Poetry from Thailand

Original poetry written in and about rural Thailand.

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Location: Chong Khae, Nakhonsawan, Thailand

Monday, February 22, 2010

Surf’s Up, But the Magic’s Gone

There were times reading Treasure Island
Or even thinking about the book that
I could smell the sea and hear the hawsers
Strain and make the old Hispaniola creek and
Groan in a fair wind and following sea.
I could understand Squire’s ridiculous buffoonery
Or see full well the invisible hand of Long Johns’
Self-serving greed for what it was.

But if RLS spent three hours surfing the web
In my upstairs room at the inn today he’d stand up
And take his glass of claret and with a little bow,
Duck under the low door and head back down
The narrow stairs.

“You’re leaving? We haven’t even seen Wikipedia.”

He turns and looks back up at me.
“Thank you, Master Hawkins for showing
Me this (he swishes the wine in his glass) . . . modernity
But it makes me feel like Ben Gunn.” He sees my
Disappointment and adds, “It’s just that,
Well, damn it, boy wherever I go, here I am.”
I have a 1/2 hour session on this poem. It's a pretty boring presentation, but . . .