The Daily Poem

KILIMANJARO LET ME COME

O Kilimanjaro let me come

    up your slopes and all the way.

Mti Mkumbwa, Shria Two,

    then an acclimatization day

Up to Lava Tower's height

    and down to Barranco where we'll stay.

Then off again for an easy stroll

    to Haranga Valley's sleep and play.

Then fully rested and acclimatized,

    to Barafu Hut at forty-eight.

And then the grueling midnight trek

    to Uhuru for a brief parlay,

Then two days down through Mweka Hut

    back to Springland's sweet chalet.

O Kilimanjaro let me come

    up your slopes and all the way.

D. Edgar Lamp

The Daily Poem - 471

Monorhyme

Shira II Camp (3800 meters)

Day 2 - Lemosho Route

Mt. Kilimanjaro, Tanzania

IN THE COURTYARD OF SILENCE

What high and holy crimes you paled

    behind these convent walls;

Those innocent novitiates,

    whose wailing midnight calls

Unheeded, took as needed coin

    to paint your lofty halls,

Their minds undone in solitude

    to hollow-headed dolls

To walk within your stealth of sin

    confessing all the galls

Of adolescent flesh and blood

    till righteousness enthralls,

Ineffable the spirit binds

    in tethered mental stalls.

May God have mercy on your soul

    you cruel collective beast

Who takes the lives of little girls

    the least of all the least

To suck their tender frames of flesh

    as morsels for your feast

Of haunted holy sacrilege

    for Mother One and priest

Who tie the barbs between their legs

    till pain and piety are greased

Together, rolled into a flame

    of demon-dusted yeast

To make your bread, your faceless host,

    till lives of death have ceased.

D. Edgar Lamp

The Daily Poem - 413

Monorhyme

Arequipa, Peru

Lat: -16.40, Long: -71.54

JOURNAL: Casa Arequipa

We spent the day walking around the city center of Arequip, Plaza de Armas, and visiting the famous Monesterio de Santa Catalina.  We took the one hour tour, and then spent another couple hours on our own.  What an awesome place, both beautiful and beastly, sacred and sad.  Our guide, a soft-spoken graceful Peruvian girl, in careful English told us about the lives of the girls in this place who came at age twelve and stayed until death.  The description of their first four years as novices was simply horrible.  Left in a single room for 22 hour a day; one hour in the chapel for mass, and one hour to walk the four sides of the Courtyard of Silence to recite the titles of the 55 paintings that surrond the courtyard.  Fifty-five, the number of beads on a rosary--ten Hail Marys to one one Our Father five times over.

Tradition dictated that the families first born daughter would marry; the second would become a nun, and third would stay home to care for the parents.  I kept thinking of my three daughters: Kim allowed to marry, Ellie sent to the Monasterio de Santa Catalina, and Stephanie kept at home as a parental caretaker.  I kept thinking of Ellie being locked away in this place.  It made my skin crawl and my spirit wither.  How could such things be done in the name of righteousness and piety?  How could such physical neglect and abuse be heaped upon these little girls in the name of Jesus Christ?  But truthfully I felt little of the spirit of Jesus, as I know it, in that place.  More than anything, it seemed an abommination, a twisted assylum, a self-inflicted holocaust of mental illness.  And yet, it was so peaceful, so beautiful in many ways.  A strange combination.  Where is the joy of the Lord?  Where is the peace that passeth understanding?  Where is the brotherly and sisterly love?  Where are the songs of praise?  Where is the easy yolk and the light burden?  Where are little children sitting on the lap of a loving Jesus?  No love could I find there, no peace and assurance, no joy, no hope, no light, no life.  I know that the Catholic faith is considered Christian, but how could I ever haveI fellowship with those who condone such barbaric practices?  I know it's a place of the past, but what of the present?  What has really changed?  Tears well in my eyes for all those little girls stolen away from life.  It makes me angry to no end.  I would rather have died than to have given my little 12-year old Ellie-Boo into the care and keeping of this monstrous place.  We ate lunch there, at a small round table in a gardened courtyard; a most delicious meal.  Unlike any meal, to be sure, ever served to a nun in this place.    

~ The Daily Poet

TWO SLEEPERS

This is the ocean

    Wide and deep,

Where swimmers swim

    And creepers creep,

Where floaters float

    And leapers leap,

With an island where

    Two sleepers sleep.

D. Edgar Lamp

The Daily Poem - 381

Monorhyme

Bridgetown, Barbados

Lat: 13.10, Long: -59.61

JOURNAL: Croton Inn Guest House 

AM: It's morning in Marigot.  I woke up feeling...well.  Aaah!  I'm so grateful to be feeling good again.  And the day looks equally clean and clear.  Our last day in Dominica.  Mimi's sad to be leaving Rashawna.  Over coffee we watched the BBC reporting the 8.4 Japan Earthquake and the insuing tsunami; the largest quake since the 1890s.  Incredible pictures.  Having watched 2012 on TV last night, the imiages were startlingly similar.  By the time we get to Japan in December, things will likely be back to normal.  Glad we missed the Big Quake.  We're also happy to have missed the Big Storm in the Southern U.S. that struck last week.

PM:  Hugged Rashawna goodbye and boarded flight 563 to Barbados. Smooth skies all the way. As we were taking off I saw a whale. The cloud formations were beautiful. At the airport in Bridgetown we exchanged $300 into Barbados Dollars. Current exchange rate of $1.00 US to $1.98 BD. Cost us $5.00 US to make the exchange. Mimi talked to the lady at the tourist info booth her suggested we try a Guest House rather than a hotel. Caught a taxi from the airport to Croton Inn for $31 BD. Barbados is an older island than the main chain of islands that make up the Lesser Antilles, and so, being old, it is flat. Worn by wind and waves to 14 by 21-mile bean shaped island. The ride across town was civilized and uneventful. The traffic moves in an orderly fashion along streets wide enough for two cars to easily pass each other in opposite directions without one having to go off into the rough to get around. Everyone speaks perfect English. We had obviously landed in a different country, a world away from the primitive settings of Dominica. We took one of two apartments for $20 BD move than the usual $110 BD guest house fee. Consequently we have our own bathroom and kitchen complete with sink, stove, fridge, microwave and toaster. Mimi said, “At these rates I could afford to live while you go off and do your adventures.” I think she’s has resigned herself to having to spending some alone time while I travel through some countries that she doesn’t want to go through. I feel ambivalent about that. I really want to make this trip with Mimi as my daily companion. I’ve already got Kilimanjaro and Everest Base Camp that are going to take me away from her for a week or two each. We’ll see how things unfold.

We dropped off our luggage and caught a bus (bus meaning van just the same as in Dominica) and rode the short distance up the coast to Oistins for a fish dinner. This was definitely tourist central. There were people from all over; but mainly from Britain, France, and America. It’s an open-air food-court style two-block stretch of eateries, arts and crafts booths and picnic tables. We chose the longest line and got in it; a place called Angels with whole fish frying on the grill in front of the order window. After a good half hour wait we finally made it to the window. We both had Flying Fish, Macaroni Pie, Coleslaw, and Garlic Bread. Since I’d already had my fill of pre-flight punch at the airport in Dominica, I ordered a couple of waters and Mimi got a large glass of Mango Passion Fruit juice. As we left Oistins, a crowd had gathered by a stage where a young Barbadian was doing a spot-on impersonation of Michael Jackson to the tune of Billy Jean. We paused and watched a few minutes and then caught the bus back our Bridgetown apartment. Mimi turned on the TV to channel 8; turns out the only channel available, and hopped in the shower. I lay back on one of the two twin beds under the ceiling fan and sighed. Here we are in Barbados!

~ The Daily Poet

FACEBOOK CLEANSE

I'm dizzy from Facebook from so many friends,

From who's got the Beamer and who's got the Benz,

From poking and tagging, from odds and from ends,

My skin's got this pallor, my hair's got split ends,

I'm weaker of eye and I'm thicker of lens,

And who is that girl with those gifts that she sends,

I'm backlogged and bloated and ready to cleanse.

D. Edgar Lamp

The Daily Poem - 333

Monorhyme

Idyllwild, California

Lat: 33.74, Long: -116.70

JOURNAL: Up late into the wee hours last night.  Slept in until 1015.  Worked on RTW Itinerary.  Started painting the block wall behind the washer/dryer with DryLock in homes that whatever water seeps into the bricks won't leak out.  Suddenly so sleeply.  Took a nap on the couch for a couple hours.  Got up and painted for a while longer.  Played Canasta again with Mom and Mimi.  Now that Twinkle is being reconditioned into an indoor cat, she's eating more often, probablyout of boredom.  She sits at the window watching the squirrels.  Sometimes she lets out a mournful meow, longing for the good old days when she used to roam with her mother on the hillside.  While I was painting, Mom shared lyrics she had written for Dad in 1948 when they were engaged.  The lyrics were sung to the tune of "The Man In The Flying Trapese."

"CAMPING SONG"

On a limb of a sapling beside a blue lake,

We'll hang our toothbrushes together and take

A rest from the toil of a wearisome world,

Your beard won't get shaved and my hair won't get curled.

We'll eat with two spoons from a hot frying pan,

No dished to wash just throw out the can.

~ Trudie Lamp © 1948

FANATICAL SABBITICAL

Some say it isn't practical,

A deviance statistical,

A blunder economical,

A notion quite fantastical,

To search for something magical

In regions dripping tropical

By means both loose and nautical,

For ends both Ant and Arctical,

But mostly astronomical

And surely an irrational

Fanatical sabbatical.

D. Edgar Lamp

The Daily Poem - 310

Idyllwild, California

Monorhyme

JOURNAL:  Mimi made breakfast of noodles & eggs. A lazy day overall.  Got a massage from Judy Way.  Came home and had some of left over soup and paid bills by the fire.  Mom came up for a while.  She fingered through the pics on my droid, amazed at the technology of digital storage and retrieval.  Tomorrow I begin my year-long sabbatical.

NOBODY-ME

I've worked really hard for some thirty-six years,

With nothing to show but my sweat & my tears,

My arm in the dike of my terrible fears,

That slipping I'll fall into woeful arrears,

As everyone whispers their soul-freezing jeers,

With hands over faces so "nobody" hears—

I'll know that it's "me" as my life disappears.

written in Rancho Mirage, California

in Monorhyme

for The Daily Poem

on October 4, 2010

by D. Edgar Lamp

THE OLD TELESCOPE

I found the old telescope under the chair.

I looked all around, but no one was there.

I lifted the scope for an eye full of stare,

And heard a thin voice from out of thin air.

I heard the voice say, "You'd better beware.

Before you start gazing, you'd better prepare.

A Time Telescoper may give you a scare

Unless you're a man who can do and can dare."

"I am," I replied.  "And in truth I declare,

The future is something I'm ready to square,

To tie up its braid in a ribbon with flair,

And let it reveal every step, every stair,

All the way down from here to where

I'm sitting alone in a telescope chair,

Watching the future I knew wasn't fair,

Finding myself the unfortunate heir

Of a Time Telescoper beyond all compare.

But now it's become an alarming affair,

I see myself watching me looped in despair;

Finding that telescope under that chair,

Looking around to find nobody there,

Lifting the scope to my eye for the rare

Glimpse of Future that none can repair.

I wish I had taken the Time to prepare.

I can't stop me watching myself isn't there.

~ D. Edgar Lamp (Monorhyme)

THE DRAGON SLAYER’S DREAM

Over and under and onto the lips of a

   cinnamon whisper repeating my name,

Lying in treasure retrieved from the dragon who

   ranges no longer with sulfurous flame,

Bathed in the sweetness of feminine wonder and

   drunk with the splendor of victory’s fame,

Bring me the night with a draft of intoxicants

   poured by the hand of a delicate dame.

Mine is the somnolent comfort of warriors who

   back from their battles just barely alive,

Bandaged and soothed by remarkable maidens whose

   natural endowment has made them revive.

Mine is the knowledge incredibly strange that a

   man such as I could endeavor and strive,

Facing the dragon that no one could conquer and

   betting by Thunder I’d never survive.

Here in the hall of the heroes and saints who by

   virtue and might everlastingly stay,

Wreathed in the garlands of demigod glory and

   ever with honor receive what they may,

Nothing forbidden to heighten the senses and

   dazzle the mind in euphoria’s play,

Leave me to drown in this heaven of incense with

   never another behemoth to slay.

~ D. Edgar Lamp (Monorhyme)

WAXING GIBBOUS

She's waxing gibbous like the moon

On nano-matters picayune,

Her stellar poppycock platoon

Is out en force this afternoon,

Inspecting each spermatozoon,

An inventory none too soon,

Preparing for the great monsoon

Within her brimming silver spoon,

The howling wind her favored tune

To crack the peaceful night's cocoon

And cause the lunar gods to swoon.

~ D. Edgar Lamp (Monorhyme)