December 25, 2004
Winter wonder land
Desert Christmas day; outside the wind is howling and sand has filled our living room in a millimetre or more of layered film. Thank you very much oh desert winds. We really appreciate that while we were trying to stay cool in the night WITHOUT the AC, leaving the balcony door open, that you would be so thoughtful as to blow wildly and steadily day for 24 hours and bring so much of the desert’s core into our living room. No really thanks.
Not a creature in the house is stirring, except me and my little son. Having fed and changed him I now entertain him By writing with a half a mind by computer and cooing alternately. Not even the unfortunate roach - that met is end by a special paste spread by anti-roach specialists last week – here at my feet, is stirring. It’s 14:00 on the 25th already and Everyone else… sleeps. Must now to the shouting of my son attend. Merry Christmas. It’s my turn because my wife is awful tired from three hours of sleep last night and because it’s the weekend.
Not a creature in the house is stirring, except me and my little son. Having fed and changed him I now entertain him By writing with a half a mind by computer and cooing alternately. Not even the unfortunate roach - that met is end by a special paste spread by anti-roach specialists last week – here at my feet, is stirring. It’s 14:00 on the 25th already and Everyone else… sleeps. Must now to the shouting of my son attend. Merry Christmas. It’s my turn because my wife is awful tired from three hours of sleep last night and because it’s the weekend.
December 01, 2004
Busy Busy Busy
Time stands still momentarily, impatiently,
Outside the walls of the desert city
And crys a peacefully sad mourning
To the cooling desert evening breeze.
Her voice carries
To the alert flicking ears
Of the tiger of Yemen.
He knows time’s mourning song
And his brown eyes blaze.
Flickering once, they focus now
On the end of the winding grey cable
Of progress, snaking its way
In the distance
Upwards and around Hafeet.
Times swoops and snatches smoothly
The tiger's soul is borne up
By respectful talons
Graceful dazzling falcon
Spreads its wings
Rides the inevitable current up.
Yes. Time it is, shape-shifted now
From and to and to and from
It's fateful winged hurtling heritage.
Upwards, upwards, up & up,
With one tiger's soul, claw-borne
Gently to the peak.
Presents his etched transparancy
To the desert there.
Sun rays warm the visible and invisible passages that meander
About and through the post-flight folding up of time's winged form.
Sun rays warm the visible and invisible passages that meander
About and through the transparent complexity of a bodiless tiger's soul.
The sun sets on time alighted there.
The sun sets on the tiger's soul there.
And the intensity of reflected
Desert evening heat
On the edge of Winter
Answers time's cry.
"We mourne our father's soul"
The father of the desert,
The tiger of Yemen,
Is resting at time’s feet
At the peak of Hafeet.
Time waits for no man.
The tiger of Yemen’s soul knows
In the desert,
Time too waits for no tiger.
"Thus we play the fools with time; and the spirits of the wise sit in the clouds and mock us"
Henry IV, Act ii, Sc.2
Outside the walls of the desert city
And crys a peacefully sad mourning
To the cooling desert evening breeze.
Her voice carries
To the alert flicking ears
Of the tiger of Yemen.
He knows time’s mourning song
And his brown eyes blaze.
Flickering once, they focus now
On the end of the winding grey cable
Of progress, snaking its way
In the distance
Upwards and around Hafeet.
Times swoops and snatches smoothly
The tiger's soul is borne up
By respectful talons
Graceful dazzling falcon
Spreads its wings
Rides the inevitable current up.
Yes. Time it is, shape-shifted now
From and to and to and from
It's fateful winged hurtling heritage.
Upwards, upwards, up & up,
With one tiger's soul, claw-borne
Gently to the peak.
Presents his etched transparancy
To the desert there.
Sun rays warm the visible and invisible passages that meander
About and through the post-flight folding up of time's winged form.
Sun rays warm the visible and invisible passages that meander
About and through the transparent complexity of a bodiless tiger's soul.
The sun sets on time alighted there.
The sun sets on the tiger's soul there.
And the intensity of reflected
Desert evening heat
On the edge of Winter
Answers time's cry.
"We mourne our father's soul"
The father of the desert,
The tiger of Yemen,
Is resting at time’s feet
At the peak of Hafeet.
Time waits for no man.
The tiger of Yemen’s soul knows
In the desert,
Time too waits for no tiger.
"Thus we play the fools with time; and the spirits of the wise sit in the clouds and mock us"
Henry IV, Act ii, Sc.2
