a collection of brief poetry, part 1
Ueno Park
My feet from under cover
Step with a new day
In the warmth of sunrise hope
Seeking a sunset peace
anthony forrest
Page 26 of 26
Throw Coins
(story below)
Men throw coins seeking grace finding none.
With clapped hands they bow, but not to the Son.
In Danse Macabre their culture sways till finally in death’s arms they lay.
Have they hope in this dire state?
Where will they find grace?
Beyond a doubt, one of my favorite places to visit is Japan. Smiling faces, terrific food, ancient structures, mystical remnants of forgotten wars, and friendly people make up a culture that warms my heart each time I go.
Most of the people in Japan observe Shinto, a religion made up of mysticism, spirit worship, and ancestral longing. On the outside, Shinto is beautiful. I travel to Shinto shrines every day I am in Japan. Towering pagodas and looming archways beckon followers to bow, clap, buy luck, and recite prayers.
Albeit beautiful, every time I visit a shrine, I walk away with a sense of emptiness. All the ritual practices and rigid rules leave the worshiper fallen short of perfection. In a sense, Shinto is puzzle missing pieces. It is up to man to maintain a connection to their ancestral past. It is up to man to live up to expectation of Shinto. It is all up to man. Hopeless, graceless, and endless. If man is the end all be all, count me out.
The God of the Bible gives hope, grace. Second chances and forgiveness abound. It doesn’t come from me. And that’s a good thing.
anthony forrest
a collection of haiku
Inhale: a collection of haiku
Sky glows red
Light passes through
A new day
Rubs tired eyes
Sleep falls away
Mind alive
One breath then another
A new place
A new breath
Exhale
Feet step out
Carry forward
The street takes
Also gives
Taste all
Smell all
Inhale
Journey on
anthony forrest
Too Many Señoritas
My dad and I gathered our unorganized gear and stumbled out of the Jeep. Both of us had dealt with juggling schedules and flights just to make it this far. He flew in on the red-eye connecting through Guadalajara. And though my flight was direct from Minneapolis to Cancun, my brutal night shift had left me depleted and groggy.
Cozumel, Mexico is beautiful. Sure, the island is nice. But I’m talking about what’s beneath the surface of its perfect waters. We were now headed to Palencar Reef off the southwestern coast of the island. The scuba diving in Cozumel is some of the best in the world. Still waters, abundant sea-life, and a massive coral reef create a diver’s paradise.
Our boat (The Chingilada. No idea what that means, don’t ask) showed up and our captain and dive master began loading tanks and gear. The sun shone bright, the water was warm, and the boat crew had fresh-cut pineapple. Even though we were tired, this was going to be a perfect day.
Right before our boat left the marina, a taxi pulled right up to the pier. Two very beleaguered middle-aged Americans piled out of the vehicle.
“Sorry we’re late,” growled one of the men, orange-haired and sunburned. “Crazy night.”
They hurled their gear into the boat and fell exhausted onto the bench across from me and my dad. As terrible as we felt from our long days of travel, we were a picture of health compared to these guys. I leaned forward and said over the sound of the boat engine, “you oaky?”
A pause.
The other guy took off his sunglasses and groaned with bloodshot eyes, “Too many señoritas.” They were obviously having a completely different Mexico experience than we were.
anthony forrest
Though timely, this was written years ago.
An ocean’s length from here to there
Fighting rages beyond repair.
Scores of children—hungry, dying
Getting better? I would be lying
And every day—a money scare
all in a broken world.
A thousand miles away our leaders fright
In evil do these men delight
Money and power, money and power
Getting worse by the hour
Our country improve?
No, try they might.
all in a broken world.
Work now scarce and money too
Struggle comes with each day new
The cost of breathing rising, rising
This depressing world we are despising
So with each day that comes
Do I color it blue,
all in a broken world?
Apart from it all, here I sit
Admiring the morning, God’s sacred gift
A timber’s branch quivers when lands a bird
Then my fluffy friend jumps, leaving the branch undisturbed.
Misty fog gathers dripping from pines
All of these things sooth my mind.
My Creator comforts, loves, and cares
And cries, “Be still, My love I share!”
Comforting peace beyond understanding
His Holy Spirit forever now granting.
A simple life of loving God,
and God loving us is all we must do, live and trust
all in a broken world.
anthony forrest
They do that. We drink beer.
Warning: this story is political—but barely.
It was late and everybody was hungry. It was also cold. Tokyo, though sprawling, is easily walkable. Each section (or prefecture) can be reached quite simply by the extensive public transit, coursing through the metropolis like blood vessels carrying people to the vital areas of Tokyo.
We found our hotel after having walked too far. Tired feet, cold bodies, and empty stomachs make traveling the opposite of fun. To make matters worse, many shops and restaurants had already closed. We stumbled about Tokyo near Ueno Park for a half an hour before we walked by a dimly lit café down a dark side street. Elated, the four of us opened the door to the tiny diner to find only two other customers feasting on noodles and beer.
We sat down and a boisterous lady came to take our order. She reminded me of a classic diner waitress back in the US: pen in hair, notebook in hand, maybe smells like cigarettes, treats you like family, maybe is family, maybe her name is Marge. All of that—but Japanese. You get the picture.
She spoke no English.
We began grunting at pictures of food on the wall. Her clarifying questions were met with more guttural noises from us. Communication was going as well as could be expected.
Fortunately, a kind-hearted soul at the nearby table began translating for us. With food ordered I talked with our newfound friend.
“Where are you from? I asked.
He pointed to his chest and said, “China. Where you from?”
“United States”
“Oh, Donald Trump?” (His broken pronunciation of the President’s name sounded more like Donut Chum, but I digress.)
We all perked up and agreed. Why yes, we come from the land of Trump. A stern look crossed his face as he leaned in as if to tell us a secret.
“Trade war!” he growled.
Our smiles vanished and a silent pause hit the ceiling. His stern look quickly dwindled and he and his friend exploded into laughter. We all joined in.
“No, no. Is okay,” said he. “They do that… we drink beer.”
Across the Earth, there are people like us—people trying to enjoy life and carry on. As the world’s leaders play political crochet, there are noodles to eat, places to see, views to view, lives to live, and people to laugh with.
Don’t miss out.
anthony forrest
One day, I met another runner on a plane. We were both flying from Amsterdam. He was from Switzerland. This is our story.
Old Paths
New trails
Old places
New faces
Cobbled stones and an always hunger
Carry onward
These ever-moving feet
To places ancient and not well known
To different things
Far from home
Smiling faces moments ago foreign
Now chatting and laughing
A friendship is born
But onward now!
Different runs
Different races
Old paths
New trails
Old places
New faces
anthony forrest
Last morning in Thailand
It is our final morning. An early morning. I sit on a small wooden bench in a dimly lit kitchen. As the fog in my mind begins to drift away on the coffee river, I hear a bubbling silver pot protest loudly on top of the single propane burner below. It’s a stacked pot meant for steaming veggies and dumplings. Our hostess busily prepares a meal for the Buddhist monks that will soon pass by the house. I take another sip.
A voice interrupts the clanging pot.
“You want rice?”
Soon, I’m holding a small bowl and a curved rice spoon.
“You want egg?”
I know it’s not really a question as it is a declaration. Her voice once again announces that I should have steamed squash as well. I don’t fight it.
“It’s good!”
If her voice could be bottled it would be sweet and tangy. It’s that familiar musical accent on top of well-handled English.
As I tuck into my now heaving breakfast bowl, thoughts of this visit flood into my head.
The sights, smells, sounds; the learning had and the friendships built, all come together to construct a towering testament to what Thailand has meant us.
By which unit do I measure such an experience? Visiting Thailand has been so much more than taking pictures and eating noodle (though much of that happened). Our time has been filled with culture-steeped adventure and breathtaking views. But the relationships are what give a deep value to our visit to this amazing place. Staying in the home of our Thai friends, feasting off their kindness has nurtured our souls.
Land of Smiles? An understated fact. But also, a land of life—booming life. It is life lived out and displayed in a bright array of hospitality.
anthony forrest
My first post is an invitation. I will be sharing stories and poems that reflect places traveled and lessons learned. Won’t you join me?
To step out and leave—away!
To the elsewhere
Beyond the baseline—come!
Hand in hand we’ll share
In the going
To stride across the earth—away!
To the roads and skies
We’ll go on—come!
The learning sharpens eyes
And ears
To make the most of time—away!
To some other places
Near or far—come!
Discover hidden traces
Of you
anthony forrest