George Elliott Clarke




      I don't want awards, I demand women-

      Yes, a few mercenary lovelies,

      Sugary creatures, milky whores, murmuring smut,

      Slushing around in swishing silks and slinky thingies,

      And lascivious, dirty perfumes,

      Practically black,

      With little firches,

      Slick with filth.


      I don't mind mixing my status with dirt.

      Nude models are the best role models!


      See the elegant streetwalkers'

      Elegantly half-stockinged legs

      Swinging from under hiked-up

      Catholic schoolgirl-style skirts,

      Ending in chic, arthritis-causing

      High heels, but also formidably

      Fine-shaped, unforgettable feet.


      Where we are


      Now you are awake,

      spent and haggard from sex,

      genitals that collided

      like waterfall and rock.


      You do not expect safety,

      but cool, damaging lies,

      no repair or locking,

      only the sun, oblivious,


      As it thrums in windows,

      as it drums in eyes.

      And now you are awake,

      and the darkness within shimmers


      Like shattered glass, crazily

      reflecting your fragility,

      just as the silence cracks

      into rainbows of lies.




t p u

George Elliott Clarke

Sentinel Guest Poet

August, 2006

Readers this month

Sentinel Poetry (Online) #45August 2006   ISSN 1479-425X


Editor: Amatoritsero Ede

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