Poetry / November 2007 (Issue 1)

A Sketch of Macao as Land of The Lotos-eaters

by Christopher Kelen

far hills gather
grow into the grey

few now the days
mountains lean over

the town
gone walking

at words
with itself

trees have left
no trace


river of set suns
come to the boil

in the tides' caracass
the slow cranes' rise

this is a city of smoke

this is the land
of the lotos eaters


as stray shipping come

mist clears
and the centuries dismasted
hove in view

the men could not
be lured back to benches

the rain learnt its trade
    on these streets


they are worn down to this
each ends in harbour, mast, grimy moon
each surface bears its shining world

balm in my branches
the breeze I begin

on days when you can smell the sea
the tense and press of flesh

then something
steers us toward


and after brothel neon pure
though we give it another name

shouting with this fist of moon
the chips are down

no call to breathe here
no star to pierce the gloom

sunset will outlast the bridges
a child's kite passes beyond
Website © Cha: An Asian Literary Journal 2007-2018
ISSN 1999-5032
All poems, stories and other contributions copyright to their respective authors unless otherwise noted.