OPEN SCREEN - EL GAMALAYA

The boys bunch  in the dark, shift on threaded palm and stones,
a cigarette passes from one small hand to another,
a banding together of fingers around fire and ash -
affirmation of a tribal pact, rodent eyes veiled in smoke. 
A voice calls.  "Put that cigarette out!”  They sulk,  tilt on chairs,
cartwheel a dog-end into jasmine, snarl at the film,
then rise, faces caught in the flickering light, old and shuttered, 
balanced on frail, birds’ cages. They are  a feral pack leaving,
moving as one, a hunch of waves turning. In the street,
they straighten, lords of a famished kingdom, kicking cats. 









More of my poetry can be read on http://www.odyssey.com, http://www.chanticleer-press.com/, http://www.vivimusmag.com/poetry.html

FALLING ONTO ALEXANDRIA

I hover above the city, wingless,

every bone as thin as string,
taut as an horizon. Below - 
a crumbling labyrinth of catacombs,
streets of fading Greek and French,
a Jew hobbling, the scent of sea,
brickdust rising in a desert wind.      

I was there once, earthbound,
rooted in your hand, tamed by crumbs,
shedding songs for  you of love
and  distant lands. I curved my eyes 
around your limbs, your kisses  lay 
like prayer beads on my skin.
You were my spell, my augury of loss.

In a lens of refracted light beyond sight,
I see your heart, a bruise, incurable, 
never  hushed, tucked inside you,
a knife in a sheath, ticking as you
stalk the streets - a skilfully
moving dream hunting sex.

You watched me once - a scandalous 
leaving - sifting through the slats of 
shutters, floating  from the terrace, 
my backward glance, a broken arrow. 
One day I’ll return: a windblown hag
falling from the sky, an aborted planet,
landing where the bay curves and
the candy floss seller blows his horn. 
You won’t know me.
 




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More of my poetry can be read on http://www.odyssey.com, http://www.chanticleer-press.com/, http://www.vivimusmag.com/poetry.html












 


 

DOWN THE BARREL OF A GUN

These guys hang out round the corner from me, along with the barbed wire, humvees and a couple of tanks. I'm getting used to looking down the barrel of a gun as I walk to the Metro, though most of the time I take the long way round to avoid it. Tomorrow there'll be 350,000 of these little cuties on duty for the voting on Egypt's draft  constitution - just in case there's a spot of bother from someone with an opinion. Hopefully, they'll be like the guys around the corner, making tea on the pavement, texting and chatting on their mobiles. But with Egypt's security chief  doing a post 9/11 George Bush v Al Qaeda, they might not have time for tea.   "I am telling them, (protesters) they will be faced with force, decisiveness and strength never seen before," interior minister Mohammed Ibrahim  said on state TV on Monday. "Everyone rest assured, we are watching your back." 

To show the military-backed government  means business, at least seven peaceful activists from the Strong Egypt party  are now facing  criminal charges, apparently for hanging posters calling for a “no” vote in tomorrow's  referendum.  Ironically, Article 65 of Egypt’s draft constitution states that “[a]ll individuals have the right to express their opinion through speech, writing, imagery, or any other means of expression and publication.” It's a bit like giving someone who's broke a £50 note and then telling them its counterfeit. 

Foriegners have either left Cairo or are barricading themselves in for the two day referendum with chocolate and movies. The city itself is quiet, although there are an awful lot of dogs barking. Shops closed early and the streets are emptier than usual. For some reason, I keep hearing this sentence in my head, much quoted by my mum, "If only I had learnt to say No, I wouldnt be in this mess."

REFLECTION

Suddenly,  her face in glass,
an old moon rising,
tide tired.
Her eyes, like a child that cannot find her. 





























 More of my poetry can be read on http://www.odyssey.com, http://www.chanticleer-press.com/, http://www.vivimusmag.com/poetry.html

SNOW IN CAIRO

All that is ugly shivers, unprepared for beauty.
Rubbish mounds,  frozen cats, broken chairs 
swell to soft round hips, building sites pose in lace,

pyramids shine, ghostly. Minarets plume the sky
The city is a stranger.
  

People  huddle around  televisions, 
watch snow  flakes herd across the screen.
People hang from windows, drink snow like milk.
It’s unbelievable, they say. A miracle.
They drive  to see the snow, parking where
the city expires in frosted breath,

stand on ledges of forgotten space,
pale mutations of themselves, still and silent,
marvelling  at cold ash drifting - a soft caul
of  something newborn, nameless, voiceless,
a forgotten god, 
 
until, the children run, galaxies riding their backs, 
shoes biting ice, waving  palms
wreathed in crystal, tasting sky - expecting sugar.
The curtain thickens, snowballs fly,
a  snowman stares, stone eyed
at footprints gouging, the caul splitting.
A terrible silence is born.
 

More of my poetry can be read on http://www.odyssey.com, http://www.chanticleer-press.com/, http://www.vivimusmag.com/poetry.html

IN El FOUAD STREET

Is it you I pass 
in  a cafe in  El Fouad street,
raising a  cup to your lips?
An act of practised charm
assuming beauty, posed 
at a chipped table,
a ghost wearing
whatever memory has 
dragged from its wardrobe.
We are too long apart now, 
for anything to matter,
yet, your eyes looked 
as they always did when 
my back was turned, spiteful -
talons settling on my shoulder.











More of my poetry can be read on http://www.odyssey.com, http://www.chanticleer-press.com/, http://www.vivimusmag.com/poetry.html

GRAFFITI

Come when the street is silent

and there is no witness.

Park your vans.

Raise your ladders.

Bring out the cans

of  white paint.

Blast your blizzard

over me. That’s right.

Obliterate my wings.

My black-brush words.

My martyrdom. That’s right.

You did it before

with bullets and guns.

My mother takes a knife.

Scratches at my burial.

Turns my shroud to dust

until an eye emerges,

 radiant, a skylight in the wall.

More of my poetry can be read on http://www.odyssey.com, http://www.chanticleer-press.com/, http://www.vivimusmag.com/poetry.html