You and me we could take a slow boat to China
don't need an ocean liner it's only a stone's throw
where nothing would be finer
than to see all the tea in Shanghai flow
and share a Chinese takeaway in a hideaway
so if I know you that's where we'll go
and we'll run in the rain or sit soaking up the sun
there's only one thing when all is said and done
I'm the kind of feller who shares his umbrella
no strings attached let's see if we're matched
and if we're matched we'll have us some fun
it's no big to-do I only want fun with you
fun in the sun or under the moon
take it on the run whichever way it comes
or me and you too could sail slowly down the Nile
smiling all the while like a pair of crocodiles
and when we reach Cairo wave and say, "Hello,"
to the sphinx and the old Pharaoh
we'll keep it casual no 'putting on the Ritz'
come be with me then we'll see
if the shoe fits and if the shoe fits
when all is said and done yes it's true
I have to say every night and day
I only want fun with you
my third eye whisked my soul to Cairo
I had an eagle’s view of the pyramids
tasted grittiness of the sand on my tongue
camel sat and pondered my arrival
old Egypt is mystical and ethereal
sand birds accepted me as one of their own
we flew together over pharaoh’s tombs
I was home! I was home! I was home!
Close to a scandalous ten thousand,
A reproach to the late Reverend Townsend;
All with their advertising megaphones,
And big dreams-nursing microphones …
In my town of domicile
With odds one can’t reconcile
Which I had some time walked miles
With my job-hunting files
That rather handed me victorious counts
Of how their number mounts:
I tell you: A Religious Harassment,
An unendurable embarrassment;
Ten thousand, really a killing figure
For a town wielding not the circumference of Cairo
And herself not lending to vigour
Definable with honest biro …
I still maintain: gong hollowed-out halls,
No Rock Musician would try for his frenzied falls;
A good many of them: a late traveler’s tent,
Whose thanksgivings broadcast Satan’s intent …
Never could be God’s umbrella,
For the catholic Emmanuel and Emmanuella;
Nor altars for demonic exits
From Christ’s patronizing visits …
Christ’s salvation current;
Is unthinkable in rooms of high rent!
There was a young writer from Cairo,
So proud of his free flowing biro,
But he lost it in the sand
When a camel knocked his hand,
No longer his writing can flow so.
A block off the river
Just a step from the gutter
A bar that hadn't barred me, yet
I walked in for the first time
And knew I'd come home
A Lucy moment, lucid
In Cairo, Illinois
River town of bars and churches
One on every block
Like a chess match from hell
A queen in every bar
A bishop right next door
Pawns on every stool
Knights galore
I was the king of Cairo
My dive, The Castle
My move, fool's mate.
4/15/14
Limerick: Once a Belly-Dancer in Cairo
Once a Belly-Dancer in Cairo
Tried to wiggle her way through Fado
Only thing she had on
Was a navel button:
(Now) Fado mambo-jambo Oporto.
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2013
Limerick: Once a Belly-Dancer in Cairo
Once a Belly-Dancer in Cairo
Tried to wiggle her way through Fado
Only thing she had on
Was a navel button:
Now she wiggles in jelly limbo.
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2013
shrouded eyes glaring
menacing pushcarts skirting
pyramids hover
the solid structures
opens a sort of bliss
beneath cairo's lessons
the hardship of catered
gestures above a silver spoon
soiled linen long naps depicts
the empty soundless notions
a gentle force of completion
while the withered kindred
spirits soar across the sea
seeking wasted bread crumbs
and folded sheets
of racing thoughts captured
within a lessor mean
Written Mrs. Yolanda Joy Nicholsen
Await the zenith of the sun,
cross clay courtyard a beckoning
barefoot walked, heartstring undone,
Oh Lord, there’s love, no reckoning.
Soundless clarion of tears fall
toward absolution’s bright blessing,
within the domed sabil I call...
Oh Lord, there’s love, no reckoning.
The fountain's dry, but not my eyes
sounds of grace rebound, amazing,
Amazing Grace, sang such as I
Oh Lord, there’s love, no reckoning.
We are but one beneath the sun
for all our fears and wandering
all creation our companion...
Oh Lord, there’s love, no reckoning.
Let spirit rise on minaret
and phantom penitents come hieing
all is well, we are God’s get
Oh Lord, there’s love, no reckoning.
Peace is not a relationship of nations. It is a condition of mind brought about by a serenity of soul. Peace is not merely the absence of war. It is also a state of mind. Lasting peace can come only to peaceful people.
Jawaharlal Nehru (1889 - 1964)
Shall we meet in Cairo,
‘neath the ancient, mystified monuments
to forgotten love?
Halves rent apart worlds ago,
reintroducing first wild desire.
To explore scents exotic,
a tangible feast upon my tender breast,
tasting honeyed hips
with sugar-spoken lips
‘neath paled moonlight.
Trace silver tongued lines
across your dark, rippled chest
through blackest of night,
and lovely gold-hued thighs peruse –
sand and flesh abound -
as we forge a path throughout,
weaving through barriers of emotion,
layers of the heart.
Sip at my shaking breath,
consume my inhibitions,
slake my thirst upon your skin, and
consummate our hearts’ desire for
Morning comes so soon,
and we’ve not long to love.
Chase each other through markets,
now quiet behind veils,
love captured, entailed,
and granted.
And so, love,
if ever we shall meet in Cairo…
Standing in Cairo market
streets bustling
horns honking
children’s
laughter
ball throwing
heat simmering
the melting pot.
Caught
in between
ancient and modern
sellers market
wares and bargain
prices over jewels and silks
fruits and vegetables.
Something about Cairo
City Triumphant.
Sipping espresso at a near
by cafe in the
center of the bazaar.
Camels traded and sold
tips given by the owners.
Fine linens and silks
bangles and jangles of silver
copper, and gold jewelry.
Ceramics and glass jars
of all shapes and sizes.
Beautiful intricate artisanship,
music floats from the
music shops.
21st century effectual Pharaohs walk the
streets admiring the wares.
Where I have Paris on the Nile it
still runs cool to the touch.
Ancient Gates remain.
Cities of the Dead still hold their
legends with no refrain.
I see a silk scarf I have to
have a bangle or two and
some espresso for the road.
The jewel of the orient
holds her beauty well.
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.