The Garden #3

Podcast of poems written in Laos from Grow Your Soul.

In Kindle and paperback.

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The Garden #3

Lao fisherman nets life.

Podcast - The Garden #1

Here it is. Live. Direct and clear.

The introduction to TLC.

The Garden #1

Thanks for listening.

Simple Voice

After a reliable narrator

established a voice

geography, atmosphere, tone, conflict and cinematic jump cut action

employing minimum wage universal themes

like time, boredom, passion, loneliness and alienation

in an unforgiving universe of meaningless existence

with humor and curiosity holding hands

casting characters like plot

dragging others around

chained to their personality defects and character flaws

wearing original death masks

surrounded by distracted

simple, noisy, gadget addicted

compassionate illiterate peasants

in a play waiting for Godot

no one shows up

nothing happens

writing with a Mont Blanc 149 fountain pen

using Royal Blue invisible ink

on blank parchment

was pure luminous joy

Yangon, Burma

weave voice

You returned, they exclaimed with a secret JOY.

Yes, she says, my dream of you is unfolding. She caresses silk threads on her loom of time. Your sensitivity and serenity calms me, he says.

It is before dawn. The Mekong river is water. Fog obscures distance. She stands at a window looking for him. He is on the river. His net flies over still deep water. Threads and knots of jungle vine land on the surface. They sink into silence.

She hears the Mekong sing. She returns to the source.

Sleep. She dares dreams, aware of voiced whispers in silence. Silence becomes her sense of desire. She follows desire . Gratitude, her awareness, calms her tortured heart.

A leaf leaves the tree of life.

Transparent water bowls sing. A purple lotus grows from mud.

She is at her loom. Her pattern begins with purple silk. This is her base. She runs threads through thin lines of balance. Twin bobbins spin out golden threads for new diamonds.

Weaving is her meditation.

Her voice. Her heart-mind, hands, fingers, and feet.

 

real eyes realize real lies

i am a fake person
selling a fake reality
to fake people
where the sound of speech
has no alphabet

creativity has no rules
said a Yangon crow
the end of the world
is down a long labyrinth

without a center 
filled with staring voices
a blind man on a train
clicking clacking to Pan Yar Lan

uses a bamboo staff
carries a cup
staff signals pressure
walk slow
trembling through life
blind

Yangon primary students.