East of timbuktu


  • Deserted

    East of timbuktu

    Hut hut said my guide and the camel rose
    Lurching  into motion with the others
    In that steady plodding gate that camels have

    We had passed the red rust hills
    The only thing for days that set apart
    Dune from dune to dune of duns and grays

    Red they were and rust they were
    For they had been laid down in an age of iron
    Enough iron to have bled away my humanity

    You watch your shadow it’s the easy thing to do
    It puts your face farthest from the burning sun
    Undulating along sand and grit and no hint of wind

    We trod on down onto salt white flats
    Flat, and white forever and ever and ever
    Not even dunes just bits of bits welded into one

    White they were and salt they were
    For they had been laid down in an age of tears
    Enough to have drained away any remaining sorrows

    Night is abrupt and with it comes a wind
    And camps are made just as quick
    And hot tea ekes a little life back in

    We are somewhere east of Timbuktu
    I have faded, I am bled, I am bleached, I am lost
    I have searched for one and lost two
    I am somewhere east of Timbuktu

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    ginga commented on East of timbuktu


    This is so surreal that I can imagine that you have had this experience and if not , your imagination has convinced me so anyhow.A very interesting and educational poem about the desert and I have never visited one. ginga

    aesodstone commented on East of timbuktu


    Not much for commenting on peoples work, im not really sure why, but i read and then re-read this work..i like it- imagery and all that like everyone said but most of all; i felt. it made me feel solitude ,humbled in the vastness and beauty of the wasteland

    tenderpoison commented on East of timbuktu


    powerful imagery and an analogy I think you know I can relate to. the flow and rhyming are perfect, subtle but consistent and pull the reader from the first line...excellent writing. 10

    satch commented on East of timbuktu


    Wow! I have never ridden on a camel before but what a joyful ride! A well written poem of adventure, I enjoyed it very much'

    exotic commented on East of timbuktu


    Love the words, made travel to a place that I don't know yet. Different and artistic.

    A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness. It finds the thought and the thought finds the words.

    Robert Frost (1875-1963) American Poet.

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