STELLA JONES
Bangkok
The ground was hot,
rubber melting hot
of the rainbow taxis.
Softened by a sticky smog,
the city fought the sky.
Where she slept,
shoes side by side
on the pavement.
No pillow,
but hands soft
from massage oils.
Life moved,
paid no attention,
and I wondered,
does she dream,
did she feel me
walk through?
Here spiritualism
is masked
by the roar of lights,
the smell of exhausts,
thick as the feathers
of ostrich-plumed men,
criss-cross dressers
extraordinaire.
And I jumped.
From their silver
spangled platforms,
into experience.
Girl in a Pool Bar
Blue-black hair
frames eyes.
Full lips
frequently licked
over – and over
the whitest of teeth.
She watches;
counting time,
counting drinks.
A play of hands
cover the smile,
shade a laugh
as her body
moves
towards him.
Hard to see
any blush;
easy to watch
the scorpion tattoo
wiggle
as her fingers tease,
touch his face.
Stella Jones lives on the Wirral in the UK, and is married with two grown sons. She has been writing poetry for about twelve years and is a regular performer on the open mike scene. She has co-miked poetry nights with the aim of encouraging new and established poets to perform before an audience. Stella has been involved with the Wirral Festival of Firsts and other poetry events which bring the world of poetry to the public. She has been lucky enough to be published by a variety of magazines and her work appears in several anthologies. She has also enjoyed some success in poetry competitions. At present Stella is discovering the delights of tanka.
