I was always aware of someone watching me in the family
and it was oddly comforting but sometimes scary
like having The Eye of Horus or The Eye of Ra on me
no matter what I did or how dangerous the activity
That watchful eye followed me over the years
and helped me deal with my fears
sometimes, I look up at the sky
after all these years have gone by
and wonder why
I still believe in a watchful eye?
I climbed out of the box one day
unafraid of what people would say
leaving behind conventions
with good intentions
Essay – 246 words
While walking down a street in the Kingdom of Thailand where ex-pats from around the world land, blending seamlessly into the local 1970 economy, I met a young boy with a man’s eyes.
He was probably ten – going onto forty – with worldly knowledge far beyond his tender years. Anuia was a frail street waif with the wisdom of the local marketplace for sale. He promised the best place to stay, my drug of choice, and prostitutes with breathless beauty, if I hired him throughout my stay.
We toured a banana plantation, and a red light district called
Pattaya, with outrageous sex acts they were not even considered risqué in the day. Creedance Clearwater Revival rocked the bars with “Looking Out My Backdoor.” I smoked some of the best weed in my life, comparing it to the Vietnamese strain that made you forget your name.
We watched kick fighter’s knock each other out, only to get up afterwards and respectfully bow to one another. Anuia shared his best curse words to get quick results, and bargained over every transaction like it might be his last. He was shrewd and a survivor, with no parents or family.
The thing that impressed me the most was he was always smiling – except when he negotiated a deal. His smile seemed to defy the life he led. When my time was up, and I had to go, he shook my hand, then turned to greet another group of visitors deplaning nearby.
there’s no time to stop or hesitate
or to contemplate your fate
the line must keep moving along
no sense of right or wrong
the line keeps moving everyday
never making any headway
in a society of strangers
afraid of dangers
lines are crossed and people die
not even knowing why
everyone keeps moving the line
looking for a sign
a guiding light
through the dark night
New York Babylon
politicians who don’t get along
parades of stupidity by the deplorably strong
images that are just plain wrong
freedom is facing a swansong
swing low and bang the bong
racists don’t belong
shades of King Kong
a saint in a sarong
pimps playing ping pong
the growing throng
you might as well come along
after all, we all belong