"tunisia" poems
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Dec 21, 2019
Dec 21, 2019 at 11:08 AM UTC
Azure was the sky, and leaden was the sea;
Not surprising would the discord be
For him who has read Wordsworth.
What ailed his thoughts were the debris
Of broken glass fishermen-in-boats
Might have thrown into the ocean
On a night of 'Celtia'* with no pairing,
Or the sight of a woman’s dress
Whose swollen darkness was
A sea urchin, whose quills
Were plucked by the greenness of rust;
Or a German parachute
Over Kasserine pass**, my thyme nest
And the center of Tunisia.
©LazharBouazzi, July 15, 2018
Jul 14, 2018
Jul 14, 2018 at 6:35 PM UTC
As the shape all sun
tore up the curtain
of blood and ululation,
everything in Tunisia,
as stricken by a wand,
came to a standstill,
and slipped away
from the senses -
Even rivers stopped.
Medjerda* froze
halfway
through the descent
to his destination,
as he realized
he’d been making a fatal error:
pouring forth all his passion
into the ocean.
So he stopped,
retracted his course,
re-collected himself,
and started flowing backward,
toward
the source
in the Atlas
that had bidden him
farewell.
In his spear head
there was a design:
start a new chaos
in the valley,
in which there would be
a sweet-water lake
and sailors drunk
with sunbeams, sweat
and pleasure.
Butterflies would flutter
around the scent of mint
and bluegreen rosemary.
Sweet Moon to Sweet Lake
would come, unannounced,
In the rays of the nightlight
of the fluttering night
to watch her self
shoot
the scene
of representation.
The river, now swimming
in his own water,
carried the sky on his shoulder,
while an ant and a grasshopper,
holding a basket together,
watched the new scene.
As the figure all sun appeared ,
reason melted;
imagination
her hazel eyes opened.
*Medjerda is the most important river in Tunisia. Length, 460 km; basin area, 22,000 sq km. It flows out of the Atlas mountains into the Gulf of Tunis.
© LazharBouazzi, June 16, 2016
Jun 16, 2016
Jun 16, 2016 at 1:35 PM UTC
As the shape-all-sun
tore up the curtain
of blood and ululation,
everything in Tunisia,
as stricken by a wand,
came to a standstill,
and slipped away
from the senses -
Even rivers stopped.
Medjerda* froze
halfway
through his descent
to his destination,
as he realized
he’d been making a fatal error:
pouring forth all his passion
into the ocean.
So he stopped,
retracted his course,
re-collected himself,
and started flowing backward,
toward
the source
in the Atlas
that had bidden him
farewell.
In his spear head
there was a design:
start a new chaos
in the valley,
in which there would be
a sweet-water lake
and sailors drunk
with sunbeams, sweat
and pleasure.
Butterflies would flutter
around the scent of mint
and bluegreen rosemary.
Through the flutter
of the midnight hour
Sweet Moon to Sweet Lake
would come, unannounced,
to watch her self shooting
the act of representation.
Now swimming
in his own water,
th river
carried the sky on his shoulder,
while an ant and a grasshopper,
holding a basket together,
watched the new scene.
As the figure-all-sun appeared ,
reason melted;
imagination
her hazel eyes opened.
© LazharBouazzi
*Medjerda is the most important river in Tunisia. Length, 460 km; basin area, 22,000 sq km. It flows out of the Atlas mountains into the Gulf of Tunis.
Feb 16, 2017
Feb 16, 2017 at 1:19 PM UTC
The moon says the final word tonight -
Casual-recherché and light;
She, in the absence of the sun,
Leafs through the pages of the night
And shoots a side-look at the pond,
As her desire stretches far beyond
His specular contour.
© LazharBouazzi, Carthage, Tunisia
May 15, 2017
May 15, 2017 at 7:00 PM UTC
“Rain for my words,”
Cried the poet.
But the rain would not acquiesce;
For she dreaded a languagekiss.
© LazharBouazzi, Carthage - Tunisia, May 14, 2016
May 14, 2016
May 14, 2016 at 6:46 AM UTC
I
When the ant had told,
That December cold
Night, the grasshopper,
Who had spent his summer
Singing in the tree,
To go dance now that
He was hungry & free,
He didn’t show the hurt,
Because he was alert
To the pain
Of winter and language,
So he left the village.
II
When he, thirteen years
Later,
Came back as a baker
(Who worked in the day
And sang in the night)
He went to see the ant,
A blue guitar gift-wrapped -
In his hand.
© LazharBouazzi, TUNISIA
Jul 21, 2017
Jul 21, 2017 at 7:43 PM UTC
From the starting point in Poland
To the hedgerows of France
High above the English countryside
to the depths of the Atlantic
In the sand-ridden dunes of Egypt, Libya and Tunisia
to the foothills and mountains of Sicily and Italy
From the Pacific to Asia minor
we fought
Storming the beaches of Normandy
to taking back France
From Guadalcanal to Okinawa
from Burma to China
We fought
Aug 18, 2013
Aug 18, 2013 at 11:16 PM UTC
Africa is beautiful and beautiful is usual in Africa
Continental wonderland of love this is Africa
What's in Africa? What's there to see?
I asked myself on the New Year's eve
I thought that I was good in geography
But I didn't know Lagos or Nairobi
I might be ignorant, I have to admit
About Africa I knew just a little bit
The great Sahara - sands of mystery!
The Nile river - so much history!
Africa is magical and magical is usual in Africa
Continental wonderland of joy this is Africa
Namibia, Nigeria, Niger, Angola, Algeria
Burundi, Benin and Libya, Lesotho and Liberia
Burkina-Faso, Botswana, Guinea-Bissau, Ghana
Djibouti, Zimbabwe, Zambia, Uganda, Rwanda, Gambia
I saw a film on Serengeti Park
A one of a kind, a must-see landmark
I watched a documentary on pyramids of Giza
They're much much older than Mona Lisa
I heard that oldest coffee plants
Take their roots in Ethiopia's land
And that samba, rumba, funk and jazz
Take their beats from African drums
Africa is beautiful and beautiful is usual in Africa
Continental wonderland of love this is Africa
Cameroon and Congo, Malawi, Mali, Morocco
Côte d'Ivoire and Kenya, Mauritius, Mauritania
Tunisia, Tanzania, Eswatini, Eritrea
Sudan, Senegal, Somalia, Sierra Leone, South Sudan
You can travel around cities of Africa
Like Cape Town, Cairo or Casablanca
If you're in love or plan to be
Go to Zanzibar, feel that ocean breeze!
Climb up mount Kilimanjaro
Watch the zebras cross the Masai Mara
If you're adventurous, you're a dreamer
Take a wild trip down Zambezi river
Africa is magical and magical is usual in Africa
Continental wonderland of joy this is Africa
Comoros, Chad, Cabo Verde, Democratic Republic of Congo
Ethiopia, Egypt, Guinea, Gabon, Equatorial Guinea and Togo
Madagascar, Mozambique, Central African Republic
Sao Tome and Principe, South Africa and Seychelles
Africa is beautiful and beautiful is usual in Africa
Continental wonderland, I'm on my way to Africa!
May 3, 2022
May 3, 2022 at 7:33 PM UTC
In the yellow,
cold light
of the wine-dark
night _
between the new mall
and the Roman Site _
he staggered
alone,
drunken
with "Magon"*
and memories.
Vast,
so vast is the night _
vast
as the memory
of an English
prairie,
and an emmer-haired
maiden
he had walked
to the ferry
on a summery day.
Vast,
so vast
is a night
masquerading
as a want of sight.
© LazharBouazzi
Nov 30, 2016
Nov 30, 2016 at 1:02 PM UTC
A crimson boat waives
the flow of the waves
as a blonde figure craves
an infernal sun.
Next to the maiden
and the dandy-fella,
blossoms a vermillion
umbrella
whose role was to play
a timid cellar
for two red apples
and one apricot
the blonde damsel
could have brought
to quench her burning
want
of the lustful monster.
Closing her ice-blue eyes,
the fair woman,
her sinful inspiration
did summon
to come carve
on her body so sullen
the orange vision
of the new Benzart bridge.
© LazharBouazzi, Carthage, TUNISA
*"Benzart" is the Tunisian name for “Biserta” or “Bizerte”- a beach town on the northern coast of Tunisia.
Jun 27, 2017
Jun 27, 2017 at 5:09 PM UTC
Take off your hands on my Earth
Undisputed minds live in Tunisia
No fights can prevent our glory birth
Inside each Tunisian soul belongs Tunisia
Slaves to your killer minds ill zombies
Always peace will live with our memories....
Mar 22, 2015
Mar 22, 2015 at 1:40 PM UTC
Sunrays fell on the bower
Like a golden rain
And a bee kissed with the tongue a crimson flower
Like a song refrain
As a silky butterfly sweet as a shower
Poked fun at my pain.
© LazharBouazzi, TUNISIA
Apr 1, 2019
Apr 1, 2019 at 1:49 PM UTC
*in the villages
in days of yore
young men proved
their vigor
by lifting gigantic rocks*
but in 2012 -
the remarkable year of
the French Village of Bugarach
(where many sagacious youths gathered) -
away in Tunisia,
the young man
downs eggs
egg-citedly
in a dare
and he’s up to his esophagus in 28 eggs raw
when something in him cracks
(O poor wasted youth of 20)
and just 2 before winning his bet
he dies;
it’s Armageddon for him in 2012,
though he also gains an epiphany:
*28 raw eggs can ****
caveat
of course
O Ye Olde Sensitive Souls
this is not a yoke -
I mean, this is not a joke
For verily, 28 eggs can ****
Dec 29, 2012
Dec 29, 2012 at 3:52 AM UTC
It is the last Tuesday of March in 2011
Two months ago, Zine al-Abidine Ben Ali
Prime minister of Tunisia, was forced into exile
Twenty three years is enough
He needs that time in Saudi Arabia
It does not feel like it has been two months
Because the world, right after that January
Has been shaken up
Egypt has since forced Hosni Mubarak
Their dictator of thirty years
Out of the country and onto the shores of the Red Sea
Democracy by will of the people
Popular uprising
A violent revolution perhaps
But yes, revolution in freedom, ideals
These countries will be different
For the better I hope
Now the people of Libya are up in arms
Crying and fighting for their freedom
And because there is so much oil in Libya
And because Gaddafi is letting his troops fire on civilians
The UN is sweating and threatening to take action
Aside from the awful earthquake in Japan
I blame the people of Tunisia for doing the right thing
Dec 2, 2011
Dec 2, 2011 at 10:33 PM UTC
Terrorist attack on tourist hotels in Tunisia this morning
So far 19 confirmed dead, where will it end
Worrying times indeed because my daughter and her boyfriend are there
They are safe but I'm still worried
Jun 26, 2015
Jun 26, 2015 at 8:35 AM UTC
The moon rose up
Late
Tonight.
Her face
A replica
Of Africa.
(C)LazharBouazzi, Tunisia
Jun 17, 2018
Jun 17, 2018 at 1:20 PM UTC
there were old men
laying around the
pool
like cigarette butts
in an ashtray
burnt out and
diminishing as
their feet
dangle in the water
lapping up against
their knees
they talked about
the old war
the good war
back in a time when
there was war to
believe in
now what?
now they have their
feet in a pool
fat white skin
burning in the moonlight
while knobby knees
are canvas to varicose
veins and the occasional
scar
--oh this one from
surgery, this one
from a foxhole
dug out some
hillside near Salerno
sliced up the
side of my leg
nice and good, yessir,
killed the
**** guinea
though don't worry--
and they would hold
out their arms
to explain how
they held those old
standard issue springfield's
while arthritis shook
that imaginary
rifle to the point
of danger but
they never noticed
leaning in to stare down
the sights
aiming carefully at
some elusive
foe across the pool
they would laugh at
how much they hated those
guns
they would laugh at
the insanity of it all
how young they had been
how old they were now
how much had changed
and how much hadn't
their wives were all gone
left widowed or divorced
all it seemed they had
was Tunisia or
Italy or that French
beach early morning in
1944
the world is a battlefield
for old men
with no
weaponry but old
stories caked in dust
Aug 28, 2013
Aug 28, 2013 at 12:17 PM UTC
The palm tree died,
the blackbird sang.
how else would a blackbird hide
from an unbearable pang?
(c) Lazhar Bouazzi, Carthage, Tunisia
Apr 10, 2016
Apr 10, 2016 at 5:50 PM UTC
A crimson boat waives
the flow of the waves
as a blonde damsel craves
an infernal sun.
Next to the maiden
and the dandy-fella,
blossoms a vermillion
umbrella
whose washed out shadow
played the shady cellar
for two green apples
and one apricot
the blonde damsel hungrily
had bought
to quench her own fiery
want
of the lustful monster.
Closing her ice-blue eyes,
the fair woman,
her sinful inspiration
did she summon
to come carve
on her body so sullen
a scarlet picture
of the new Benzart bridge.
© LazharBouazzi, Carthage, TUNISA
*"Benzart" is the Tunisian name for “Biserta” or “Bizerte”- a beach town on the northern coast of Tunisia.
Mar 23, 2017
Mar 23, 2017 at 9:57 AM UTC
There is never new and there is nothing see old
The sky Of Tunisia, easily I can fold and unfold
In a notch of eye sight like magnificent light
Yes, Sometimes a day and many times in night
leaves are waved and stars a glowing in dark
They has given me absolute and divenly spark
Everything looks delighted as an eternal ray
Tunisia, my faith is stronger then previous day
What a dream, a poet can see you almost free
Can see the Monastir, a capital of world poetry
I do feel pleasure in a beach at wonder sunset
You are my Mediterranean sea is really great
Smell of silence are spreaded from the south
Sahara ! travellers way, dessert of thirsty mouth
No water, Dust is whiffed that freedom of ridge
Tunisia ! A soft sister of Egyptian Sandy breeze
Douz, a town at Sahara's edge for camel ride
Which is kept Romans gallery, nothing to hide
Serene cloud on top witnessed of Arab Spring
Men of Tunis proved by revolution none is king
Oh my sister ! I salute you for full of orbed glory
An amazing love of solitary, a successful lorry
At the time of grim sand storm whirled a while
In obscure can move with poem mile after mile
Mar 21, 2020
Mar 21, 2020 at 6:03 PM UTC
Look at the dormant summer noon
Drowsing by the pregnant tree
And lulled to his vision of the moon
By a wandering honey bee
Whose songs are so sweet and subdued
Like a score of apples waiting in
A cluster
Not knowing when they will be plucked
So they, too, hung on a sleeper’s specter.
© LazharBouazzi, TUNISIA
Jul 22, 2019
Jul 22, 2019 at 6:46 PM UTC