ever an expat

~

i'm ever an expat,
this culture ain't mine;
a trip to my next stop,
a place in my mind.
this soil isn't home,
my soul it's on loan;
just looking for peace,
in a world upside down.

i'm a' travelin' light,
in pursuit of a song;
not seeking permission,
for my heart to belong.
my sole's intermission,
will only prolong,
finding the courage,
to write all my wrong.

surrounded by others,
with tickets defined;
you ask if my home's
at the end of the line?
no, i looked for a non-stop,
a grand destination;
my vocation mistaken,
a search has awakened.

i'm ever an expat,
in a culture not mine;
a trip to my next stop,
a place in my mind.
this soil isn't home,
my soul it's on loan;
still looking for peace,
in a world all gone wrong.

though ever a trav'ler,
and rarely at rest,
enjoying this journey,
my accepted success.
in losing i'm winning,
my end my beginning;
for my pain isn't gain,
til' i lose all the excess!

come fly with me,
in this quest to be free;
i'm prepared to let go,
of all that i've seen.
this my adventure,
a spirited venture;
perhaps solace i've sought,
appears in release!

i'm ever an expat,
in a culture not mine;
a trip to my next stop,
a place in my mind.
this soil isn't home,
my soul it's on loan;
i've finally found peace,
in the words of my song.

~

post script

I once wrote the following words to a dear friend in response to an article about childhood and belonging...

"it is said of men and women alike, one's latter years... those years when eyes betray, as often does one's strength, are years in which a sixth sense emerges, and with it a 20/20 vision; a hindsight that sees in its rearview mirror the beauty and wonder of life, of dots connected with its enigmatic smoke screen stripped away, its majestic tapestry coming into view... a blending of time and place where purpose and intention can become focused.

In physicality, I am 47 years removed from my host country, Japan, but here I am today, still feeling each point of these words, more poignantly than I'd like to admit!! In my more rational moments, I'd say I've moved on... in reality I often still feel stuck, unable to see my childhood as anything but a dream or another life... almost an outside-looking-in experience!"

Ever an expat, perhaps; peace and rest are elusive at best!

Gonna move to Qatar
ride in a gold Beemer
playin' songs for the Emir
on a ruby studded guitar.

Live in a silver highrise
go skiing in the desert
eat caviar for desert
singin' about the disenfranchised
and ruby studded guitars.

I'll be an expat in Doha
drinkin' with the monarchy
speakin' absolute malarkey
playin' tunes for all my brohas
on my ruby studded guitar
in Qatar.

r ~ 6/14/14

a man without a country is what he called himself, but this was his country, make no mistake. a man without a home, is what he meant. he overheard two girls joking a few years ago, they were saying what if we just lived in the tunnel, then we wouldn’t have to worry their voices bounced off the bricks, louder in that tunnel, where he was, where they wouldn’t have to worry but he did. he sighed into tobacco-yellow fingers. a few years ago, this was. a few years of rain and relentless seasons’ change and the kindness of strangers fewer and farther between and kids that will never be that way, that pretend they don’t hear him and they don’t see him and maybe they don’t. a few years of that’ll really take it out of you. his voice is deeper now from underuse and cold air and tobacco and being just so ******* tired. the kindness of strangers stops short of his hard palms most of the time. winter’s end just doesn’t feel like much anymore. a few years of that’ll really take it out of you.

Paratroopers free fall,
'chutes coiled and caught in a grease ball afro curl
reaching down perplexed ****** frames.
Diligent chortling mimes trapped in handmade indecision cages, tapping a telling tune of tired games played day after day.
A right brained boy with a head full of clout
miscommunication with a leftist expat from the north
to the south.
Jostled connections send out fizzling sentences
through blown speakers and an overheated circuit -
Bored of the excuses whispers the nameless
without a reason there isn't a purpose.
Shoot an accusing glare past Father Time
overlooking treasonous discouraging crimes
Open those whale blubber caked eyes
to the other side.
It's not what this has done to you
but what this has done to us.
The hitchhiker gave up, traded his thumb for a seat on the bus.
Never was he lost, but given more than one chance.
He, no, she, no we
were thrown away with his walking stick and his waterproof nap sack.
Will we cross this road again?
And pick up from where we began?
Or never turn back?
Always was he lost, but given one too many of a chance
But was it worth it?
Upholding the "right and proper" stance?

(Pentagon E-ring office—executive officer knocks & enters—General motions him in)

XO,
Explain
examinees...

                              Examinee
                              X-11,
                              Xander
                              Xanakis

Experience?

                              Explosives
                              expert.
                              Ex-Army.
                              Executive
                              experience

Exam?

                              Exceptional

Excellent!

                              Excessive

Exessive?
Explain

                              Extreme
                              xenophobe

(expletive)
Exclude

                              Examinee
                              X-12...

Xavier
Xanthopoulos...

Experience?

                             Expert—
                             extraction,
                             exfiltration.
                             Ex-Navy,
                             Executive
                             Experience

Exam?

                             Excelled

                             Extracuricular
                             extras...

Explain

                             Expat,
                             X-games,
                             xylophone...

Expat?

                             Xalapa

(chuckling)
X-games,
xylophone—
(laughs)
X-Factor!

                             (XO nods his head, smiling)

Xenophobic?

                             (shaking head)
                             Xenodochial.
                             Exeptionally
                             xenophilic!

Expectations?

                             Exceeds
                             Expectations

Excellent!

XO,
exclude
examinee
X-11...

                              Excluding
                              Xander
                              Xanakis

Expedite
Xavier
Xanthopoulos

                              Expediting
                              examinee
                              X-12

XO,
excused

                               (XO exits)



© 2020 by Mark Toney.  All rights reserved.

a raft     I did not build

-

a late entry
thunderstorm

-

a baby    
     waving around

another
baby’s
sock

-

the poverty I own

     the poverty
you

-

a man
on all fours

     a tinier
woman
rider

-

a kite’s shadow

on leave

-

expat nations

I met a girl named Alice Klar
She was the finest girl I saw
We made my day all bright and nice;
About the night I can’t speak at all!

Alice played with words all day
She’d find some Wort and write a play
To Lebenstraße she’d walked just twice
Even though I’d beg and though I’d plea

But I can’t recall for the life of me
Why that day Alice stopped for tea
Running along she’d chase the mice
Until they fell into the Spree

I’d always worried that her talcum hair
Would bring on suitors far more fair
But I never imagined that her vice
Would be an expat Fräuline eating rice

Amid the essence of food and the summer heat
When there in the Platz the two did meet
And a strong stark woman with heart of ice
Swept Alice Klar up off her feet

Since that day I’ve had no song in heart
Except for brats and hounds that bark
It’s now despite want of love and spice
Her memory fades into the dark

Still I have hope though you may scoff
That this man I am can surely boff
Another ribald maiden low in price
Then that old ***** Alice I can write off!

Nomadic life is what I know.
As early as age 9, I lived the life of a nomad.
Changed schools 4 times,
then dorm life at the college,
and flew over to the other side of the Atlantic for the grad school,
which kicked off my official expat life, lasted till this day.

"Home" has been a concept I questioned a lot.
A lot.
Home is where the heart is, they say.
True maybe, but what about the logistics side of things?
Which address to give to the tax office,
if you don't know where you might be in the next 3 months?
Or who will be your emergency contact,
when continents separate you from all the familiar faces?

Nomadic life is what I know.
Pack light, travel far.
The only thing I need in my carry over,
is the faces and places that changed me,
and gave me the gift of a nomadic life.

the sleepwalker and the hangman jumping rope in the town of the sheepish tornado where the church of two birds admits the child of the expat exile into the afterlife of a stone…

Been an expat all my adult life,
It wouldn't be shocking to say that
I never knew where my home is.

There is the home of my family, my childhood memories,
There is the home I built around a job,
In a country far away from where I opened my eyes to this world.
Yet something was missing in both,
Not knowing what, 
Till we met for the first time, at Dulles.

That was the first time we saw each other in flesh.
You hugged me so hard, 
And held my hand,
Never to let go.
And I realized you were my home,
For the name you have, Ev, meaning "home" where I come from.

Some people don't pray
Some people can't

I'm stayin' with Aunt Sally
But ya know she's not really my aunt

Food truck tonight
Baton Rouge, Louisiana

Been to New Orleans once
Never Texarkana

Not really a southerner
Though I've lived years in the South

At times not even American
Despite such sounds from my mouth

More like an expat
Wandering Bangkok to Rome

Human life is exile.
Where, O where is home?