Maybe men labored under a yellow sky
bent under barley sheaves they’d cut,
returned behind limestone walls and leaned
to splash water on each other at the well.

You can see its crumbling curve today, in one
city as old when Cheops' pyramid was built
as pyramids are to us right now.  
Jericho, not so far away from Egypt and,

our archaeologists tell us, likely really didn’t hear
the blare of Joshua’s trumpets shuddering down
old Canaan-cursed by-Noah, coaxing walls
to shudder, teeter, list from Israelite raids.

You see one barley-bearer shaking dry,
descend  stair-tunnels to his flat to kneel
before his hungry daughter, hungry wife,
waiting for evening’s barley bread to cool.

He joins as they resume their business of the day
to gently set the cowrie eyes in Grandma’s face,
two priests removed the rest of her last year,
but left the precious head to decompose at home
scented in the wall with sweet Netufian herbs,

And now the family gathers near small fire,
desert nightbreeze filtering through the cracks
tenderly to soften Mother’s bony head
with daubs of plaster re-create her nose,

and gaping eye sockets, softening too
those black orbits with white plaster.
Slowly her death’s head touched tenderly
by younger finger tips becomes
something like a human head again,

If not quite living, cowrie shells complete
this vision of a vacant queenly stare
befits a family shrine. When things are done,
small granddaughter now squeals with delight
her own dark eyes reflect the fire-light.

Sleepy blue ocean
Hiding in a cowrie shell
I heard her snoring

Memory takes me back to long ago, I can see the deck of the slave ship  I came on smell the salt air and hot vinegar used to clean away the escaping stench below decks hear the sound as male  slaves exercise as crew members play fiddler music while chains thud hard from dancing amusement my home was near the River Senegal on  the coast  the slave traders  ships brought brightly colored cloth beads *** cowrie shells to trade for our black flesh father raised cattle  rice maize this ebony man traded for muskets gunpowder needles colored thread for what he grew on the day of our capture we marched  during the long day tied to each other  given only thin meal and warm water tiredness bore down on our limbs each step canoes came on sea waves toward us fear moved down the chained line men women children were separated our clothes were taken  standing naked mouths were opened skin and muscles felt we had to jump up  and down while moving  arms  chosen ones were branded with hot irons marking each one cold wet cloths applied to the brand on the seared skin  I scream loudly until my voice refuses sound the time for hearing is gone rapid  waters fill with blood as some are tossed into sea for circling sharks to dine on the ship offers only sixteen inches to hold me  others have two and a half inches if tightly packed bodies are in the hold secured down my chain is nailed dimness cries of agony beat on my ears like drums I try not to breath in the rancid smells of those who have soiled themselves air is limited I wait  for my body to die like my mind and soul we sail  for slave ships must leave immediately before sickness breaks out if that happens slaves will mutiny uprising usually takes place within the shoreline when neared at sea chances are less to leave slaves who simply refuse to eat are force feed with the speculum oris  which is placed in the slave's mouth opening the jaws then food is pushed in usually rice or millet crew members wash away stench of blood  from floggings feces ***** from between decks the stink of vinegar drying in sun is as bad living is sometimes harder than dying

Memory takes me back to long ago. I can see the deck of the slave ship I came on, smell the salt air and the hot vinegar used to clean away the escaping stench below the deck, hear the sound as male slaves exercise, as crew members play fiddle music while chains thud hard from the dancing amusement of the slaves. My home was near the River Senegal on the coast. The slave traders ships brought colered cloth, beads, ***, and cowrie shells to trade for our black flesh. Father raised cattle, rice and maize.  This ebony man traded muskets, gunpowder, needles and colored thread, for what he grew.  On the day of our capture, we marched during the long day tied to each other, given only thin meal and warm water. Tiredness bore down on our limbs each step. Canoes came on waves toward us.  Fear moved down the chained line of men. Women and children were separated. Our clothes were taken.  Standing naked, mouths were opened, and muscles felt. We had to jump up and down while moving our arms. Chosen ones were branded on the skin.  I screamed loudly until my voice refuse sound.  The time for hearing is gone.  Rapid waters filled with blood, as some are tossed into the sea, for circling sharks to dine on. The ship offers only sixteen inches to hold me, others have two and half inches if tightly packed. Bodies are in the hold, secured down by chains that are nailed. Faint cries of agony beat on my ears like drums.  I try not to breath in the rancid smells of those who have soiled themselves.  Air is limited.   Mutiny usually takes place within the shoreline. Because when at sea chances are less to escape.  Slaves who simply refuse to eat are force fed with the speculum oris which is placed in the slave's mouth, opening the jaws then food is pushed in usually rice or millet.  Crew members tried wash away stench of blood from floggings, feces, ***** from between decks until this day the stench still remains. Living as a slave while your soul is dead is a living horror.

Bar me off, Useless! Cryin' a'sighin'– over cliffs, over.
She caught me a'whisperin' at the docks! Far, yea, far;
And when did compersion to the western wayside go?
Feeling let down. Staircase is a'goin' for a day or two!

Distance between two points. Farther, father, fathoming depths.
Low, now! Lower bent! –you, so far bent, did ask him so.
"Chief Joseph– St. Joseph– Won't he have word with me?
Nonsensical, man. Understand! If only for a day or two."

Yea, some men never call. Some callers a'callin' do.
Blue collared jazz blues– You saving it for the morning?
Where the sea meets the land. Find him by the cowrie reef–
I say that's unnecessary. Stand by me for a day or two!

And them stories be so far bent,
all a'tellin' them so:

He fell out! What a falling out!
Talked about for years to come!
And hear they come 'round the bend–
Lessening distance between points. I see horizon.
O' horizon! Yonder horizon! And the sun all arisin' be!

Huddlin'– All huddled like. Beneath the comet's tail she caught me.
Found me all a'whisperin' at the docks...        and            I             say:

*"Seaside, O' Seaside! Beneath them netherskies you wait. Yea, if a fool's never foolish are his thought's so foolish, see– I never felt so transfixed. Them waters got a depth to them– Therein lies weight. I talk to still paintings– none be a'talkin' back to me! Minds racing backwards. Would you listen to that still? Silence, she finds me in unnerving non-natural states. Psychosis takes a seat. They say them waters at the western wayside foam! A real, true foam! Froth and cough into your sleeve, white foam! Kiss me on the lips and tell me secrets for a day– Frenzy! Riot on! Whitewaters, subtle sexes, and a midnight matinee. I say what a night– What a comet's shone today!"

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

                   Social Distancing is a Gilligan’s Island Re-run

Because the CV has cancelled new shows
And yet another Monday night football game
Life is a Gilligan’s Island re-run
Until for non-payment the service is stopped

For we are all on an island of isolation
Even if the Professor builds us a TV
Of palm leaves, cowrie shells, and Ginger’s pins
While Mary Anne crochets a mask for her navel

Maybe a ship will rescue us today
But will it take us back to where we were?

who wears a cowrie shell on her locks,
She whom eyes sparkle in the morning sun,
She whom sky clears at her smile,
She whom is calm and tranquil as lake Ellis.
  Her walk like a brazen gazelle,
Her statute an inspiration to sculptors,
Her voice an invite for collabos.
Looking deeper into her brown eyes,
You acknowledge the fire beneath the surface,
A feverent lover, clothed in attire of a fairly.
She appears meek and calm, but one taste of her you become an addict,
She is a sweet poison, an   angel with a Midas touch,
She will leave you thirsting for more,
Coz her love so sweet, you cant get enough