travel theme poetry submissions by Carol Ellis
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katy ellis o'brien
Sep 12, 2012, 3:20:37 PM9/12/12
to Stumptown Underground Editors!
I talked my mom into submitting 2 travel poems... about her 2 favorite
destinations, Nepal and Paris :)
At Pashupatinath
monkeys steal the sacrifice. Grains and oranges
laid out at shrines honor the dead burned
over centuries, ashes upon ashes tossed on water.
Crowds scatter marigolds and rice from black plastic bags.
Sellers of bags and beads crowd bridges above the Bagmati river
where bright orange flowers mingle with ash.
Marigold garlands drift downstream, banana leaves, plastic bags,
the body of a dog long dead. Every ghat is occupied. Bodies laid out,
covered in flowers, burn before the gathered families.
Smoke of cremation rises in stagnant air. Old temples
are made new, lingams rubbed red, daily offerings
placed for Shiva and Ganesh.
A body burned here will step off the wheel of life,
enter Nirvana, stop the cycle of birth and death. Ashes
drift to India to fertilize the wide gangetic plain.
Today, cows snuffle gently at offerings and monkeys
groom each other in temple windows.
This ground holy for three thousand years.
The Paris I Want
The scent of sewers and bread, the way the language
wraps around me and I struggle to understand, the light
that slants over steep slate roofs in early morning.
Across the courtyard a woman stands in her kitchen
brewing tea. She shuts the glass firmly when a cat
walks by, balancing on the gutter five floors up.
Part of the city lives in me, a street become familiar like home.
Drab doors open to reveal the courtyard, a smell of damp and cats,
the dark hallway like so many old hotels, a small perfect room faces
the morning sun.
Other lives are framed in lit windows at night. Lovers
sit together four floors down. They sip wine at the open window,
bodies alive with talk, illumined in lamplight.
On our last night in Paris the moon is full.
destinations, Nepal and Paris :)
At Pashupatinath
monkeys steal the sacrifice. Grains and oranges
laid out at shrines honor the dead burned
over centuries, ashes upon ashes tossed on water.
Crowds scatter marigolds and rice from black plastic bags.
Sellers of bags and beads crowd bridges above the Bagmati river
where bright orange flowers mingle with ash.
Marigold garlands drift downstream, banana leaves, plastic bags,
the body of a dog long dead. Every ghat is occupied. Bodies laid out,
covered in flowers, burn before the gathered families.
Smoke of cremation rises in stagnant air. Old temples
are made new, lingams rubbed red, daily offerings
placed for Shiva and Ganesh.
A body burned here will step off the wheel of life,
enter Nirvana, stop the cycle of birth and death. Ashes
drift to India to fertilize the wide gangetic plain.
Today, cows snuffle gently at offerings and monkeys
groom each other in temple windows.
This ground holy for three thousand years.
The Paris I Want
The scent of sewers and bread, the way the language
wraps around me and I struggle to understand, the light
that slants over steep slate roofs in early morning.
Across the courtyard a woman stands in her kitchen
brewing tea. She shuts the glass firmly when a cat
walks by, balancing on the gutter five floors up.
Part of the city lives in me, a street become familiar like home.
Drab doors open to reveal the courtyard, a smell of damp and cats,
the dark hallway like so many old hotels, a small perfect room faces
the morning sun.
Other lives are framed in lit windows at night. Lovers
sit together four floors down. They sip wine at the open window,
bodies alive with talk, illumined in lamplight.
On our last night in Paris the moon is full.
hopskotch SunDAY
Sep 12, 2012, 9:09:04 PM9/12/12
to stumptownunde...@googlegroups.com
Awesome! Glad to see your mom contributing. I vote yes on both. 8)--
~hop
hopskotchSunDAY.com
Stumptown Underground
Portland Zine Symposium
~hop
hopskotchSunDAY.com
Stumptown Underground
Portland Zine Symposium
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