Ancient Egyptian Poetry: The Tale of Sinuhe
When I was seven years old my dad died and everything changed. He was a chartered accountant, the first in his family to go to university. He was a good man. His family were proud of him, he achieved so much..
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True! Nervous, very, very dreadfully nervous I had been and am; but why will you say that I am mad? The disease had sharpened my senses, not destroyed, not dulled them. Above all was the sense of hearing acute. I heard all things in the heaven and in the earth. I heard many things in hell. How then am I mad? Hearken! and observe how healthily, how calmly I can tell you the whole story.
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The camera sees what a 17 year-old boy sees when he stands where a path meets a paved road at the edge of a dirt farm.
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The tea should be strong. For a pot holding a quart, if you are going to fill it nearly to the brim, six heaped teaspoons would be about right...
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The thing about new blooms is that they tend to bleed— / Those petals birthed / hugging close / that come warmer weather are tricked into jumping away...
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I spent a good part of my childhood at home staring outside my bedroom window, following the trail of planes approaching the nearby Paris airport in the sky from my banlieue. I envied the passengers...
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