Period poem - Pathya Vat (Cambodian)

The Vessel

Here is the clay
Lump on a wheel
Nothing to feel
Everything blurred.

Around it spins
Nothing assured
Now hope is stirred
Waiting for sight.

The potter’s hands
With gentle might
Begins the rite
Shaping the clay.

It takes the form
From hands obey
And trust someday
Value to hold.

When shape is done
No more to mold
From fire comes gold
Fit for a king.

Dedication

For all the times you’ve dried my tears
and tucked me in at night.
For scaring away the “boogie man,”
and leaving on the light.

For all the times I lied to you
and went behind your back,
For all the times you told me “no”
and my hearing seemed to lack.

For all the words I said to you
I didn’t mean to say,
but couldn’t take them back because
my pride got in the way.

Now as I set out in life
I finally understand,
that I never would have made it
if you hadn’t held my hand.

And so I dedicate this poem
to you, my mom and dad,
I know how much you love me
because you gave me all you had.

1984

Sounding


In the utter depths of darkened silence,
Comes a haunting call that echoes round;
Over a million years of unchanged essence
The dwindling cries of the humpbacks sound.

With the mountains of ice that drift through the years
In the heart freezing waters that touch the sky,
Live the great gentle beasts that cry without tears,
And live only in fear of the harpooner’s cry.