Verses Written on a Calm Jungle Night

 The onslaught of the downpour,

The crashes of thunder settle

As the sun sets behind the towering canopy.

Clouds clear for the light of the moon

To fight through the palms overhead.

Winds that made the firmest trees

Strain their roots clinging to the ground

Become a warm, irregular breeze

Breaking the stillness of the night.

Monkeys, parrots, predators fall silent

Letting my own doubts sound into the vacuum.

Millions of frogs and crickets call out,

“You are not alone,”

But my soul remains lost in solitude.

The mossy scent of the rains evaporates

Into the familiar smell of decay,

Filling my nostrils with my own eventual demise.

The heavy, sultry air

Tries to carry me off into the sublime,

Yet the anchors of my humanity

Keep me close to the ground,

Far from losing myself into deep Reality.

The sweet lullaby of the stream says, “Rest, my child,”

But my soul cries out “No! I must carry on!”

And the jungle silently nods.

***

(Puyo, Ecuador -- October, 2017)

About 5 or 6 weeks had passed back at the monkey sanctuary, and I knew it was about time to make another move. I didn't know if I wanted to return to the US, move elsewhere in Ecuador, or run off into the jungle where I could build a little cabin and never be seen again. I went on long walks and meditated for hours each day, feeling the vibrant, almost alive air of the Amazon Rainforest energizing every cell in my body. After years of depression and anxiety, this gave me the first bit of clarity that I had felt in a long time. 

Phantasmagoria

Pallid with sunken cheeks, sanguine lips, eyes

hidden by a black veil,

and a crimson rose in her slick, midnight hair,

the specter of past love took my hand.

The drops of blood flowing from her slit wrists

melted flesh from my palms.

I pulled away with all my might

for the burning was unbearable

and broke free to the sound of her hellish screech

 

only to land in the arms of Wealth.

Clad in a tight, red dress,

the jewels on her neck and in her ears

reflected by the shine of her sapphire eyes.

She kissed me. Her tongue, tasting of honey

and wine turned mine to gold,

leaving me unable to beg for help as she robbed me blind

and disappeared.

 

I fell to the ground, where I resigned myself to lie

until I felt the mossy embrace of Solitude, slime

covering my body wherever she touched.

Her beauty was unmistakable, despite her tresses of vines,

musty scent, and the spiders obstructing her face.

Yet, as she seduced and mounted me, I

felt my life begin to slip in vain.

Lost in her embrace, my existence became pointless,

and I drew aghast, wishing Death find me next.

***

(Puyo, Ecuador -- September, 2017)

After floundering away the summer, still feeling like a failure for the way my time in Mozambique ended and still nursing a nasty case of post-concussion syndrome, I decided to return to the monkey sanctuary in Ecuador where I had worked when I was 18 to hopefully find some sort of clarity. It was like magic. From the second I got there, it felt like a fog had been lifted from my mind. I was able to reflect on my own thoughts and feelings without fear of being sucked back into a depression, and I was beginning to feel a lot of freedom to explore more symbolism and stronger imagery in my poetry. This is one of my favorites from that time in my life. 

The Second Law

 oxygen and nitrogen and all other gases mix perfectly in air

no quarreling

no segregation

 

nearly inseparable

they mingle in perfect harmony to the joy of our otherwise

indifferent universe

salt and sugar are poured into water

 

the sensual movements of a single finger through the liquid are enough to cause a warm

            entropic orgasm

sweet release of energy

            sending solutes wherever the polarity might take them

 

perfect randomness

there are no wars between covalent and ionic bonds

no battles for supremacy

 

just divine disorder

 

a single spark is enough to break those  all   too   organized hydrocarbons into a fiery frenzy

their indomitable expansion powering our motors

            as they run tanks fighting to bring order

            cement mixers

                        building walls to keep humans separate

                                                to keep cultures and nations pure

            and other tools for similar ends

                        churning so loudly that

the moans of agony coming from the universe

go unheard  

***

(Minneapolis, MN -- March, 2016)

I thought this poem was from 2017, but it turns out it was one of the poems I wrote back in the first poetry course I took in 2016, right after I had taken a class on thermodynamics at the University of Minnesota. The task here was to write a poem based on a scientific or artistic concept. The inspiration for this is that the Universe favors disorder. (This is what the second law of thermodynamics loosely describes). For example, when a piece of wood burns, a single, large, solid molecule gets broken into several gas molecules flying around randomly, thus increasing the chaos of the Universe. However, humans don't fit this concept; we're always trying to divide, separate, and organize the world around us, often through violence and bloodshed. Additionally, this is my first experiment with using indents and spacing instead of punctuation. Punctuation, by giving structure and order, goes against the second law of thermodynamics. 

 

Kinstugi

 Broken, but not destroyed,

The vase, with cracks tinted gold,

Flaunting, no less than parading its flaws,

Was most prized by the ancient and wise

Philosopher. He knew all too well

The cost of loving only the ideal,

The perfect, the artificial standard:

Wretched, unnatural abominations which

Have seen no trauma, those made him sick.

And in the palace of the emperor, so proud

Of his flawless wears, ancient relics,

The thinker is more impressed

By a branch, grey and bare, swaying in the breeze

Until a sudden, horrible crashing sound

Followed by a hasty, panicked order for repair

Caught his attention.

***

(Minneapolis, MN -- June, 2017)

Another product of my poetry class from the summer of 2017 at the Loft, I thought this poem was nifty because each line either has a comma, a period, or a natural pause in the middle of it, which fits with the theme of the poem. (Kintsugi, as an artform, is the decorative restoration of broken pottery using glue with gold flakes mixed in it to reattach the shards.) Nothing too profound here, but this opened a new dimension to my writing that I hadn't explored previously.

The story, if you're unfamiliar, is as follows (to the best of my memory). There once was a wealthy man who invited a philosopher to his palace to show off all of his vases, ceramics, and other priceless works of art. Unimpressed, the philosopher preferred to sit outside appreciating the natural beauty of a tree. The host, in his anger, smashed one of his vases before having it glued together in the style of kintsugi. Finally, upon seeing this, the philosopher was impressed. Obviously, the moral here is the beauty in imperfect and broken things.