This poem, which I wrote over the past few days, is about the cataclysmic upheaval the world seems headed toward at present. In its most basic and literal sense, you have a mother offering words of love and encouragement to her children, although the children, peculiarly, seem to be named after all the colors of the rainbow. On a slightly different level, the poem could be thought of as an allegory, with the mother becoming Mother Earth herself—saying goodbye to her children and wishing them well.

Ra was the ancient Egyptian god of the sun and the principle deity of the Egyptian pantheon, so the poem could just as easily be tied in with events in Egypt as well. The ancient Egyptians believed that when Nut, the sky goddess, arched upon all fours above her loving consort, the earth, chaos was brought to an end, but that if she should ever be removed from that position it would return. This “chaos theory,” if you will, comes into play in my novel, The Memoirs of Saint John, at the point where Mary Magdalene enters the story. Readers may recall that in the gospels, the Magdalene, prior to being healed by Jesus, is described as having been “possessed by seven demons.” And thus in the novel, as she tumbles into the group’s midst during a rather crazed and chaotic Passover festival, the narrator of the story comments, “perhaps somewhere deep inside her, her earth and her sky were cleaved apart horribly.”

What the people of Egypt and Tunisia are telling us at present is that earth and sky have indeed been cleaved wickedly apart; and of course we see that they are the ones currently taking the lead in trying to put things back together. As I write this, it does appear as if the days of Mubarak, the Egyptian dictator, are numbered. The greatest fear, of course, is what happens when and if he finally does fall. Will the government that takes his place be equally subservient to the forces of chaos (Israel and the Zionists presently running America)? Or will Egypt be a genuinely free land in which the “children of the earth” become their own sovereigns? We can only hope for the latter.



Blessed Children of the Sweet Mother

For the people of Egypt and Tunisia

Come to me Little Red Angel, and I will hold you so tight;
The song of praise will be the song we listen to tonight;
Know this, Little Green Angel, you will find truth in time
In the forests, hills, meadows, and mountains you climb.

Come, come, Sienna Angel, you need feel no shame,
For the fault is not yours, and love is not rain,
And the chariots and the scimitars and the flashing swords
Only graze you when you let them or give ear their discord;

My Cerulean Angel, you are a young brook that runs swift;
I want you to know only—my heart is your gift;
Go and gather your berries. Never fail to know
That acumen awaits you where the tall cedars grow.

Take a look, Coral Angel, at the bottom of the sea,
Where armed with two tusks made of emerald ivory—
A man, King of History, with strength and great might
Comes close to the shore for to guard us tonight.

And you, Magenta Angel—the coyote in the sand,
Aloof—alone—no quarrel—no demand.
No taste of death could ever make you believe
That life was worth living or that love wouldn't leave,

But still, still, your heart beats in its mystery play,
Deviating with agility—and Amen I say!
And what of you, Russet Angel, indestructible and coy,
My striver, high-fiver, you are Ra's little boy.

Come with me, Wisteria Angel, with your hieroglyphic eyes,
Much to read there, I've learned, and given time you'd grow wise;
Take my hand, Yellow Angel, it longs for yours so,
The burning fire draws closer—much closer than we know.

So said this sweet mother to her children so dear
As the time drew nigh and heaven's sun shone clear,
Prepare a remedy, be faithful, walk in truth and rectitude—
Last thoughts for her that night as the stars darkness wooed.

by Richard Edmondson