Cu Chi tunnels

there are tunnels down at Cu Chi

that reek of a morbid, dizzy,

deep down drift of air

that suffocates the mind.

the tunnels down at Cu Chi

are a sliver-space that despairs

all that visits and remarks

at that utter madness, war.

shady memory of a spiky

sad legacy of who was right

or wrong. visiting on the

morn of iraq’s harvest

when the grasses smelt a

special sort of musty, i

wondered when our

contemporary moment will also

become a destination of

young people seeking

the adventurous unknown.

sitting on top of the monster,

the tank, for a simple image,

a frivolous keepsake to show

friends. to show that we have

been there – that our knowledge

of there was complete in the

simple, single visit.

the images also glisten

with a glow of humanity’s

absence in the museum.

wandering the halls because

the book told us to.

we are travelers

– not tourists –

we gleefully exclaim.

we seek the route

of the ‘real’ experience.

Full moon in Hoi An

Flickers of green in a land of silk.
River on the right, of the bike
Wind rushing through free hair
(On the way to the waves).

Watching the blue and the white
Whilst women dangle trinkets.
Buying – to help, or, to hinder –
(As an american approaches).

Engaged in a book,
But soon conversation moves me,
Questioning myself, questioning all
Political views in the world.

Talk turns to debate, turns
Turns into excitement. (Investigation!)
Watching the swinging silks
Of pink / brown / yellow.

Walking by the riverside--
Over the Japanese bridge and beyond
Drinking the bottle of wine,
As the monkey watches on.

Talking of nothing, of something, of everything;
I was walking in new pink sandals whilst
Pushing the night out
To its essential limits.

Lanterns dangling overhead as I was
On the exhilarating ride home.
Bright silks lengthen
The full moon moment.