The Daily Poem

HOLLOW EAGLE

From west to east my hollow eagle roars

On feathered engines full of throttled thrust

And I'm inside between two southern shores

Above the slow colliding plates of crust

This window pane allows my gaze a view

Uncluttered by the densities of stone

A sky-on-sea horizon blue on blue;

A solitary brink for me alone.

There's forty thousand feet of air below

And forty thousand million years above

Where pasts of light are poured in futures flow

And here and now I'm riding hand in glove;

From west to east my hollow eagle roars

And I'm inside between two southern shores.

D. Edgar Lamp

The Daily Poem - 431

"Sonnetelle"

Johanesburg, South Africa (after flying all night across the Atlantic)

Lat: -26.20, Long: 28.05

JOURNAL: South African Airlines

Big plane, two aisles, four seats across the middle with two running up each side.  I got a windowseat which I always prefer, but there was absolutely no leg room.  My knees were pressed into the seat in front of me.  Made the eight hour flight just that much longer.  Got up and walked around as often as I could.  The pre-flight drink and the Benadryl didn't seem to touch me.  We both were up most of the night, not falling asleep until an hour before breakfast, which they served when we were 90 minutes from our final approach.  In J-burg we caught our connecting flight to Cape Town.  It was a smaller plane and a bit more turbulent as we took off under cloudy skies from J-burg.  But after 30 minutes or so the sky cleared and you could see the whole spread of the cape stretched out beneath us.  When we landed it was warm (28C), a lot like San Diego, with a cool ocean breeze.

~ The Daily Poet

ORDERS OF MAGNITUDE

We walk on sponges made of steel,

On ordered molecules of feel.

The rough and smooth are nothing more

Than grades of tensile meshing floor.

A simple change of magnitude,

And we'd go slipping right on through.

D. Edgar Lamp

The Daily Poem - 430

Rhyming Couplets

Sao Paulo, Brazil

Lat: , Long:

JOURNAL: Garden Special Residence

~ The Daily Poet

ONE DAY

Some say that one day is much like another

But I say you never can tell.

Each one begins with a quiver of wishes

Though a few end up all shot to hell.

Every day starts with a moment of doubting

But most finish off very well.

So get up and start one no matter how iffy

Remember you never can tell.

D. Edgar Lamp

The Daily Poem - 429

Ballad Meter

Rio de Janeiro, Brazil

Lat:, Long:

JOURNAL: O Veleiro Bed & Breakfast

~ The Daily Poet

THE WORLD ISN'T FLAT ANY MORE

The world isn't flat any more

The corners and pillars aren't four

No far distant reaches

Where dragons give speeches

Then roast you for dinner like boar.

There's nothing above or below

No fires of hellish red glow

And nothing goes round us

But rock lunar moon dust

Above us the star millions go.

The mysteries of earthward and sky

Corrected dissected and dry

Are there on the shelves

No faeries no elves

No giants to sit with and cry.

I miss the dark ages of yore

The fable rich stories of lore

With the web and the net

I forget to regret

The world isn't flat any more.

D. Edgar Lamp

The Daily Poem - 428

Limerick Stanza

Rio de Janeiro, Brazil

Lat: , Long:

JOURNAL: O Veleiro Bed & Breakfast

~ The Daily Poet

SWIMMING IN MONTEVIDEO

Blanes, Figari, Cuneo

Brain's a bit dizzy,

Swimming in Montevideo,

Brimming with fizzy,

Plane's in the morning to Rio.

D. Edgar Lamp

The Daily Poem - 426

Quintain Stanza

Montevideo, Uruguay

Lat: -34.88 (S), Long: -56.17 (E)

JOURNAL: Ermitage Hotel

- The Daily Poet

BREAKFAST FOR LUNCH

Out the door and onto the street

Off we go on our foreign feet

Looking for coffee and breakfast for lunch

Who needs a map when you've got a hunch

Down to the water and up the stairs

Over the bridge to the table and chairs

Open the menu upside down

Turn all the pages then flip it around

Coffee with milk and if you please

A regular omelette with regular cheese.

D. Edgar Lamp

The Daily Poem - 426

Rhyming Couplets

Montevideo, Uruguay

Lat: -34.88 (S), Long: -56.17 (E)

JOURNAL: Ermitage Hotel

Up late. Slept in. Walked to post office to mail package. The post office was about as quick as the DMV: take a number and wait, wait, wait. Picked up laundry from service at hotel. Packed. Taxi to Buquebus. Spent the rest of our Argentine Pesos on board in the duty free shop and the cafe. Smooth crossing. Did sudoku and watched soccer. Found the Ermitage in Fodor's. After we checked in we took a walk. Stopped at a bookstore. Bought two books: Biography of Agatha Christie for Mimi, and Danny The Champion Of The World by Roald Dahl for me. Before I realized it, I had signed the slip and we were out the door. Turns out the books cost $60.00. Two little paperbacks! I was appauled. I wouldn't have paid more than $25 in the States. They shrugged their shoulders and said the CEO wouldn't be in until morning. We could come back then. Robbery! We walked along "The Ramblas" for a while and then headed back to the Ermitage for an expensive late night reading session. My children's book (UK price of 5.99) is costing me ten cents every time I turn a page. I could probably hire someone to read it to me for that price.

~ The Daily Poet

ADOLESCENT DOMINOS

A truck may someday leave its mark

On avenues of shifting gears

When he full tilt on wheels of arc

Acetylene his heart with tears

Of trinket joyful souvenirs

Goes sliding home and out of the park.

A baritone from sounding boards

Of adolescent dominos

May masquerade guitar-like chords

Pretending now how much he knows

Not sure just how the truth he shows

Absorbs the steel of crossing swords.

A tremor threw the walls of need

Confusing strength for righteousness

Unwittingly the subtle tweed

Of academic hopefulness

May still enjoy the fret success

Beyond the strings that he agreed.

D. Edgar Lamp

The Daily Poem - 425

Novel Verse Form

Buenos Aires Argentina

Lat: -34.61, Long: -58.37

JOURNAL: Hotel Costa Rica

We took the green line subway to Plaza de Mayo and spent the day shopping in San Telmo, a solid mile of absolute artesiania. I bought a hat and some old Argentinian coins. Mimi bought some fun & funky jewelry, hairbands, and a fine leather jacket. The leather shop didn't accept VISA so we had to walk all the way down to the river for an ATM. For such a metropolis, ATMs are in short supply. There was live music and performing artists on every corner, even a "jump-up" marching band of dredlocked caribeeners weaving through the crowds as night fell. I threw caution to the wind and had a big salad along with my veal medallions and mashed potatoes; just had to have something fresh. Too footsore to navigate the pedestrian streets and standup subway comedy all the way back to Costa Rica so we hailed a taxi ceasar and like royalty on horseback singed a hot line of sight past the obelisk through a sqeeze of oldtime streets and up the narrow stairs to our fourth floor flat for a little love in this city of good air and flowing jive. Hallelujah.

~ The Daily Poet

THAT ARGENTINA THING

Do that Argentina thing to me,

Make it gentle heel to toe,

Good as molten gold on spinal chords,

Baby footsteps nice and slow,

Dance a little if it pleases you,

Circle down your center stage,

Art like you should bring the night,

Turn me like a silver page.

D. Edgar Lamp

The Daily Poem - 424

Quatrain Stanza

Buenos Aires, Argentina

Lat: -34.61, Long: -58.37

JOURNAL: Hotel Costa Rica

Finally...not only one museum of contemporary art, but two! Spent the day at the Museo de Arte Latinoamericario de Buenos Aires and the Museo Nacional de Bellas Artes. We saw some Picassos and Modiglianis and Klees, along with dozens of other more up-to-minute artists. It was a South American visual festival. Buenos Aires is a great town.

I left my nearly finished book, THE NEXT 100 YEARS, a figurehead souvenir from Isla Negra, and a brand new never-been-opened-still-in-the-box rechargeable electric razor on the floor in the front seat of the taxi. Not only did he overcharge us for the ride, but he didn't have the integrity to bring back my stuff. If I could have one thing back it would be the miniature figurehead from Isla Negra; if two, then add the book. I would have gladly given the razor, even though it did cost $30. It was the first in-the-air purchase I had ever made. I bought it on the plane. Just a taste of decadence. C'est la vie.

~ The Daily Poet

THE GLOBAL MUSEUM

I'm here in the global museum.

I got in by chance through a window.

I really just wanted to see 'em,

The Mysteries, you know, of the places,

The people and things that they've told us

Are deep, and will show on our faces

When old as the hills we remember

To tell all the wisdom we've gathered,

As slowly we die with the ember,

The very last ember we've tended

To rock in our chair with nostalgia,

So much of our lives unintended.

D. Edgar Lamp

The Daily Poem - 423

Novel Verse Form

Santiago, Chile

(Lat: -33.43, Long: -70.57)

JOURNAL: Santiago Airport Holiday Inn

We left Pichilemu around noon in the rain. It rained pretty much the whole way to Santiago. Since the weather was bad, I decided to drop Mimi off at a hotel somewhere near the airport and then return the car. But by the time we made it out the airport, I realized we were quite a ways from our the rental car place, and I didn't really feel like returning if I didn't have to. We found a Holiday Inn on the airport grounds, and called Chilean Rent A Car and then agreed to come pick up our car. We went on line for a while in the lobby and snacked from the bar. Then we went for a full-blown dinner in the dining room. There was this 21 year old guy from Argentina who was on his way to visit his sister for a month in Mexico City who was determined to glom onto us. First, he had sit next to us at the computers, then, out of an entire dining room of 30 tables with not a soul in the place except us, he chose a table right next to us. He sat there staring at us. He seemed a bit off, maybe a tad autistic or something. We decided he was harmless as a puppy and decided to "pat him on the head" a bit. Poor guy. His parents were probably farming him out to his 23-year old sister with a promise with some cash. He was nice enough, but very intense, and very annoying. When he had finished his hamburger and fries, he said goodnight and left us in peace. You never know who you're going to meet on the road. And...you never really know who is who. For all we knew he was son of some mega-millions oil tycoon. So, whoever may come our way, we do our best to give him the benefit of the doubt. I was all wound up and couldn't settle down for sleep until 0200. I set my alarm for 0445 and finally konked off. Within minutes, the alarm rang and we were up.

~ The Daily Poet

CHILE RICHTER

Chile Richter come on down

Chile Richter shake the ground

Midnight wind and surging tide

Chile Richter let it ride

Now's your chance to jump and play

Say you might or say you may

Chile Richter let her rip

Bump it up and make it tip

Swish a swath of ocean high

Chile Richter don't be shy

Giggling rain on slippery panes

Window sills and weather vanes

Chile Richter come on down

Chile Richter shake the ground

D. Edgar Lamp

The Daily Poem - 421

Rhyming Couplets

Pichilemu, Chile

Lat: -34.40, Long: 72.01

JOURNAL: Cabanas Waitara

We drove from San Fernando to Pichilemu, and found a great little cabana right on the beach. We walked a short distance to a restaurant, Azul Something, with a wind-torn Orange Crush flag flapping wildly in the wind. No one was there but us, and the owner, a wonderul lady, came out and served us herself. She's owned the restaurant for five years, and seems to be be doing OK. We let her order for us. She started us off with clams on the halfshell with parmesean cheese; a Chilean cervaza for Mimi and a margarita for me. I'd never had clams, other than in clam chowder, and was amazed how delicious they were. Then she brought us each two fat fillets of a local white fish, which filled our plates. On the side each of us had a oval bowl of freshly mashed potatos. As we ate we looked out over the famous Surfer Hostel, El Mirador, that was built 150 years ago by a man named Ross. He built in the the shape of a ship right on the water. There were five or six surfers loitering around the fron entrance. The surf looked a bit too rough for surfing if you'd have asked me. We had no room left for desert. Pichilemu is a well-known surfer town, where surfers, even professionals from all over come to ride the powerful and challenging rollers that come in at an odd angle to the shore providing an extra long ride. When we got back to our room, the last cabana, the farthest away from the office and the closest to the breakers, I lay down for a nap while Mimi went out exploring. She woke me at ten till six in time to go for the massage I had scheduled. Up at the spa, I was greeted by the warm smile of a lady in her early 30's who had just finished up with a happy female customer. She spent an hour skillfully finding every sore and tense muscle. She had a heat lamp that she moved as she went aiming the heat down onto the area she was working on. It had a very relaxing effect, and really helped soften the tissues as she worked--an idea worth passing along. The time flew by. Afterward, Mimi and I took a long leisurely walk down the empty black sand of Pichilemu Beach. A local dog walked with us, and we were glad for his company. The light in the sky was nearly gone when we got back to our cozy cabana. We finished the game of canasta we had started earlier. I had started out with a big win farnering 1700 points to Mimi's 150. And even though she kept closing the gap for the next 5 hands, I finally crossed the 5000-point mark and clinched the win. But...while we were playing, there was suddenly a big rattle and shake. We looked at each other: an earthquake...on the coast of Chile...the Pacific Rim...where tsunamis rise to demolish the shore. We shrugged if off, but we were both thinking about it. We guessed it had to have been at least a 4.0. Turns out, after a bit of investigation on the USGS earthquake tracking website it was a 4.7. The man who came to pick up our rental car at the airport said he had felt it rather strongly last night. In my purusing of earthquake data, I discovered that last March there had been an 8.8 that had created a tsunami that devastated the town the Pichilemu. Great! Good to know. Seems that Chile, like California, is fairly well accustomed to earthquakes, although I think they have them more requently and stronger than we do. The andes are huge and young. There is a powerful subduction zone along the coast of Chile that puts the Sierra Nevadas and the San Andreas fault to shame. Needless to say we both were a bit on edge as we went to sleep. I dreamed I was in a house that was tipping sideways in an earthquake. At 0330, I woke to the sounds of people talking excitedly outside and car doors slamming. My first thought: they're evacuating. There's been a tsunami warning. No one has bothered to tell us. But no, I think it was just some late-night revelers heading home from the restaurants down along the water. By then a strom had come in off the ocean with wind howling around the cabana and rain lightly pelting the windows. That, and the loud surf, and the crazy dead of night tsunami thoughts...after 20 minutes or so, I drifted back to sleep. We woke in the morning, safe, and warm, and dry. It was still raining, and people had already started arriving for a long Easter weekend at Pichilemu.

~ The Daily Poet

ISLA NEGRA

I never knew you, stranger on the coast,

Collecting artifacts of marginality,

Proposing freedom like a feathered toast.

The empty bottles sanctify the air,

With each one holding half a baby's breath,

Enough to spaek a word, but nothing more,

And that one word has always been "Amor",

For love was what you knew the best of all.

The love I feel for humankind grows thin,

I pray that from this day I start again

To see the glory in the eyes of men,

Who labor stone by stone and breath by breath,

No certain prize except for certain death.

I wish I'd know you, stranger on the coast.

D. Edgar Lamp

The Daily Poem - 421

"Neruda Sonnet"

Isla Negra, Chile

Lat: -33.26, Long: -71.41

JOURNAL: Hostal San Fernando

It took a little over an hour to drive from Valpariso to Isla Negra. Neruda's first home which he bought at age 35, and then continued to add on to it over the course of his life. It is a veritable museum with collections of all sorts: ship figure heads, paintings of ships, seashells, insects, glass bottles, human masks from around the world, and furniture. We spent nearly five hours there. After taking the official tour we hung around the place enjoying the outside. We had lunch at the cafe looking out over the Pacific Ocean. Of all three houses, this one is my favorite. The location is so wonderful. Being there really made me want to go back home and start working on our little piece of land in the mountains.

We left Isla Negra about 1500 and followed Ruta 66, traveling southeast until we finally came to Ruta 5, the PanAmerican Highway. We pulled off the highway into a town called San Fernando and found a Hostal for the night.

~ The Daily Poet

LA SEBASTIANA

You died, my friend, with many doors ajar

With hands still reaching out to touch the sea,

Your silk of ink embroidered green to pull

A tide of rising throng tranquility.

The man of dirty streets and misery,

The woman torn and tired on the stair,

You gave your voice, your foot, your tapestry

Of objects grown from stone, and wonderful.

No other man with such a love has spent

Eternities of thought in penning down

Remorseless feuds of beauty like a grave,

Undressing every wound with words to save,

Demanding audience as one who sent

A messenger, himself, a king to crown.

D. Edgar Lamp

The Daily Poem - 420

"Neruda Sonnet"

Valpariso, Chile

Lat: -33.05, Long: -71.62

JOURNAL: Camila 109 Bed & Breakfast

Rented a car in Santiago this morning and drove to Valpariso. Discovered our credit card was blocked again for some reason. The man at Chilean Rent A Car didn't think so, but I think he put the request through with an extra zero, and that's what locked things up. Anyway, I got through to Wells Fargo, and they verified our security information, unblocked the card, and were kind enough to increase our credit limit.

The drive to Valpariso was like driving through central California out toward the coast, except for the smog. Descending steeply down the last few miles, we suddenly were in downtown. It's like a miniature San Francisco--a city with 42 hills (or cerros). Lots of stairs lead up through narrow alleys and graffitti is everywhere. But a lot of it is very good. Portraits of beautiful faces, cartoonish characters, surreal devises and animalia. Not much of it political or anti-social as far as I could tell; just a whole lot of creative people using the available canvasses of the city.We Unfortunately, many of the chosen canvasses are age-old buildings with finely designed architecture.

The first thing we did was find Pablo Neruda's home, La Sebastiana. It was again a very popular destination with many people from Europe and the Americas visiting. Five floors of surprizes! What a delightful home. Much more intriguing to me than La Chascona. Using a handheld speaker, we were able to enter the number that corresponded to our location in the house and listen. (What are those devices called? There must be a name for them.) It was good to be able to linger as long as we wanted to. There was something beautiful in every corner of the house. What an eclectic collector. But overall the theme is nautical. After the tour Mimi and I had a espresso con leche in the cafe, and then went down to the library. I wrote La Sebastian and she drew a picture of the house, just as we had done at La Chascona.

Then we headed out in search of our B&B. After a bit of zigging and zapping, upward and downward, we finally found it. What a great view from our window. We paid for a night's stay and then headed out. We followed Avenida Alemania along the contour of the mountainside until we came to Iglesia San Luis [1908], then turned down toward the city below. After a half hour or so we came to level ground and the very impressive Plaza Justicia and Plaza Sotomayor with it's Monumento a las Heroes de Iquique [1886]. We found a little restaurant that served fish, thinking this would be a good town to enjoy to fresh seafood. Mimi got Salmon and I got Conger (never heard of it). Her's was delicioius, mine was a greasy plate of fish and chips with grilled onions. Both dishes very rich. We left half the food on our plates. He brought us a shot glass of Creame de Methe "on the house" for dessert. Then out we went, back into this amazing city. I really like. Even with all the graffitti, it feels welcoming. It's got a French feel to it, unlike Santiago which is very American. Got back to the B&B just as the sun was setting and the lights were coming on all over the city. Beautiful.

~ The Daily Poet

A SPARK FOR JESPER OLSEN

The world-running runner named Jespa,

Refused every offer to Vespa,

He ran all the way,

No chase car delays--

His road man was Nicola Tesla.

If ever he needed a jumper

He'd just sally up to the bumper

And Nikki the Tes

Would brew up the best

Electrical java de-slumper.

D. Edgar Lamp

The Daily Poem - 419

Limerick Stanza

Santiago, Chile

Lat: -33.43, Long: -70.57

JOURNAL: Bellavista Home Bed & Breakfast

We hung out at the B&B all day. Both of us suffering a bit from intestinal ailments. Nothing major, though. Mimi did her famous travel-agent thing and got all our tickets bought through to Cape Town, South Africa--I directed, advised, and provided the credit card number when ever she needed it read aloud to her. She's an awesome trip planner. I walked out and bought some food to make lunch. Over lunch in the patio, I struck up a conversation with Jesper Olsen, who is doing his World Run II. He's already done the North to South Section from Norway to Cape Town, and is not doing the South to North segment from Punta Arenas to Nova Scotia. He's an amazing individual; very inspiring to me. We swapped e-mails and websites and promised to keep in touch during the year ahead. He intends to complete his South-To-North segment in July 2012. Since we'll be back to the States in February, perhaps we could go out to Nova Scotia and cheer him in across the finish line.

He basically runs a marathon every day; 40 km. He never rides and he never walks. If he gets winded as he did running over the Andes at 4000m, he stops for a few minutes to rest and then begins running again. His run will be the first Round The World run fully documented by GPS. He carries a handheld GPS which tracks his movements continuously. Once, he discovered that it had not recorded for an entires days' run. So, he repeated the run. Getting the run documented on GPS is very important to him. He's nearly 40, but you'd never know it. He's in incredible shape--a lean, mean, globetrotting machine. He said his all time favorite area was the three months he spent running through Eastern Siberia. He suggested that we do our best to get off the train and spend a couple days with the villagers. When he told them that he was a tourist, they asked, "What's a tourist?" He suggested we pick up a Russian newspaper when we get off so when we are just hanging around we can "read" the paper, which sends the message that we are in no hurry. Otherwise, if you act like you're a typical watch-watching American, they will probably put a few roadblocks and delays in your path, just because they can. He told me that Russians and Americans showed the greatest interest in his running challenge, and really wanted to know about and be a part of it, unlke the people in his hometown of Copenhagen. Evidently being a stand-out, or doing something that brings you personal notoriety is not looked upon as a good thing. Being a socialistic country, it's all about the team, not the individual. So, he's a bit of a renegade as a company-sponsored world running celebrity; not your average Danish man in the street. He went back to work when he completed his first run at the end of 2005, but soon received offers to come and speak to athletic groups, clubs, and companies as a motivational-type speaker. Suddenly making more through lecturing than working his job, he just quit his job. How very cool...! And he truly does have an awesome story to tell. His will and determination are incredible. And plus, he's just such a nice, down-to-earth guy. I'm so glad I got met him. I will follow his run with relish. His website is:

www.WorldRun.org

He's hoping to be on his way again by Thursday. The chase car they are using keeps breaking down, overheating, needing jump starts and the like. They've got their eye on a used car for $5000. There's a two-man film crew working with him. They will be making a documentary of his World Run.

~ The Daily Poet

LA CHASCONA

The stairs of La Chascona welcome me,

The absent water flows imagining

How long ago and yet how close at hand

The man, the captain in his chair at sea,

Afloat within his landlocked sailing ship,

Adrift, though not remote in measured step

But vital as a stamen in the wind,

Fertility of thought from a liquid lip.

My brother, in your heart the song's ideal,

Your eye awake to love in all its forms,

Your words against my cheek somehow I feel.

I breathe your autumn here, Neruda Fish,

Surreal your gathered increments of joy--

The maiden of your silent, secret wish.

D. Edgar Lamp

The Daily Poem - 418

"Neruda Sonnet"

Santiago Chile (La Chascona)

Lat: -33.43, Long: -70.57

JOURNAL: Bellavista Home Bed & Breakfast

Headed out around noon for a look around town. Johan happened to be leaving as well, so we walked together. A few blocks from the B&B he said, "Up this road is the house of a famous poet." And he paused blanking out on the name. "Pablo Neruda?!" I asked. "Yes."

I couldn't believe it. Here we were just blocks away from La Chascona and didn't even know it. Bellavista is the bohemian, artsy part of Santiago. We immediately bit Johan goodbye and headed up the road for Neruda's 2nd Home. The 1st one is Isla Negra on the beach, and the 3rd one is La Sebastiani in Valpariso.

We took the 45-minute tour of the house lead by a very well-informed guide. I asked if I could stay on in the house for a while after the tour, but was refused. The house is copywrited and well protected, since all Neruda's medals are there. All of them are real except the Nobel Prize, which is a repllica. I loved the house, including a secret door and a spiral staircase. He was friends with Pablo Picasso and Diego Rivera, as well as many other artists. A couple of his favorite poets were Edgar Allan Poe and Walt Whitman. So many collectables from all over the world. He designed the home himself. Bellavista was a rural area next to the zoo with not a whole lot of people around, which was good, since this was his secret house where he lived with his third and final wife. It was only later that the artists and bohemians moved into the area. I suppose that was due to his presence here. Who knows. All manner of naval and marine objects were splashed throughout the house: a compass by his writing chair, figureheads from ships, mermaids, and of course his often seen personal logo of the fish inside the steering wheel of a boat with the letters N - E - R- U - D - A written in a circle around the wheel. When it finally occurred to me to take a second tour so I could see things again, they had just started the final tour and I they would not allow me to catch up. Anyway, it was a great time. Mimi and I sat outside for an hour or so. I wrote my poem for the day and she did a drawing.

After La Chascona we took a long walk down to the park. Street performers everywhere. Lovers by the dozens kissing on park benches, kissing on bridges, kissing along the river, on the grass, beside fountains and statues and trees. What a great romantic town.

On our way back to the B&B we saw a poster on a store window advertising, as far I could decipher, a production at a local playhouse celebrating the 30th Anniversary of Pablo Neruda's "Heights Of Machu Picchu". I left Mimi in the room and dashed back across town through the dark streets and finally found the theater. The ladies behind the ticket counter said it was sold out. I asked if there was any way I could wait to see if there were no-shows, and then go in, but they said no. Probably just as well. The ticket was going to cost me 85,000 Chilean Pesos, or $170.00. A little rich for our budget.

I walked back slowly along the river, crossing over twice on two different bridges: one, a narrow brigthly lit arch, the other a wide pedestrian bridge. Even being out on the streets after 2100 didn't make me feel nervous at all. This part of the city seems calm, cilivized and safe.

~ The Daily Poem

ADIOS PERU

Adios Peru,

In Lima we enjoyed your Pisco wines,

In Nazca, flew our circles on your lines.

Adios Peru,

In Cusco we brewed up your coca tea,

In Machu Picchu, glimpsed eternity.

Adios Peru,

In Puno we went floating on the reeds,

In Arequipa, wept your Catholic deeds.

Adios Peru,

It's been a culture-fest compared to none,

We're very glad we came but now we're done.

Adios, adios--adios Peru.

D. Edgar Lamp

The Daily Poem - 417

Novel Verse Form

Santiago, Chile

Lat: -33.43, Long: -70.57

JOURNAL: Bellavista Home Bed & Breakfast

Left Arequipa, flew to Lima, spent a couple hours in Lima and then flew 3 hours to Santiago, Chile. A good flight, which for me means, "not much turbulence." Although as we prepared for take off and again just after we landed there was this awful noise like an old truck trying to start it's engine. As we disembarked, I asked the Lead Flight Attendant what the noise was. She said it was an external auxillary engine. I suggested a bit of lubrication, perhaps a shot of WD-40, and she said, "Yes, I'm going to inform the captain." Santiago is 2 hours later than Lima for some reason. It was 2130 our time but 2330 Lima time. Mimi had been an idea of how much it would cost for a taxi from the B&B, Bellavista Home, which was 13,000 Chilean Pesos (about $26.00) But the first guy we talked to wanted 15,000. We held our ground and an old guy walked up and said he would take for thriteen. He had a difficult time finding the place, but at least the streets were mostly vacant. We immediately felt like we were back in a U.S. city. Everything was clean and orderly. Well marked lanes with bots-dots on the freeway. Streetlights that people actually stop for. He had to ask directions a couple of times, but finally got us to front door. You'd never guess there was a B&B, though. What we found was just an iron gate in a stone wall, with a door behind the gate. Johan greeted us and let us in. He showed us to our room and gave us a brief introduction to the community bathrooms and kitchen. It's a very artsy bohemian place. The owner is an artist. Many of his mixed media paintings are hanging around the place, as well as work by several of his friends. I picked up a book in Lima called "THE NEXT 100 YEARS." It's by a futurist who is looking ahead making his best geopolitical guesses about what will happen in the world over the 21st century. In essence, so far, his premise is that the story of the 21st Century will be the story of the United States. As the the only global superpower at present, he sees the US as finally coming into its own as a world power. With the fall of the Soviet Union in 1991, the one rival of the U.S. crumbled. And then ten years later, with 9/11/2001, the age of the United States began. His ideas are very interesting. In our morning devotions we just happen to be finishing up the New Testament. It's interesting to be reading The Next 100 Years along with the Book of Revelation. Mimi bought a book called "Nujood" about a 10 year old Yemen girl who succeeded in getting a divorce from her husband. Evidently it was a quick read; she started it in Lima, and finished it that night before she went to bed.

~ The Daily Poet

LADY OF AMPATO

Sweet Juanita don't you cry,

You're the chosen one;

Up Ampato, O so high,

Climbing toward the sun.

Take your beauty all the way,

Cool the crater's fire,

Offer up your scuplted clay,

Lady of desire.

Give the gods the best you know,

Under moon and star;

Cradled in eaternal snow,

Teach them who we are.

D. Edgar Lamp

The Daily Poem - 416

Ballad Meter

Arequipa, Peru

Lat: -16.40, Long: - 71.54

JOURNAL: Casa Arequipa

Out the door before noon today. Walked up to the post office and mailed a package to my Mom with gifts for various people that she agreed to send on in smaller packages. It cost s/110.20 to send the package. That's about $35.00. The postage adds quite a premium on the souvenirs and gifts we buy. But still, we can't help ourselves when we see something that we know someone would enjoy, we just have to get it. Actually, we've been very restrained. There are so many things that would be fun to buy and send home. After the post office we went for a Starbucks coffee again and then on to the Museo Santuarios Andinos, aka "the Juanita Museum" that displays several mummies found on the 21,000-foot Mt. Ampato; human sacrifices to the Mountain Gods. Ironically, these were young women around the age of 12 who were selected from birth, usually of wealthy families, who were taken up on the mountain, intoxicated with Chi Cha, their frontal lobes crushed by a sudden violent blow to the head, and then wrapped in a blanket surrounded by gifts for the gods, and buried. I couldn't help but see the similarity of the Incan Human Sacrifices of young girls and the Monasterio Santa Catalina's lifelong imprisonment of girls as a living sacrifice to God. I think I would rather have sent my daughter up the Mountain than into the Monastery. How can such things be? Where do we get this stuff? Who came up with these horrific ideas? Is there anything that we do in our culture today in the name of religion that is in any way similar to "The Mountain" or "The Monastery"?

After dinner at Frog's we stopped by the room for warmer clothes, then walked back up to the Plaza de Armas to watch a religious ceremony which, the best we could determine, is part of Semana Santa, or Holy Week. This coming Sunday is Palm Sunday, and next Sunday is Easter. When we got to the Plaza it was crowded with people and there was a large procession of what looked like prominent business men in dark suits and clergy wearing white robes. The Stations of the Cross were set up like shrines around the perimeter of the sqaure. They were just starting the liturgy for the First Station. First a man's voice, then a woman's voice, then a child's voice, reading or reciting the words that go with the 1st Station, then the whole crowd said some words and a Hail Mary. When all the speaking was finished, a musical group to the right of the doors to the Cathedral sang and played over huge loud speakers that filled the Square with song, as the procession moved slowly from the First to the Second Sataion. We found a place to sit on the steps in front of the Cathedral. Between the 2nd and the 3rd, there was no singing or music, but a silent procession. The 3rd being the moment that Jesus addressed his mother, was all about Holy Mary Mother Of God. Then from the 3rd to the 4th which happened to be right at the gate of the Cathedral where we were sitting, there was music and singing. The procession came right up to us and people crowded in all around us. We stood to listen and watch. It was solemn, grand, and exciting to see so such a public display of relgious fervor. Never would ever see such a thing in our country. Our land of religious freedom has become not so free beause of our strange notions of "Tolerance." After the 4th Station all the clergy glided up the stairs and in through the giant wooded doors of the Cathedral followed by a few nuns. The crowd dispersed throughout the Square into conversational groups, and after a few minutes the clergy walked out having left their white robes inside. The great doors were closed, then the iron gates were locked, and just as quickly, the traffic in the sqaure, which had been detoured for the occasion, resumed, with a steady stream of honking taxis. We walked back along the dark streets to our cozy casa.

We sure have been learnng a lot about our Judeo-Christian heritage. It's strange to think that the Roman Catholic Church grew out of the early Christian church, and that the first Pope was put in place in 96 AD, just four few years before the Apostle John died in 100 AD. I wonder what the Apostle John must have thought about these developments? He probably wasn't too happy. Then in 1054 AD there was a Great Schism, where the Eastern Orthodox Church split off from the Western Catholic Church. Then 500 years later at the time of the Reformation, there was yet another split from the Western Catholic Church, and Protestantism was born. I've never really given much thought to the fact that Catholocism was the Main if not the Only Christian Church going for many hundreds of years, and what a powerful force it has been throughout the world.

I had downloaded a movie from Cinema Now called "Miracle In Kracow" that was supposed to be good. But it was super boring with English subtitles. We fell asleep watching it on my laptop. Oh well, it only cost $1.99.

~ The Daily Poet

EACH DAY A LIFE

Each day a life is born to You.

O Father of mankind;

You breathe the soul all fresh and new

And spark the lightning mind.

Each little child though frail and weak

Is kept within Your care;

The steps he takes, the words he speaks,

Your joy beyond compare.

When casting off his childish clothes,

The son of your design,

Confusing truth for wind that blows,

You bring him back in line.

You guide his way with gentle hands,

Yet firm to hold him fast;

Across the seas or burning sands,

You give him strength to last.

When fearful storms of howling might

Come swirling down his way,

You give him shelter through the night

And wake him for the day.

When change and age begin to bend

The marrow of his youth,

And weak his grasp to comprehend,

You strengthen him with truth.

As shadows fall and darkness creeps

Across the road ahead,

Your eye of love that never sleeps

Will lead him to his bed.

And there in death no doubt or fear

Will cloud his peaceful mind,

For You will linger ever near,

O Father of mankind.

D. Edgar Lamp

The Daily Poem - 415

Ballad Meter

Arequipa, Peru

Lat:-16.40, Long: -71.54

JOURNAL: Casa Arequipa

Stayed in our room till 1400. I tried embroidering a line with some thick thread and a big needle on my cloth world map. It's harder than it seems. The two-inch line that I made from Palm Springs to San Antonio looks rather crappy, but hey, as Mimi said, "Afterall you are just a guy." So right.

We hired a taxi for three hours (at $5.00/hr) to take us to a couple places out in the country and wait for us. First we went to Molino de Sabandia, an old mill that was refurbished by a famous architect named Luis Felipe Calle. After he finished renovating it, he liked it so much that he bought it and opened it up visitors.

Then we headed over to La Mansion de Fundador ("The Founder's Mansion). According to the pamphlet,

"The Founder's Mansion is one of the most outstanding examples of sixteenth century Arequipan civil architecture, built almost entirely of ashalr stone, with thick walls and containing numerous vaults. An air of viceregal elegance can still be felt in the colonial-styled rooms, extolled by the antigue furniture and artwork belonging to the various families who have played a part in the rich history of this mansion and that has been preserved to this day. These days the beautiful mansion acts as host to highly prestigious business and social events and is recognized as one of the city's most outstanding attracgtions by the thousands of tourists who visit Arequipa."

He dropped us off at Plaza de Armas. We went over to this place near the Plaza that's like a little taste of America, with a Pizza Hut, KFC, Burger King, and Starbucks all under one roof. we had Whoppers for dinner and Starbucks for dessert. That's the first Starbucks coffee we've had since Puerto Rico two months ago. It tasted so good. The locals would come in and look around at the place in amazement. It was a wide open area with a vaulted indoor-outdoor ceiling, easy access toilets without a little old lady sitting out front selling toilet paper. We walked back to Casa Arequipa as the sun was setting.

Watched a couple more bios on TV: Juila Roberts and Ed Norton. Our room was all cleaned up and organized even though we left at 2 PM. We've told them they don't need to clean our room, but they seem determined. And today, there was a vase on our table with ten red carnations. How nice! This has definitely been the nicest place we've stayed since Rosalie Bay Nature Resort in Dominica.

You can't help becoming a bit philosophical when you travel. All the religious, economic, political, and social realities that come at you like a fire hose every day leave you wondering, what's the meaning of all this? Who's who and what's what? Seeing people in Peru copying the United States in fashion and entertainment makes me wonder if we in the U.S. are really the best role models for the world. After all our getting, what have we really gained? In the Plaza de Armas this evening there were crowds of families, young and old, just hanging out around the fountain. Old people sitting on benches watching the mothers with their children; the children chasing the pigeons. Lovers walking hand in hand or arm in arm. Do they really need anything more? Do they really need the big houses and the fancy cars? Do they really need more entertainment, more toys, more debts, more ways to feel less than and dissatisfied. With all our getting we have lost so much. We have lost the family and the community. TV has become our only community. If you stop watching TV you become ostracized from the community because you have no frame of reference in which to relate to your family and friends. If only the rest of the world, especially the developing countries to see through the thin veil of our affluence and see the emptiness of it.

~ The Daily Poet

WHERE IS THE LOVE

Where is the love I thought I’d find?

    Where is the human thread?

    Night after night I lie in bed,

Never so baffled, never so blind.

Take from the rich will never be,

    Give to the poor, no way.

    When will there be that brighter day,

Unity, peace, and equity?

People are people, that’s the thing;

    Rotten, corrupted and small,

    Pushing their angles over the wall,

Schemers of schemes a profit to bring.

Faking affection is what they do,

    Great till the money’s gone,

    Shallow, duplicitous, wrong,

Old as the hills, but still brand new.

D. Edgar Lamp

The Daily Poem - 414

In Memoriam Stanza

Arequipa, Peru

Lat: -16.40, Long: -71.54

JOURNAL: Casa Arequipa

Last night I went down to the bus station to buy tickets on Ormenos bus lines from here to Santiago, Chile, but all the buses were full until the 19th.  That's a week away!  So Mimi went on line to look for flights and finally found one that fit our time of day preferences and price range, but it doesn't leave until Saturday, the 16th.  So, we're destined to be here in Arequipa for the next three nights.  Ordered in some pizza last night, watched The Tudors on TV.  I'd heard about it but never seen it.  It's a series about King Henry VIII.

We ate breakfast in the third floor dining room.  I took a long walk in the morning across town while Mimi was chatting with Rashawna.  My computer has been locking up.  I spent a couple hours trying to fix it by running various ffixes.  It seems to be working better now.

Finally in the early afternoon we headed out into the town again.  We took a taxi up to what Fodor's calls, "The eclectic little suburb of Yanahuara."  The view of Arequipa from the stone arches was panoramic, with the three great volcanos looming to the east; El Misti, Chachani and Picchu Picchu.  They are spectacular!

Then we did some shopping.  I found a sewing needle so I can embroider our route on my cloth map.  Mimi bought some yarn to fix a snag on on her Peruvian sweater.  I found a cloth belt for my jeans so I can toss my heavy bulky leather belt that's taking up too much room in my suitcase for what it's worth.  Having this time off is making me want to do some doodling, so I looked for a canvass, but couldn't find one anywhere, so I settled for 6x6 inch box for s/6.  The lid is like an elephant board.  I found some gesso and a couple permanent makers.  So...a doodle will be in the works...soon.   Mimi found an empty carton to mail stuff home in.  We've been carrying a few gifts with us for a while.

 We spent the evening in our room watching "liv" an channel that plays English language programs.  We saw the career stories of Jennifer Hudson (American Idol & Dream Girls), Toby Mcguire (Spiderman & Seabiscuit), and Anthony Hopkins (Silence of the Lambs & Shadowlands).

~ The Daily Poet

IN THE COURTYARD OF SILENCE

What high and holy crimes you paled

    behind these convent walls;

Those innocent novitiates,

    whose wailing midnight calls

Unheeded, took as needed coin

    to paint your lofty halls,

Their minds undone in solitude

    to hollow-headed dolls

To walk within your stealth of sin

    confessing all the galls

Of adolescent flesh and blood

    till righteousness enthralls,

Ineffable the spirit binds

    in tethered mental stalls.

May God have mercy on your soul

    you cruel collective beast

Who takes the lives of little girls

    the least of all the least

To suck their tender frames of flesh

    as morsels for your feast

Of haunted holy sacrilege

    for Mother One and priest

Who tie the barbs between their legs

    till pain and piety are greased

Together, rolled into a flame

    of demon-dusted yeast

To make your bread, your faceless host,

    till lives of death have ceased.

D. Edgar Lamp

The Daily Poem - 413

Monorhyme

Arequipa, Peru

Lat: -16.40, Long: -71.54

JOURNAL: Casa Arequipa

We spent the day walking around the city center of Arequip, Plaza de Armas, and visiting the famous Monesterio de Santa Catalina.  We took the one hour tour, and then spent another couple hours on our own.  What an awesome place, both beautiful and beastly, sacred and sad.  Our guide, a soft-spoken graceful Peruvian girl, in careful English told us about the lives of the girls in this place who came at age twelve and stayed until death.  The description of their first four years as novices was simply horrible.  Left in a single room for 22 hour a day; one hour in the chapel for mass, and one hour to walk the four sides of the Courtyard of Silence to recite the titles of the 55 paintings that surrond the courtyard.  Fifty-five, the number of beads on a rosary--ten Hail Marys to one one Our Father five times over.

Tradition dictated that the families first born daughter would marry; the second would become a nun, and third would stay home to care for the parents.  I kept thinking of my three daughters: Kim allowed to marry, Ellie sent to the Monasterio de Santa Catalina, and Stephanie kept at home as a parental caretaker.  I kept thinking of Ellie being locked away in this place.  It made my skin crawl and my spirit wither.  How could such things be done in the name of righteousness and piety?  How could such physical neglect and abuse be heaped upon these little girls in the name of Jesus Christ?  But truthfully I felt little of the spirit of Jesus, as I know it, in that place.  More than anything, it seemed an abommination, a twisted assylum, a self-inflicted holocaust of mental illness.  And yet, it was so peaceful, so beautiful in many ways.  A strange combination.  Where is the joy of the Lord?  Where is the peace that passeth understanding?  Where is the brotherly and sisterly love?  Where are the songs of praise?  Where is the easy yolk and the light burden?  Where are little children sitting on the lap of a loving Jesus?  No love could I find there, no peace and assurance, no joy, no hope, no light, no life.  I know that the Catholic faith is considered Christian, but how could I ever haveI fellowship with those who condone such barbaric practices?  I know it's a place of the past, but what of the present?  What has really changed?  Tears well in my eyes for all those little girls stolen away from life.  It makes me angry to no end.  I would rather have died than to have given my little 12-year old Ellie-Boo into the care and keeping of this monstrous place.  We ate lunch there, at a small round table in a gardened courtyard; a most delicious meal.  Unlike any meal, to be sure, ever served to a nun in this place.    

~ The Daily Poet

GET AWAY

Everyone’s trying to get away

Get away, get away

Everyone’s trying to get away

    But when they do they hate it.

That is what I learned today

Learned today, learned today

That is what I learned today

    But please don’t overrate it.

D. Edgar Lamp

The Daily Poem - 412

Novel Verse Form

Arequipa, Peru

Lat: -16.40, Long: -71.54

JOURNAL: Casa Arequipa

Our tickets purchased, and neither of us feeling much like doing anything, we decided to do just that—nothing. Antonia made us breakfast onboard the Yavari; scrambled eggs, bread, coffee, and fresh papaya juice. After breakfast she gave us a full tour of the ship. One million soles more and they will be able to complete the planned renovation. I dropped a 20 soles note into the donation box. We hung out at the Inkafe restaurant in the Sonesta Posades Hotel, drank coffee and spent a couple hours on our computers. At 1245 we got a table for lunch. Our food had just come when Wagner & Lanmarie came out and joined us for lunch. We’re each going where the other has been, so we’ve been able to give each other travel tips. Maybe we’ll see them again in South Africa. We took a taxi to the bus station, paid s/0.5 to use the restroom, and paid the s/1 station tax before boarding our beautiful Cruz del Sur bus. We got good seats up top, up front, second row back, giving us the ability to see out the front window. These are little perks you live for as you travel. There are also annoyances, like, the bogus security charade that Cruz del Sur puts its passengers through. A guy comes out and sets up a little wooden table beside the bus door and blows the dust off. Another guy sets up a tripod with a Sony HandiCam and videos each of us as we pass by the security table. The security table operator calls us one at a time up to the table where we must lay our knapsacks down. Then with his weapon-finding wand he sweeps our backpacks, carefully passing over all surfaces, especially side pockets where pistols could be easily stashed. Once inside the bus the guy with the HandiCam comes through again and takes our pictures while narrating our seat positions. Well, maybe it’s not that bad of an idea. If the bus rolls off a cliff into a river and everyone drowns, they’ll be able to send our faces to CNN for a special memorial minute on AC360. Or wait, maybe I jump off the bus at an unscheduled stop and disappear into the 10,000-foot wilds to live on wild onions and guinea pigs. They could put out an All-Points-Bulletin for my arrest. Or maybe they send our video mug shots to Interpol just to make sure none of us our international criminals. I don’t know about everybody else on board, but I felt very safe as we pulled out of Puno heading for Arequipa. Then there were three movies played on all screens with no way of turning off sound or picture. You must watch. First, there was Grown Ups starring Adam Sandler, dubbed in Spanish with English subtitles. Second, there was The Boy In The Striped Pajamas in English with Spanish subtitles. Third, there was Hangover dubbed in Spanish with English subtitles. I hadn’t watched any of them, and all of them rather disturbing in their own particular ways. Needless to say, it was a long six hours for me. I just wasn’t into the whole bus thing today. We picked our lodging from the Fodor’s book and the taxi driver brought us here, but not before first trying to sell us on another one that he, no doubt, got some sort of finder’s fee for. Seven rooms here, all individually decorated: the Honeymoon Room, The Weaving Room, The Balcony Room. Mimi chose the Rose Room. It’s nice. We’ve found an English channel on the TV.

STORY (Part 1): When Lanie got off the train she was surprised to find a man in a white suit holding a sign which read, "Lanie Drummond".  She had never been in the town before.  She didn't know anyone who lived there.  And she had made no hotel reservations.  She was miserably sick with what the guidebooks describe as Traveler's Diarrhea, but which she had dubbed PBH, Pure Bloody Hell.

~ The Daily Poet