Mesopotamia   Mes·o·po·ta·mi·a     [(mes-uh-puh-tay-mee-uh)]

American Heritage New Dictionary of Cultural Literacy, Third Edition                      and Online Etymology Dictionary   

From Greek mesopotamia (khora), literature “the country between two rivers,” from feminine of mesopotamos, from mesos “middle” + potamos “river.” A region of western Asia, in what is now Iraq, known as the “cradle of civilization.”  

Oh Really?! Did you actually read this?

The oh-so-xenophobic American Heritage Dictionary says all of this and more. Cradle of civilization it was? Meaning the beginning. The original. Birthplace of mankind, as it were. Everything is from there. Translation: this is the miserable place that everybody left. Left first. As in, “This place isn’t what it used to be, let’s get out of here!” Or, “We didn’t know what to do next, so: We’re gone!”  

Why?

It declined in importance after Mongol invaders destroyed its extensive irrigation system in A.D. 1258.  

Hmm…  Those dastardly Mongols, who destroyed the irrigation systems, made this place “decline in importance.” Well it’s really important now  isn’t it? (April 2008) In the ongoing discussion called “political anthropology,”  let’s just see what’s really going on.

Western writing first developed there, done with sticks on clay tablets. Agricultural organization on a large scale also began in Mesopotamia, along with work in bronze and iron (see Bronze Age and Iron Age).  Probably settled before 5000 B.C., the area was the home of numerous early civilizations, including Sumer, Akkad, Babylonia, and Assyria. Governmental systems in the region were especially advanced.  

Ok…….

Home

Seven soldiers shown the door,
Two for two, but one had more.
The oldest one had gone before,
Her lies were made the stuff of lore.

If any then could truly see,
What came before or where they’d be,
Not one was there to to speak to me,
To show the lies that I would see.

Shoes………..

October 24th 1994

Sometimes the things that give us the blues
We leave in our closets, our history, like shoes.
We see an old comfort, now worn but still fitting.
Almost unnoticed, but there they are, sitting.

Of them we rid ourselves slowly, no fanfare,
Recalling the best, a new and matched pair.
The roads that they took to wear them that way,
We paved ourselves, by designing each day.

So when we’re on new roads, impassable now,
And know that our old shoes made it somehow,
Why do we look back on old roads and stop,
Waiting for that old pair’s mate to drop.

We can go on without knowing the way,
Our old shoes of tomorrow will guide us today.
We love them and keep them, those weary old shoes,
But their comfort keeps waning; they are after all, blues.

They’ll probably never wear out where they are,
We often don’t look in our hearts that far.
But someone can give us a brand new pair,
And never resign us to looking in there.

Some people do this, for love and the chance,
To make old shoes new ones that still want to dance.
And never allowing their pair mate to drop,
On down the new road, unable to stop.

See ya