CambodiaMe

Collaborative Poetry

Lee and I have been finding ways to share our experience with ourselves, each other, and with people back home. After both writing what began as a journal of thoughts, we blended our ideas and expressions to see what would come about. Our individual sharing overlapping to create a shared narrative of thoughts and ideas.

Sifting through what appeared as chaotic text, nuggets of blossoming language came through. With a little work patterns made themselves evident, and out of that emerged phrases that captured more than Lee or I could have articulated on our own.

So here I share a piece of poetry. It's not a form of writing that I have tried since high school, but it's a piece that I'm quite proud of. It documents what has passed, how we feel about the present, and how we're looking towards to the future.

October 2016. Photo © Mel Nutter.

You, are more likely to be that we are here,

and tonight we found my mostly satisfied.

The current, fosters an awareness of your physical world.

Maybe it is a place of dreams,

final lines and fade outs full of special occasions.

Delicate is the matter at hand.

A dark canvas for my interesting ways. First and foremost, my mind.

We were of this need before we arrived, in stories and time.

Those who are moved by sadness own closeness.

An awareness of our own I dream here, almost every night.

My I is still delicate.

The inner stories of our awareness, of our own delicacy,

might

is.

I have more luck making sense of existence here.

There are of course thoughts

making sense of the senses

a few Phnom Penh's.

Maybe it is a place of dreams.

The moon long changed friends here. A dark canvas for my mind before we even arrived in my mind.

Now is an awareness of our own delicacy.

I would like to think that we knew to project upon the inner stories of Cambodia, but I don't know that it was this.

And making sense of the senses.

No matter how much we dream and be awake at the same time,

what most people call fate,

our tendency towards sense and more to feel.

So much is left.

That's better.


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Oudong and the Monkey

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