Reflections on the Nile
Early morning on the sun deck
reedy shoreline sliding by.
Four thousand years compacted
in the actions on the land -
lone fisherman with graphite casting rod
another casting net,
shiny tractors working soil
donkeys in mango shade
Upstream, a busy urban skyline,
here, below, the floating green.
Away to right, the bombs of Gaza
(phosphorous eats through skin to bone),
off to left, Sahara void.
Bridges and power lines glided under.
Timeless waterway below.
While from minarets a calling
(electronically these days)
that the faithful count their blessings
and be thankful in their prayers
that four thousand years of conflict
has not engulfed their world today.
Wind-Blown Close to Gaza
On an island
what’s an offshore breeze?
What can the wind do
to the olive trees that
have been here
a thousand years or more?
And where will children go
to remember childhood
when the bombs stop falling
or the homes collapsing
and the olive trees
bear fruit again
in the onshore winds
of last year’s
memories?
This time is islanded;
these trees are stunted
children warped
a landscape wounded.
And the wind,
whichever way it comes,
seems now to only desiccate
our best intentions.
Mea Culpa
I just want to say
by way of some excuse
that I know better -
that trash doesn’t always
have to accumulate
by every roadway.
But more close to temporary home:
that my bar fridge
is not my personal resource
for over-priced cholesterol,
that lounging by the poolside
ostensibly tanning
my aged corpulence
will not excite sexuality
in younger onlookers,
and the ten or fifteen
sunset photographs
will never add some saintly aura
to the over-crowded albums
on my phone.
And yet …
I sure as hell
ain’t out there picking trash
along the shoulders of the road
with traffic doing a 100K or more,
so look ..
You wanna drink? My place or yours?
I’ll bring the chips and peanuts
and we’ll play pretend
the world is far far better
than it looks
through these our lenses
of delusion, arrogance
and relativity.
Death Grip
Ancient Egypt
was all about dying
and getting to meet the gods
and royal ancestors.
All the pyramids
all the temples
all the grand monuments
and statues and heiroglyphs and stories.
made one magnificent culture
dedicated to
an afterlife for pharohs.
So much of culture came
from this one narrow greeen
that etches on Sahara
such a narrow thread of life.
Astronomy, accounting,
architecture, farming, writing -
even surgery of sorts,
were harnassed all
in service to some grand mythology.
Modern Egypt lives
in motorways and dams
and international involvement;
but civil hierarchies still
are most observable.
Now cell phones with
a world of knowledge vie
with burkhas and niqabs
and quite modest dress
for half the human race
who really never asked
to be so "much protected,
cherished, loved, esteemed"
that any loose behaviour
(as defined by men, of course)
would be deemed illegal,
more than mere "improper"
and evoke stern consequences
of the law
that issues rules on fines
and lashes, prison time
and oftentimes forgiveness
for intemperate murder
by offended patriarchs.