Poem of Bali - O Sad and Sweet Eyes of Mine

Poem of Bali

I
Hor-i-zone

Kites tied to a sand field,

the sea beckons, leave and wonder...
long tails of red and black,
Children pulling, directing the life line
of music falling to the ground.

The sun at hor-i-zone

people gather at piers of receding water
wading into sea shadow, mud and weed
out there into deep lost tide.
Here on land of safe mind
I sit on ragged white stones
gulping noodle mush ball soup
forgetting time, memory,
my life of luck and dream.
A slop of fear rising from deep purple shadow
skims my face, is it just the wind music
of red and black kites,
or am I really going to die?

The sun's firetips lose grasp

of the hor-i-zone
the boys face it holding long poles
angling for happiness and livelihood.
Big ol' fish, do they think down there

in the dark liquid peace, do they know that I know
that kites dusk dancing in faded blue space
is the dream of fish and bird

and me?

The man bathed in fading hor-i-zone orange

ladling soup into ceramic bowls for
the last time before the kites disappear
the land ceases the sea waving dark
until the next tide-out
takes my bowl and money and fears
but I can keep my eyes feet hands life.

II
Canvas

In this dream life of mind silky rough-edged

faces appear phantoms murked in deeds of
dark and light
sometimes I can't look, don't want to
reading all that life and anti-life.
A painter's landscape or a drooping sad sky
ok, yes
but eyes contain all the fibers of life
pains joys hates desires
I can't look, don't want to
see the smiles
moistened lips white teeth
the grinning ecstasy of breath
too many realities mixed
upon the brown wrinkled earth
while the painter takes his lunch.

Hello, please, come here and speak

of life and anti-life
spin a tale of laughter and woe
don't leave me alone
in the empty white space
of my canvas
sometimes I can't look, don't want to
read that last page of book
saying goodbye to all of the faces, to discover
The End.

III
Temples

Sculptures of rock flesh wood

pass quickly on the run
between solid black temples of north and south.
I sweat smile hear the sea slam
breaking my visions into pieces covered in
frothy salt weed water.

Blood and muscle ache, strive, escape the

fires of hell and heaven, the only thing moving
is forward, frantic motion of legs arms heart
soaked in stinging drops of sweat.
Heavy air and heat grabbed and devoured
like a sensual woman a body charged magnetic
with SEX.

The temples, black blocks of stone

steeped in emptiness
power in the silent pauses
the places I seek run meditate
on light and high sun
of day health joy.
Upon faded and worn steps
where people do not go
birds and bats,
roosters and toads
await the arrival
of the sound of my strong step
the exhalation of wonder
the vanquishing of time -
Rapture.

17 Photographs of 1 Balinese Sunset

The Fat Man, A Young Girl, A Tricky Tout, and the Lucky Bracelet

I wake before dawn on my first full day in Bali, lace my running shoes and run west through dark streets, sidewalks appearing/disappearing, dodging massive sinkholes and traffic. I swing into the street to avoid a parked truck and a scooter stops quickly behind me, turning to apologize I see the driver's face expressing impatience. I arrive at the beach and run along the shore, the tide rising and the sky pale with morning rainbow color. I find a cobbled pathway which meanders at sand's edge for 2-3 miles, turning back when the path halts near the airport. The air is humid so I run slow and steady. I look for a place where I can do pull ups and find a soccer goal standing alone on the beach, do a couple sets and plan to return the next day. When I finish the run I remove my shirt and jump into the sea, the cool water a healing tonic, a blissful alertness of senses, remembering summer days in Chicago. My hotel is 1 mile from the sea, I pass a stretch of tourist shops where the clerks aggressively invade my space and try to sell sunglasses, t shirts, trinkets, and scams. I am shining with the post-run glow, skin moistened with sea water, gliding through the bull shit without disturbance. A middle aged man sitting on a scooter in a parking lot swings his arms and says "you running"? I nod my head, smile and don't break stride. One block from the hotel a scooter pulls beside me, I look, see it is the same man who asked if I was running. He begins talking of fitness and is impressed that I have no fat on my gut. He tells me he is in his 40's and needs to lose weight. He isn't a whale, but losing a few pounds would not hurt him. He speaks about breathing technique and motions to his gut, then moves his hand to my stomach while pressing a finger against it, which then slides underneath my shirt. I instinctively back away in alarm, and he says "no, no" as if I had misunderstood. I back up further as he continues talking about fitness, telling me I should visit the fitness club down the road. He drives off and I am left wondering what had just happened.

After a shower and a meal I decide to explore the Kuta beach streets. The shop owner's are not shy about breaking into the space of passersby, and I am unsure how to respond. Sometimes I say hello, or not interested, or nothing at all. A largish woman steps in front of me and I have a choice to stop or walk around her. As I attempt to pass she firmly grabs my left bicep and makes sure not to let go. "Young girl for you, you come now." I think of Thailand and how I had been fortunate to avoid direct contact with pimps and whores. I shake my head, telling her I am too old for a young girl. "No, you come", which she emphasizes by squeezing my arm. "She very good, young girl". Each time I refuse my arm is squeezed and she repeats how good and young the girl is. As I am trying to break free another woman, gaunt, with a shadow of faded beauty lingering in her face, gets into my space. She takes my free arm and ties a red leather bracelet onto my skinny wrist. "For good luck", she tells me, while I hear from the other, "you come with me, young girl waiting". "I collect coins from other countries, you from Australia?" I tell the aged beauty I am from the USA, but do not have any American coins to give. "You give me something for good luck now?" I fish inside my backpack and give her some Rupiah, then turning to the large woman, "I will be back tomorrow, I have to go now." She firmly squeezes my arm , pulling me off the sidewalk toward a nearby building, "no, tomorrow I will be back." I break free from her grasp and thank the gaunt woman for the bracelet, while the other hands me a massage brochure.

I wander a quarter mile before finding a road that turns west to the beach. My mind is numb to the endless questions, smiles, hellos, the "hey boss" introductions - a small taste of what famous people have to endure all the minutes of their public life. The road I turn on to is the famous Poppies 2, a narrow, curving alley which is filled with stalls, restaurants, small hotels. The road goes on and on, seeming much longer than it is because of the constant interruptions. The naked sun spares nothing - colors clashing with voices, paranoia increasing with the afternoon heat.

On the return walk I find myself standing at the large stone marking the entrance to the beach. A middle aged man approaches and his skill does not allow me to break free, so I shake his hand, answer his questions. He hands me a brochure/lottery ticket and we discover that I am the "star winner".

Lucky Winner with Lucky Bracelet

The man is surprised, elated for me, but I am positive it is an act, a con, and I am the mark. This is a man who I would like to play poker with - he sees a gullible face with a weak mind and I sense his awareness of my gullibility, which negates it. I go along with everything he says, patient, polite, gullible, but for the times when he tries to hook me. "You come with me in taxi now?" "No, I am going home to rest." "I pick you up tomorrow at your hotel, then?" "No, I have plans tomorrow, but I will soon be back and when I see you we can discuss it further." Every act of aggression is met with a soft counter, which, when accumulated, equals a haymaker knockout. Later, back at my hotel, I find out that the hotel he is pushing is a scam which has duped many people. There is a website dedicated to this scam, with poor suckers telling their tale of woe. I cannot fathom how anyone would believe that they can win a prize from a tout on the street.

Splendor and Awe - Bali

Last Night In Bangkok - Rama IV

Hard to believe the day passed like any other - letting the moments roam where they may, observing with the fresh eyes of a child, remaining calm while the unknown smirks - leaving Bangkok at 3:00am on a journey to Bali and all seems normal - perhaps I am becoming an authentic wanderer?!

After buying a fresh supply of camera batteries at the 7/11 I stand on Rama IV at 3:00am and wait for a taxi to hail. Having gone to bed every night in Thailand before midnight, I have no idea that people make it a habit to remain outdoors at such a late hour. I notice a few food vendors cleaning pots and carrying things to and fro, while others remain open with people lounging at tiny street side tables in the gray, humid lamp light - smoking, talking, eating, gazing into the bleary eyed past/present/future. Instead of the company of rats and dogs which I expect, it is just a normal night in an exotic city, or some suburb in the states, which, I can no longer distinguish. A couple of minutes standing curbside and the first taxi to pass stops and agrees to drive me to the airport. As we weave through sparse traffic I conclude that the unbearably hot days are the reason that Bangkok is a nocturnal city - the comfort of a black sun creates a city of night hawks.

I arrive at the airport and locate the check in desk. My mind is in a good state - I think of the Self-Taught Man from the book Nausea, his desire for adventure - I think to myself "ok, if I get on the wrong plane, or am held up in immigration, or told my backpack exceeds weight regulations, I will take it in stride, knowing that I am receiving something in return - Adventure. Perhaps it is this thought which makes the morning appear eerily tranquil. I get into a fast moving check-in line, am whisked through immigration without a peep (unlike my first experience when landing in Bangkok ((it helps not to discard the departure card!)) ), quickly find the departure gate, do some stretches, and contemplate doing a few wind sprints across the people-mover conveyor belt.

Airport Meditation

I board the plane without incident, it takes off without crashing, I have an aisle seat next to a pleasant Scandinavian couple. I listen to Hendrix blues, visualize the pentatonic scale across the fretboard of my guitar (I miss playing and practicing!), read a big portion of Burmese days (almost finished, dang, it is too good to come to an end), hear the pilot's message that we will soon be landing, look out the window and see the island of Bali below, the plane lands without crashing, and soon after walk through the small, quiet, airport. I see the Visa on Arrival booth, no line, and have my receipt within 60 seconds. I walk to the immigration desk, again no line, my passport is quickly stamped, pass through customs, get my bag scanned, hand the surly, dark skinned clerk the blank form, and am waved through to the exit. I now stand in the hot and humid air of Bali. I locate the taxi service booth, ask for a taxi to Legian. "70,000 rupees" I hear, and my mind is startled, 70,000 of anything seems incredibly large, but I subtract four zeroes and sigh relief. I stand on the hot pavement, waiting, for....what? I continue to wait, and a man eventually approaches and tells me to come with him. I wonder if he is a tout but he convinces me he is my assigned taxi driver so I follow and we walk through a long parking area. I get into the hot and sticky cab and gawk at the passing scene as we blend our way into Legian. I see shacks, narrow dirty alleys, notice immediately that the Indonesian countenance is more aggressive and surly than the Thai. As we enter the tourist area the neighborhoods become more upscale and modern. I am dropped off at my hotel, check in without a problem, am shown to my room which is just off the beautiful pool. I unpack, don't feel famished, it is only 1:00pm, too hot to be out under the sun, so I lay in bed and fall asleep. I wake at 5:15, freshen up, then walk outdoors in search of the ocean. After wandering the streets of Bangkok I am confident I will not get lost, but just in case carry in my pocket a hand drawn map. The streets are crowded with scooters and odd looking, open faced vans which carry large groups of Balinese who yell things at passersby. Vehicles lay on the horn so frequently I get the feeling they are directing it at me. I see a western couple just ahead, walking in the direction of the beach, I get behind and follow along. I get to the walking street area, the tourist shops selling trinkets, sun glasses, gawdy t-shirts. I notice a few artisan galleries. I walk toward a heavy set, tall stone structure in the distance, which is the gateway to the sea. When I step onto the beach I see that the sun has already dropped under the wide horizon - the final page of day is murky and bland, a glass plate of light ready to be extinguished. I make one photograph of the sea, inhale deeply but do not smell the heavy scent of salt which I was craving.

A Few Minutes Less

I walk along the shore, take my shoes off and wade through the rising tide, the sea water cool and refreshing. When I return to the gateway I sit on the steps and gaze at the darkened sea. The moon is behind me, yellow and hanging limply in cloud mist. I become reflective, the water moving in and out of my vision - I have no idea where I am, how I got here - who am I? Being unknown, even to myself, is a satisfying metaphysical sensation. When my feet dry I put my shoes on and begin the walk back to the hotel. I pass an open air music shop where two men play an inspired riff on large hand drums. Guitars hang behind them and I am close to willing myself to crossing the street and pulling one off the wall, but I keep walking and soon arrive at the hotel. I order room service, eat a good meal, drink a Coke. Afterward I lay in bed, resting, inhaling the scent of a new land, as if the day which has just passed was just like any other. Perhaps the day was like any other, my mind being the strange new beauty which makes me turn and gaze in splendor and awe.