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By The Old Pagoda Anchorage [1926]

By the old Pagoda Anchorage they lay full fifteen strong,
And their spars were like a forest, and their names were like a song,

Fiery Cross
and
Falcon
there
Lay with
Spindrift
, doomed and fair,
And
Sir Lancelot
of a hundred famous fights with wind and wave:

Belted Will
and
Hallowe'en

With
Leander

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poem by Cicely Fox Smith
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By The Old Pagoda Anchorage [1924]

By the old Pagoda Anchorage they lay full fifteen strong,
And their spars were like a forest, and their names were like a song.
Fiery Cross and Falcon there
Lay with Spindrift, doomed and fair,
And Sir Lancelot of a hundred famous fights with wind and wave,
Belted Will and Hallowe'en
With Leander there were seen,
And Ariel and Titania and Robin Hood the brave . . .
Thyatira of the lovely name and proud Thermopylae,
By the old Pagoda Anchorage when clippers sailed the sea -
Racing home to London River -
Carry on for London River -
Crack her on for London River with her chests of China tea!

By the old Pagoda Anchorage (it's many a year ago!)
A sight it was to see them with their decks like drifted snow,
And their brasses winking bright,
And the gleaming gold and white
Of the carven kings and maidens on each slim and soaring bow,
And the high and slender spars

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poem by Cicely Fox Smith
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Claret Pagoda in the Cerulean River

A slow waltz
In the crimson line
Of the dusk's horizon
Drifts me back
Into the cerulean river
Where I used to glide
In canoes with lovely people
Incarcerating myself;
My thoughts, my squalors,
My despairs, my bliss,
That no soul would understand
In a profound reclusion
That not a single soul
Ever understood.

In a slow waltz
Between my hands
And the grating oars,
And between the paddles
And the sporadic tides,

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poem by Norman Santos
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Mandalay

By the old Moulmein Pagoda, lookin' eastward to the sea,
There's a Burma girl a-settin', and I know she thinks o' me;
For the wind is in the palm-trees, and the temple-bells they say:
"Come you back, you British soldier; come you back to Mandalay!"
Come you back to Mandalay,
Where the old Flotilla lay:
Can't you 'ear their paddles chunkin' from Rangoon to Mandalay?
On the road to Mandalay,
Where the flyin'-fishes play,
An' the dawn comes up like thunder outer China 'crost the Bay!

'Er petticoat was yaller an' 'er little cap was green,
An' 'er name was Supi-yaw-lat -- jes' the same as Theebaw's Queen,
An' I seed her first a-smokin' of a whackin' white cheroot,
An' a-wastin' Christian kisses on an 'eathen idol's foot:
Bloomin' idol made o'mud --
Wot they called the Great Gawd Budd --
Plucky lot she cared for idols when I kissed 'er where she stud!
On the road to Mandalay . . .

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poem by Rudyard Kipling
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Gentle Harbouring Love

The festoon glory that comes
within love’s pagoda tree
with its branches like arms
stretching out around thee.
You savour love’s droplets
like the sweet juices from the vine,
nurturing the beauty
to last longer than time,
be captivated with
the gentle harbouring love
that it brings
deep within the melancholy
of the joys of spring.

16 July 2008

poem by David Harris
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Thailand November 2009 (2)

In Nakhon Pathom
we posed for
the tallest Buddhist pagoda
then watched
The greatest Elephant Show

In Phetchaburi
we sunbathed in Cha-am Beach,
and had
time viewing the
scenic mountains,
limestone caves,
and ancient temples.

Finally in Prachuap Khiri
we went inside Klai Kangwon Palace,
a summer palace of the King and the Royal Family,
courtesy of the ambassador
friend of my father-in-law.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Pagoda Paradise

In the peaceful sanctuary
Of this wisteria covered pagoda
I find a quiet grace.

Watching as the dragonflies
Soar past on wings
Of sun blessed lace.

Protected from
The world outside
In this my secret place.

I gaze into the lotus pond
To reflections of the sky
Watching birds as they take flight
How sweetly they do fly.

In natures song and blessedness
No fear can enter here.
This sacred ground is God's alone.

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poem by Lynne FincherSpringarden
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When Cap'n Tom Comes Home

WHEN Cap'n Tom comes home, and his sea chest
Is opened, oh, the shells that rainbow foam
Tossed on far shores, by us to be possessed
When Cap'n Tom comes home!
Cocoanuts for which gray, chattering monkeys clomb;
Tamarinds, and dates, and luscious sweetmeats pressed
Into blue jars of quaint pagoda dome!
Canaries, corals, shimmering shawls and, best
Of all, keepsakes that on wild seas a-roam
He carved from whale's tooth for a village blest
When Cap'n Tom comes home!

poem by Katharine Lee Bates
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American Style

Violet trees waiting for jazz
Count Basie shelters the urban rose
Dreams rest like the wind making love
Sweet serotonin in pagoda gowns
When you whisper I get hard
Kenny Burrell marvelous like stars
Moves like a good drummer
Darling your hands make music
Billie Holiday never played with dolls
I write your name on abstract jungles
Cities where Duke Ellington played
Stand up Bass talks like Chicago
Scales from India and Africa
Chromatic silk blue as New Orleans
Blue Note
Existential sax
Golden trumpet, Miles in France
There are no mistakes
Democracy on a piano
American Style and Gumbo

poem by Joseph Narusiewicz
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Tuesday Fell

Tuesday fell into the ocean
Exhaust pronounced with blackened fumes
Her scissors arms cut through the quarts
That vitrified the verdigris blooms
And while she swam the taxi watched
Falstaffian laugh from the pagoda view
It made her feel like Sundays ruin
Distilled in the platitudinous pews
Overwrought in prosaic charms
Her Romanesque features sad dilute
Coughed between the liquid mounds
Aqua, Cerulean and baby blue
Free sanctuary from the staplers
Scheduled manners in eunuch Suits
Slaves all free in the pawn machines
Weekday mornings to the AM dirge

Now she becomes her own collage

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poem by Kevin Patrick
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