Beth Camp's Blog, page 81

Let us travel to Zanzibar . . .

Forodhoni Park, Zanzibar







Let us travel to Zanzibar,

wander the streets in Old Town,

past open air stalls, beaded crafts,

past women draped in brightly colored
kangas,

down cobbled streets edged with

plumeria, tree ferns, and flamboyant
trees 

filled with flame-red blossoms. 

The music of a language we don't
understood

follows us to Forodhoni Park,

where men wear long white

Birding in Tanzania . . .

Flamingos in the Ngorongoro Crater



I never saw a crocodile bird,

nor the village weaver with its round bush nest.

I missed the Eastern Paradise Whydah

and the little red-billed fire finch.

I looked unsuccessfully

for the yellow-eyed babbler,

and the red-cheeked Gordon-bleu.



But I saw waves of pink flamingos rise from a marsh,

one Gray Crowned Crane, far from home,

and a Masai

ROW80 update . . .Weds check-in

"One must also be able to dance with the pen." So Nietzsche once said. This quote stares me in the face when I'm drinking tea or coffee, especially nice now to soothe my sore throat.

But, the point is that somehow we writers must shake loose those doubts and dark days when little goes well. Writing can bring joy, especially when we simply let go of expectation and write. So we begin with hope

ROW80 Update . . . Cinderella redux

I put first dibs on the crust when I was growing up. No one else wanted to eat that often dried out, unwanted end piece. Except me. I was voraciously hungry all the time. At 11 and 12, I could out-eat my 6' 4" stepfather who worked in a steel mill and wore steel-tipped boots to work every day.

I'm thinking about Cinderella as a muse for writers, thanks to Elizabeth Anne Mitchell from ROW80.

After Africa . . . what?

Suitcases unpacked, photos downloaded, jet lag nearly overcome. The cold I caught on the airplane still hanging around. Three weeks in Tanzania, Africa, gave me a big break from writing. No netbook; no computer. No notebooks. One travel journal and a camera. Sixteen people, a tour guide, and two drivers. 4:30 am wake-up calls for "game drives" through three of the most beautiful national parks

November 1: Hiatus

Just a note to say that we're on the road and in Amsterdam, today being the first day we have access to Internet. So we are sitting in a very large and moern library, one Euro for 30 minutes, and next to us, two women are chattering away in some unknown Arabic language, studying. We have walked along the canals here, enjoyed the European flavor, polyglot languages, and are getting ready to fly to

October 26: Better You Than Me

I remember the sting of a willow whip
on the backs of my legs,
later a thick, leather belt,
or a smack in the face.
I went to school with bruises,
carefully hidden under my sweater.
I forgave you for drinking long ago,
the day you leaped out of a moving car
because I wouldn’t stop at that tavern.
Researchers say we repeat the actions of our parents.
We speak, surprised
to hear our mothers’

October 25: Love

I have never torn off my clothes

Or run naked through the mountains,

But I have followed you, love.

Only two continents left to explore –

Africa and China, and a subcontinent, 

if we choose India. 

In four decades,

never has one of us said,

 “What if we went to . . . “

without the other saying, “Where are

the suitcases?”

I would rather go together

than alone.



Rumi once said, “

October 24: Bare Bones

I wake up with poetry lines shimmering,



a distraction. My house, every room,

speaks of chaos. In three days,

we’ll be gone to Zanzibar.

My plants need watering.

One has outgrown its pot,

its broad green leaves reach to the sun,

the lower leaves fall away,

as I will do one day.

October 23: Travel Preparations

We leave for Africa in four days.
Travel books warn: Carry cash
for the hotel, the airline.
We stand at our bank, watching the teller
count dollar bills. No credit cards.
Once, between flights, I slept
spread out atop my luggage.
So we will sleep in Dar el Salaam,
no cab ride into town at midnight.
I sew secret pockets for shirts and pants
of nondescript colors.
We will travel alone for eight