Two for the Price of... None

Tourists don't know where they've been; travelers don't know where they're going.

Upon My Wall

I sit and stare at it upon my wall-
board the closest ship
voyage through the North Atlantic
try the Indian ocean again
no stopping until the shores of Asia
recollect the sun going down over West Africa
never disappointed

green fields of Ireland have still gone unseen
maybe onward to County Clare
roots also lead to farm lands of Germany
house built in the hillside waits to be photographed

infinite places to go
even more stories to craft
drinks to share, cuisines to try
laughs to hear, images to capture

but longer the stare, bigger it seems
longer I’m away, more I’m drawn toward where I started

-not time yet anyhow,
pins hold the old crinkled map
along with my dreams
upon the wall.

Backless Stool

Shadows slowly emerge on the dirty kitchen floor
from the coming of the morning sun
dew rests on a few colorful arrivals
cared for garden beds lay quietly
the old babushka creaks by on her antique bicycle
hum of the ancient refrigerator is heard over the neighborhood dogs
whose cries announce their presence on this Soviet block
birds slowly congregate in the trees across the street
as do faithful believers of the little blue church with the golden dome
whilst their melodies flood out the cracked windows
smell of cheap coffee lingers in the air
the cool breeze floats into the still slumbering flat
on my backless stool I gaze out the window
I wait patiently for my most desired morning company;
her name is April.