ELLEN CHIA - POEMS

Ellen lives in Thailand and enjoys going on solitary walks in woodlands and along beaches where Nature's treasure trove impels her to document her findings and impressions using the language of poetry.
Her works have been published in The Ekphrastic Review, NatureWriting, The Honest Ulsterman, Zingara Poetry Review and The Tiger Moth Review.

Eye Slow Down

​Slow down the eye,
Bid it slow down -
Slow to dismiss,
Slow to throw a mere glance.

But see like you're
Peering past the sea's surface -
Past its raging white noise
And undulating dance.

Use your eye fingers
To pull back this sea curtain,
Past its stage of threatrics and
Past this membrane of
Your familiar universe
To this other stupendous
Web of a gallery teeming with
The ingenuities of life.

Be prepared to be diminished,
To see just how mote-sized you're
Face to face with bulk-sized wonders;
See how your weight is tied to theirs
And theirs to yours.

​Sunflower Party

As we unfurl our golden manes
To the sun,
The bees hasten
To accept our invitations,
Creating the much needed buzz
For this summer's party.

Alighting on the reception pads,
The bees are served their drinks -
Free flow on the house
Which they dip thirstily
With their long tongues,
All the while humming,
"You're the bee's knees!
You're the bee's knees!"
A mutual intoxication -
We by their flattery
And they by our
Signature concoction.

To keep the party rolling,
Our sugary larders
Labour unflaggingly
To fulfill the demand
And ties of goodwill,
Adhering to the maxim:
A satisfied customer
Is a returning customer.

However much we may relish
Our share of dazzle in the sun,
All fanfare culminates with this:
The bees in their guzzling ecstasies
From pad to pad have graciously
Accomodated the hitchhikers -
Our masculine specks arriving
At their destinies safe and snug,
Sealing next season's bright prospects.

In no time, these reception pads
Would have to make way
For nursery needs;
Hundreds of thousands
Minuscule chambers each cradling
A kernel of hope
And the bees,
They too would have
Turned in lavish accounts
Of field performances
At their respective headquarters.

Not that we like to boast -
If only the human economy
Operates more often with our kind
Of sensibilities.
​

​The Peepal Tree (Ficus Religiosa)

Offers no fragrant blooms
At your feet
But hearts aplenty -
A carpet of them if you care
To sit and contemplate.

A centenarian many times over,
Stoical witness to the
Vainglorious exploits
Of kingdoms and their
Sharp vicissitudes;
Tangled roots serpentine,
Cradle in them
Bygone ruins and relics:
Here a mutilated sacred
Sandstone head sculpture
And there a bathtub-sized
Dynasty remnant of a fortress's
Brick wall.
More than arboreal,
A hands-on historian -
Forget-you-not it murmurs.

Roots gripping roots
Lest we lose our way. Again.
​

​Coastal

He's sucked into one of
His cyclical wanderlusts,
Returning only at dusk.
Meanwhile, she basks topless;
Her slick brown-grey skin
Breathing with ease
Under the unfiltered sunlight.
She savors the scent of vacation

While armies of pale
Phantom-like crabs ooze
From her pores -
The tiny scavengers scuttling off
At the arrival of the
Black-winged stilts;
Waders by the hundreds
Strutting in hot pink
Chopstick leggings -
The evidential value
Of her desirability imprinted
With their delicate trails.

Striving for nothing other than
To be herself,
She swells with pride;
This hostess of a monumental
Table of feasts and shelter,
Her place in the cosmic scheme of things
Affirmed.

In his absence,
She admires the unobscured
Handiwork by the townfolks -
This wall of oyster-crusted
Bamboo stakes
She wears like a necklace
Across her broad neck -
An amulet of sorts
On the town's behalf,
Warding off his voracious appetites
When he returns in
Undulating high spirits
To the unremitting business
Of landscape reshaping.

In solidarity with the bamboo stakes,
The mangrove colony upholds
The town's concern;
Its sprawling network of
Aerial roots pamper
Like massage over her scalp:
All's well.
Circulation's at its optimum.
An exchange of sisterly confidences
Ensues on this languid afternoon....

​