Golden Chandeliers
Tiny amber suns
drip in star shine strings from
Ratchapruek, cassia tree,
harbinger of season shift.
King’s tree, bright blooms
to shine in hearts bereft
of their departed father.
In love, sixty-five million
grieve his love and compassion,
wearing black,
joyful sons and daughters
subdued in the loss of
their King and three generations
of prosperity and peace.
Dockoon blossoms mimic
stars in yellow clusters
hanging from the royal
golden rain tree that
promises spring and light.
The rains eternal return
of growth and rice.
Eyes linger in the hot season,
dry and sere, acceptance reluctant.
You read or hear about
a nation mourning:
I walk along a thousand
year canal beneath green glory
arbor. Above, golden
chandeliers light the walk,
as Thailand’s father planted
a future to tread on
butter soft petals,
a covenant that
some roads are paved with gold.
- * * *
Full Moon Night,
Visakha Bucha Day
Seashell full moon night,
we sully souled thousands wait
the melon tones of sunset
with feet hungering for the mountain
miles. Each step inching
us toward making merit,
better life in the next life.
We march to the
ancient temple half way
through the Doi Suthep forest
and waterfalls.
An ivory globe peeks over the east edge,
birthed on the horizon—
Siddhartha born this eve.
We hikers continue.
Some fall behind, but
in perseverance we endure
trees pressing in against
our candles that pray
for enlightenment
beyond re-birth.
Yearning souls guide the way
as the silver circle travels overhead.
We glow small flames,
in life need and desire,
earthly reflections,
walking to the fulfilled moon
of Gotama’s triumph, Gotama’s
enlightenment.
The luminous face now mourns
above the devoted seekers,
ten thousand lives tonight.
How many lives in the world
centuries grieving each return?
Now foot sore in the upward journey
with temple close
and far, renunciation fires burn
upward. Two thousand times
and more, year after year on
Visakha Bucha Day, Lord Buddha passed
us by.
- * * *
Moon Vessel
Twelfth full moon,
lunar year changing time,
rainy season to cold,
jackets out of the closet,
dogs in T-shirts for warmth.
Loy Krathong in Thailand,
other names from Ceylon to China:
feminine baskets floating,
celebration, color and light.
At Wa-ew’s house, cut rounds
of banana branches or folded leaves
become boats, organic rings,
a circle of girls and women
decorating with flowers,
incense and candles.
My western fingers
cannot equal the grace
of my neighbors’ creations,
wish fueled.
Silk skirted women
troop to the river
alight with floral vessels
candle topped, drifting incense.
We bend at shore side for launching,
pause, and cast hopes
on the water. Surprised my
offering sails with the thousands
of others. I am glad it is biodegradable.
Above, sky lanterns rise
in a red star stream puffed
westward on incense breath.
The halo above yellows to an ivory glow
for the aging year.
Women and girls, we watch
our boats current captured,
eyes reflecting our dreams,
like mirrors of the sailing moon,
waxing, waning cusp.
Entry photo, "Koon Tree" by Thanate Tan