Two months in Mexico travel blog

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Photo for Iguana of Tulum

photo for Ancient Memories

photo for Treasure from the Sea

photo for the Bird and the Crab

Photo for Dream Vision of Bob

Photo for Goddess Thoughts

Photo for Bones

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Poetry selections inspired while in Mexico

Poetry selections from volume 9, 'Kumquats from Mexico'.

Pictures and poetry By Gay A. Wright

more information may be obtained by visiting my web site,

Kumquats and Oranges

Oranges from China's sea

Hold the promise of love

That is fresh and new

Silent possibilities of passion

Hidden deep within the fruit.

Share a sliver of the moon

A slice of translucent bitterness

Or a rewarding tangerine dream

The choice shaped by how you

Define love between two.

Peel me an orange or grape

As your pleasure obliges

Each slice an orgasm unique

Unto itself, surrounded by soft skin

Or pungent rinds, as you choose to see.

I've learned from various past lovers

That all is not as sweet or juicy,

For the fleshy middle may hold pits

Unfelt by the taster until after the first bite

Rolled around the tongue and spit out.

Maybe I should have held out for

Kumquats from Mexico.

Journey to Mexico

At last I'm off on a journey to Mexico

Fulfilling a dream I shelved for years

Taken down and dusted off to pursue

A personal adventure into the unknown.

The possibilities are endless

Loaded with mystery and delight

Plans I lingered over and savored

As the Mayan memories silently beckoned

Maybe I will meet my past in the jungle ruins

Or the hollow depths the ancient pyramids

As I stand tall on the steps of Chichen Itza

Or sit in the shadow of the stony Chaoc Mool.

Imagination runs free, who knows what I will find

As I roam the roads along the mountain by-ways

In a land I have lived by for years and never seen

A place by the sea where, perhaps, I will find kumquats

note: written before I went to Mexico in 2002

12/21/2002 Sun Deck Motel

Three hundred miles to the Mexican border

Is a far piece from home to the town of Pharr, Texas.

Being met by warm tropical breezes

Wafting through the stately palms

That dotted the sparse flat landscape

I took a room at the Sun Deck Motel

Reasonable and handy for the night

Beyond the door a dull green carpet

Revealed itself flattened into felt by age

Held in place by four plain walls

No pictures except for the one on the TV.

A small wooden table and plastic chairs

Tiredly graced them selves by the bed.

The bath floor had new ceramic tile,

However the walls sported small 1920's

Multi-color vintage tiles locked in place

By old rusty metal window jams.

Certainly plain, but what did I expect

It wasn't the Ritz, but it was clean.

The shower faucets were held in check

By thick caulking as a deterrent

Lest any water should escape before

Being released by a crank on the knob.

The water was hot and steamy and

Melted the tiredness out of my bones.

The room silently held its' ultimate surprise,

Waiting until I turned back the brocade bed spread.

Meeting me were sheets so downy soft and fragrant

I delighted in running my hands over their inviting surface

I slid in and was embraced by the scent of flowers

Caressing every inch of my being as I fell asleep.

During the night as the rasping blare of outside noises

Intruded into my consciousness, I was awakened just enough

To re-acquaint myself with the soft delightful sheets

I rolled over and over, enjoying the gratification each time

I borrowed deeply in the essence that pleasured me completely

I lounged lazily in the dark surrounded by the scent of Kumquats.

note: my night in Pharr, Texas before I left on the bus tour in 2002

Our lady of Guadalupe

The sirens loudly whistled and blared

Coming around the corner of the square

Candles lit and children's voices clear

Followed from crowd coming near

Lighting the way to the church to meet

After that, Our Lady appeared along the street

She sitting on an altar of the truck bed

Made my emotions rise to my head

So serene, so still her gaze she cast

Her day of roses, gifted by her in the past

All over Mexico at this time of the year

Before Dec 12 the runners run, the shrine colors clear

To see the adoration of the faithful

Celebration and answered prayers made full

Thanks given by the people for the blessings and hope

The vision remains clear to help me cope

note: written after seeing the parade behind the shine to our Lady in the truck in Bacular

Honor to Our Lady of Guadalupe

Each of the runners ran

Passing the torch from hand to hand

When it was their turn in the relay

An honor for Our Lady anytime of the day

Slowly along the side of the road

Trucks followed with a full load

Of Green, red and white youth that was clad

Upon each an every shirt front they had

An image of Our Lady's serene grace

The holy burden so light to set the pace

A yearly pilgrimage ran in Mexico everywhere

Giving thanks for each answered and unanswered prayer

note: written for the young runners along the road

A direction shift

The vision is not clearly seen

What the hell am I doing here

By the southern edge of the sea

Beyond the reach of humanity

Past the edge of the land

Only water as far as I can see remains

A direction shift is needed here.

So, where do I go, where do I look

Can the calm sea reflect the

Inner need that the soul craves.

Can the answer lie in the loftly

Chac faces of the pyramids high

Peering down their noses

A direction shift is needed here.

Can I climb the tumbled stones

And have the un-dug tombs reveal

The feeling of the primitive footprints

The kings made that are buried there

Answers lost in the cornfields

Covering the ancient city walls

A direction shift is needed here.

Can I hear the vibrations of drums

The ceremonial dances preformed

In the plazas of the jungle foliage

The ancient voices of the stony past

Will the pots and vases ever speak or the

Funerary bowls with stories reveal their share

A direction shift is needed here.

Can I hear the ancient times the monkeys sing

The past is past and not needed here

I need to build anew on the top of the temple

The dreams and plans of the present time

Woven and stacked on top of the myths

That will make the fabric of my future being-ness

A direction shift is taken here.

note: Written after experiencing the site of Becan

Midnight thoughts

When I lay in the black of night in another's bed

With their sheets and pillow under head

And share their view that the windows keep

Of the stars that come out of the silent deep

I wonder what they think and do by light of day

And when in the middle of the night's repose do they

Ever wonder what others may think and do

That shared their bed, stars and windows too?

note: written at Casita Carolina in Bacular


Loose Change

Strolling the edge of the sea

The gentle surf glitters

With the early morning sun

Warming the beach of Galveston.

I walk where the lapping waves

Have cast seashells at random

The salty water leaving tender

Water marks along the gulf coast.

From where do the seashells come?

Where did their journey beyond the horizon begin?

As I search the sand, I find

Bits and pieces of sand dollars

A whole handful of loose change to use

Perhaps in barter for Kumquats

When i arrive in the land where the

Gulf meets the open sea.

note: written before I left Galvenston for Mexico in 2002

Dream Vision of Bob

You slid into my consciousness

Not disturbing the sounds of silence

And walked along the edge of my lucid dreamtime

Full bodied and sensual, ready for love

Just as before, you embraced me

And gave me a quick flick of tongue on my lip

How could I forget the green hills of Mexico?

As we stood on the crowded streets of Osocingo

This time I had no bus to catch

And I welcomed you into my open arms

The warmth of my inner thigh encased

The strength of your masculine rising

Quickly before five in the morning

You rose to accompany the orange moon

Full and complete, dipping below the horizon

Before the sunrise radiated the rose color of my bloom

Authors note: The Universe sent me a man to help me heal my arm after I fell off a wall in Palenque and jammed my shoulder. I met him at the Tonina site in Osocingo the next day. As freewill provides, I had a choice to do more than just have him doctor my arm. I chose a rain check as my bus was due to take me back to the hotel. I was visited by a dream vision of him after I came home. This poem is a woven tapestry of poetic metaphor of the encounter.

The bird and the crab

The bird walked swiftly after the crab

That was zigzagging along the sandy beach.

"Hey, wait for me you cute little morsel".

But the crab quickly hid from view.

So, the bird had to settle for a snack

Of tiny clams he found inside the open shells

That were still clinging to a bottle washed up on shore.

note: written for the sand tracks on the beach at Tulum

Treasure from the sea

The sea brings treasures

Laden to its waiting shores

Bits of this and of that, then

Rolls back out to get some more.

I found the sea blue and frothy

As the winds kicked up the sand

In my rented cabana by the sea

No more than palm clad sticks built by man

I walked along the shore

In the afternoon bluster

Finding sea ferns and bits of spong

Among the rocks and trashy cluster.

I gathered the sea-gifted booty

And stacked the treasues high-a

Then took them home to admire

With my memories of the Mexican Maya

note: written after my walk along the beach at Tulum

Ancient Memories

I am not afraid to walk in the jungle

The jungle surely is not afraid of me

Yes, that is the way it should be

Shall I trod with measured steps

And have the stones echo my beat

Yes, that is the way it should be.

Shall the sea record my foot prints

Before it erases them with the tide

Yes, that is the way it should be

Shall the silent ball courts come alive with

Sounds as I watch the ancient memory

Yes, that is the way it should be

Will the steps of the pyramids remember

I have placed my foot on them in the past

Yes, that is the way it should be

Will the trees remember me before I have passed

Beneath them and long into the future after me

Yes, that is the way it should be

Will the monkeys howl and yammer in the

Tall jungle foliage awaken my Mayan life story

Yes, that is the way it should be

All this and more to reweave the fabric

Of my Consciousness, lived, living and to live more

Yes, that is the way it should be

Written after my walk through the site of Muyil

Chicken Lady

So, Lady, where is your dignity

The humor of your fate

Is a bit bizarre to be sure

Stripped of feathers

Clear down to your feet

Left to swing your legs

To dance wildly in the air

Back pressed to the cold tile slab

To perhaps catch the eye

Of a hungry passer by

Heads and feet, the remains

Of your companions' short lives

Litter the counter fromt the knie

Get up and give us a second

Chorus to an old soft shoe song

Kick up your heels, spin and

Frolic across the butcher's bench

For soon, you too, will be called

To be the guest of a cooking pot

So, Lady, that is your dignity.

note: written for the chicken lady on the butchers counter in Chetumal

Iguana of Tulum

Iguana so fat

Lounging in the sun

Sitting as still as the rock

You are perched on

Maybe all the tourists

Won't see you

If you don't move

But, I am watching

And on to your game

I can see the tin cup

Under your foot

If ten pesos doesn't

Clink inside it

You're otta' here.

Goddess Thoughts

The goddess of all time

With bare breast

Lying so serene

With the sun god mask

Next to your shoulder.

What must you be thinking

Having to share your

Glory with the modern

Mayan child born of

Corn and computers

Entwined with the

Suffering Christ

Of the Spanish conquest.

The only thing eternal

Is the double headed

Serpent high in the air

That signifies the power,

The duality of the eternal God head.

The multi-faced Goddes that holds

The versatility of the Cosmos

The Goddes who chooses

to show either face gender

According to the need

Of the masses below

At anytime through the ages

That is what you are thinking.

note: Written for the monument in Chetumal


Oh, them bones,

Them thigh bones

Now disconnected from

The knee bone

Complete detachment

From the leg bone

Not to mention the

Ankle and foot bone.

What goes on with

These lonely bones

Laying in an open crypt

For the world to see

Once covered and buried

Are now a bizarre

Stack of knobs and ribs

Inside an unnamed door

Is this what happened

When the soul kicked

The body free and

Left it jangled in a pile

To waste away to decay

Without any dignity

note: written for the crypt with the bones in Dzemul

The Invitation

You extended an invitation to make love

During an embrace we shared while

We bid goodbye on a busy street

My mind raced wildly at the thought

Of sharing an afternoon delight

Knowing full well I had a bus to catch.

But caution flags rose and alarms went

Off in my head clanging loud warnings.

As we hugged your manhood pressed closer

The sweet seduction ever so tempting

Rising to a point of weakening the defenses

But my mind told my heart to behave, not today.

The mind saying who knows what kind of man this one is

Will he be gentle and pleasure you into waves of orgasm

Or so rough he will mar the countenance of the goddess

My heart, struggling not to be contained screamed to chance it

But took heed and made some lame excuse

Of not being able to catch another bus back to Palenque.

We made promises to meet again in the near future

You may come to Texas as you pass through

On your next fling around the world.

I may accept if you offered for me to go with you

But times passes and the kiss grows cold and withers

On the lips of one who declined momentary passion.

Now, I may be long forgotten by the sailor

Who steered his ship through the grass of Tonina.

And lingered on the hill with the soft breezes blowing

One who healed my shoulder with his loving touch

And warmed my heart by extending the sensuous invitation

However, it may have been only the offer I needed and not the sex.

note; postscript to the dream vision of Bob

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