We left the red ironstone mountains
That left compass needles swinging wildly
South across the arid plain
Well marked with the sun whitened bones
Of unfortunate travellers.
The camels adopting that rolling swinging gait
That so suitably names them ships of the desert.
South with the sun by day
And stars by night.
When sky and sun turned bright orange
We knew trouble loomed.
For three days the sandstorm blew.
We sheltered in the circle of huddled camels.
The arabs have a moral code
Whereby murder is condoned
After three days of continuous sandstorm
As he productof a deranged mind.
In the unnatural calm of the fourth day
All was sere, all landmarks obliterated
The dunes knife-edge ridged.
Two camels lay dead.
At the next oasis a small heap of skeletons
Bore evidence of the poisoned water hole.
A serpent slid from the eye socket
Of a bleached scull.
Two days later we saw the mirage of a walled city.
But it was no mirage
We had at last reached
The brown mud walls of Timbuktu.
A contest entry
- From Here to Timbuktu by ea.
600 points, ended August 11, 2007, 6 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
-
ah the traveller, and how he suffers so whilst moving through life and indeed death. an energetic penning.
-
this is a vibrant portrayal of the travelor's hardship-- the detail of how murder is condoned under such conditions is fascinating -- and the tone you set for the deranged nightmare, rescued at last by the actual arrival in the city makes for a lively read- Thank you.
-
Fabulous story. I had no idea there was a real place baring that name. This was like watching a senerio unfold in fact. Wonderful,I adored reading this interesting piece.
Adding your comment:
