Inspired Poems

This feeling called free - April Hoffman:

Come over me
this feeling called free
full moon
full hearth
with purity sings
thatched rood for a shelter
and mud on the walls
my heart starts yearning when
Cambodia calls
Beautiful people
with welcoming smiles
the change in my soul
to carry for miles

A Cambodian Rice Field - Chrystie Stewart:

This morning I sat in a rice field
My elbow perched on my knees
I looked throug the swaying fields
And I felt the rythm of being free
For us this is a choice
And one we may not make
For them it does not mattter
A liberty they cannot take
But that little boy still laughs and smiles
And I wonder what he thinks
Even the cows seem to have an opinion
When they offer up a wink
Today is the day of harverst
It happens but once a year
It is us that is here to help them
But making things worse is my fear
Do they feel like they are on display
Is it possible this is poverty tourism
I wish there was some language
And maybe there is some in Bhuddism
Be gentle with these people
They have the same families as you and I
Listen carefully with your eyes when they show you
How to Chop rice with a sye
This morning I sat in a rice field
My elbows perched on my knee
As I watched that little boy laughing
I realized it was him that was trully free.


A Place called Cambodia – Ingrid Brakop

To the place called Cambodia
Baby here is my ode to you
You are a fine lady, hot and fierce but
Your people, they are loyal and stoic and free
My heart they do pierce
The children. The cows, the flea bag dogs
Yes, even the cockroach that trampled me
They are all a pleasure.

The dogs stare at us as the bus drives bye
They gotta be wondering, hey,
What's up with all the white guys?
The driver Boonang, he's quiet but skilled
He smiles everytime the bus hits a bump
And the girls in the back scream
Like they may be killed.
My heart aches at the garbage
That pollutes your canvass, your rivers and sky
But it's not my place to judge so
I just sit silently and watch it all go bye.

Despite the terror, despite the blood shed
Your people still welcome us and offer us a bed.
The food is divine, the markets are wild
The traffic is nuts
I think the people that live here have a lot of guts.
You've welcomed us, we have walked on your turf
We tasted the China Sea water and swam in your surf

I've laughed here – a whole lot.
I've cried here – yes, I have wept for the people that have died here.

For days now I stagger onto a bus
The driver, there he sits, no words, no fuss
I smile at him everyday and now he smiles back.

I no longer fear, I no longer judge
Heck, I saw people eating some snails from the sludge
You who have survived and once again you will thrive
I say this with passion and have written it in letters I've sent
I've never been so confident.

Cambodia – Ben Neilson/Christopher Seguin

Seen from a smile, spoken through eyes
Elderly wrinkles, innocence disguise
Yesteday's pain, rouge reign
Bloodshed horror of tomorrow's birth

From violence to silence, to forget or forgive
Bones of a generation, a nation will live
With westerners here, a Christmas fade
They interrogate, regenerate, the blood of the spade

Empty walls, roofed full of fears
Haunting whole hillsdie of five field years
I strike the nail, scrape the shale,
I paint the scars, rake the harvest

As one man, in two shoes
A third world spread the news
I meet Cambodia,
With a crying ode to ya

You get what you give, so give what you have
Like a look, love or laugh
My song through static
Is comfort in a hammock