousand moving feet.
In this hurricane of faces with fleeting passions
or fixations of their own, what chemistry could I discern?
A zest for life--or its absence? A search for a life lost in living?
a fight for survival or a passive surrender to the inevitable?
Shades of Sunrise
Dew about to escape
Breath exchanging life's elements
Another day of deals
Running shoes padding rhythms
Ready the boardroom battles
Clopping horses arriving for oats
Tourists to enchant
Occasional honk
Distress already starting
Cabs feeling lonely
So goes
Central Park awakening
Chad's sunrise-oppression unbearable
One tree shade refuge
Shoulder to shoulder
Elbow to elbow
Meager shelter respites
Awaiting Doctors Without Borders
Despair's awaited visit
Anxious tears begging cessation
Land Rover dust billowing
Through distant heat rising
Reality's desert-St. Nick on schedule
Time's super-human visitor arriving
For a refugee park arousing
Forgotten daybreaks
Sun not seen
Clouds of smoke
Layered upon layer
Acrid death and bomb residual levitating
From yesterday
Last week
Earlier months
Years ago
Trees
Bushes
Flowers
Now but surreal imaginings
Held ever so precious
Beside today's reality
A Syrian city without walls
Windows
Roofs
Basements
Only rubble
Crumbling ever faster
More shell holes
Bigger bombs
Pulverizing all vestige of civilization
Seemingly endless murder and destruction
Reminding all
A dictator's Neanderthal mind-set
Club crunching club
Rock crushing rock
Delivers daily battle zone awakenings
Seemingly in perpetuity
Where...
Where
Might innocent sunrises
See the light
Once again?
Maybe there'll come a day in the future
When tourists flock to Canada for fun
They say that Florida will no longer exist
Ontario will be the new place for sun
Weather patterns certainly changed a lot
For about the last decade or two
Recent patterns can be a bit unnerving
Big changes for me and you
Should we assume this is the new norm
Just try our best to get used to it
Or is it a glitch and we'll soon return
To the way it was as kidlets
It's what the predictors of global warming
Would have us believe to be true
I'm skeptical about this dire assessment
My thoughts... how about you?
It's sure not too late to turn things around
With dedication and will of us all
So let's get onboard, let's all do our part
Let's show 'em and answer the call
© Jack Ellison 2013
When the ancient goes wild
Our hotel in Porto was at the highest point
although we had been promised a room downtown we
didn’t have to walk so far, s then I had paid in advance
across the street from the hotel a big disused water tower
from the time people didn`t bother with showers
every day making us smell like whores on a Saturday night.
We decided to walk into town, which was not a wise choice
she with her hips and my feet we were overtaken by a snail
and it was time for late lunch.
Later we took a taxi, and I noticed a big, but dead rat
outside
the hotel had great commotion but as they were getting rid
of the rodent, a car stopped over it.
After resting well, they arranged a trip for us to see
famous
houses an art museum and a ride along the Douro
we had our evening meal in a safe place away from
the water tower which suspected was of crawling with rats.
The tour bus didn`t stop anywhere just showed us
The places and statues of famous men point towards
the east the bus trundled down to the bloody Douro
and narrows was full of tourists and cars, it represented
all that I dislike me life, my wife fell asleep, but I
managed
take a few interesting photos of a house that had been
pulled down
but you could still see the painting people used where
On this peaceful land where we live comfortably
with the neighboring villagers sharing the sun and moon,
stars and clouds, winds and waters, rains and snows;
we sow the seeds on the field, wander in the wilderness
to spot the games to hunt in the changing colors of the flowers
in the time of bloom and fruit and revolving seasons
One day, from the east, crossing over the great sea,
the white feathered gluttonous bird flew into this peaceful land
and took our land by force; the bird cruelly pecked us with his avaricious beak, cold-heartedly tore us with his sharp talons, kept pushing and shoving us eastward, and this vicious cycle drove us into tribal wars and at last, Illini
to extinct.
And this moaning butte throwing its shadow on the water
atop of encircling cliffs is the Starved Rock, the site where
the great tragedy took place, all Illini tribesmen lost their lives.
The water of the Illinois River mixed with the tears of the people
who lost everything in the east via this legion for further west,
now moans to ease the spirit of Illini wandering around
the Staved Rock, which is still hungry, in the evening glow
as a soundless requiem.
The water flows embracing sorrowful Rock where:
the mother jumped into the water holding her beloved child,
the village elders who collapsed while upholding tribal pride
followed by the war cry of the warriors who grabbed tomahawk and fought but, alas, fell to enemy’s hand, now is telling the story of their last day
it becomes whirlpool in the very middle of the water.
When the streams small and large come together the following paths
meet and form a pool on the top of this lonely butte on the other side of the river, and dashes into the basin of the waterfall;
some of them fall rapidly into the steep ravine with heartrending cries
some of them drift like slow moving time in deep sorrow
some of them descend to the rocks of level stratum one by one
singing a funeral dirge.
The spirit of Illini drifting along the river
carrying so many sad stories touches the tourists’
heart; stepping on the site of the tragedy
makes tears stand to casual sightseers;
the grief-stricken stories raise the ripples in the river
and leaves a lingering imagery in the eyes and ears of the travelers
A CASTLE OF TEMPTATION
Proudly standing amidst three lochs, verdant hills
a Castle enciente breathing beauty but sadly chants
passed feuds sparking battles having harried their foe
and it's demise caused by Frigates cannonball screams.
Colonel MacRae-Gilstrap rebuilds now redeemed:
stoned arch bridge supersede the sea highway flow,
circular stairs and ceilings with coat of arms grants
changes made but its history today remains still
Tourists not deterred by ghost tales scary extreme
But await they exercise for imaginations to show
the setting, a romantic reincarnation that enchants
attracted lovers to celebrate their matrimonial thrill
Eilean Donan Castle in its stunning reachable location
pose the Western Highlands of Scotland a temptation.
Written by: Olive Eloisa Guillermo and James Andrew Fraser
8:46 pm; August 18, 2015
I was born in middle America.
Right in the center of the land of the free.
Raised on stories of fact and of fiction.
Told about places I'd never see.
I was taught all about limitations
But I really can't say I agree.
I went to school where my daddy told me
And I got a job when school was let out.
So, I worked the days as I was expected
But I dreamed the nights of when I'd break out.
Although I could see life all around me,
I never understood what it was about...
We grow strong in middle America.
Taking for granted our emotional health.
But nothing is wrong in middle America
That isn't the same as everywhere else...
I'm living here in middle America.
Watching life slide by on T.V.
Trying to reconcile what I'm seeing
With everything I was taught to believe.
So many signals, all contradictions,
I don't think that they're meant for me...
I want to travel to Europe or Hollywood.
All of those places you see in the news.
I want to witness life in the making
Like all of those tourists that pass two by two.
But I get tired when I walk to the mailbox and
I don't think I can afford new shoes.
So we belong in middle America.
Our only concern is the state of our wealth.
But nothing is wrong in middle America
That isn't the same as everywhere else...
I'm living here in middle America.
This is where I will probably die.
With all of its faults and its limitations,
Still, I'll be sad to tell it goodbye...
This is a song for middle America...
Don't put it high out of reach on a shelf.
'Cause nothing is wrong in middle America
That isn't the same as everywhere else.
The paddlewheel unloads people,
tourists who were out on a cruise,
above the docks and the gift shops
the brown palisades come in view.
(The canoes draw up on the beach,
Iroquois out looking to trade,
in the fort the merchants gaze on,
guns and metal they’ll send their way.)
The families walk to the gate,
the young boys humming joyously,
his place is out of story-books,
with so many cool things to see.
(The Mohawks bring their wares inside,
redcoats guards above, quite alert,
they’re supposed to be allies but
keeping an eye out doesn’t hurt.)
They run around the great courtyard,
to the stocks, the well, the wagon,
local youths, dressed up are their guides,
explaining how things were once done.
(The bargaining goes back and forth,
local guides translate what is said,
both sides want the best of the deal,
squabble for all that they can get.)
One the wall kids climb the cannons,
pretend that they’re soldiers of old,
parents ready to pull them back
if, like all kids, they get too bold.
(The big guns look out on the lake,
they know that the French are out there,
these Mohawks came out of the north
so it pays for folks to beware).
The young ones scamper down the walls,
duck into buildings now and then,
the parents tried to read the signs,
but they can’t, since they’re minding them.
(The young man walks a lonely path,
takes the steps, makes sure to go back,
if officers see him slacking
then he knows he will get the lash.)
They get through the gift shop intact,
a battle for parents, it’s true,
pile into the mini-van,
kids asleep in an hour or two.
(The Mohawks head back with their haul,
still hours until they make camp
while merchants stretch out beaver skin,
they never can sate the demand.)
The family goes back to its life,
vacation over for the year,
miles away safe in their homes,
they have little reason to fear.
(The fort remains every watchful,
in a wilderness dark and stern,
not knowing that within a year
all of those tall timbers will burn.)