Sentinel Poetry #34

ONLINE MAGAZINE MONTHLY ...since December 2002

September 2005  ISSN 1479-425X

Editor: Amatoritsero Ede



Not us lied the world not us...We are deaf.

“For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast”

                    - Lord Byron, The Destruction of Sennacherib


“If we get relief in to Darfur, we could lose a third of a million. If we do not, it could be a million,” said the head of US Aid.


I imagine trees-

maple oaks, laurel pines and yews

marching in protest led by the giant sequoia

        against disfigurement and rape by topiary. 


I listen to the tone deaf canary coming to terms with her disability

mixing in bass and flute with her seed

        I eat an apple then sell the core to William Tell

avid collector of apples and bows; the room is a bus stop


alighting at the library I request Agatha’s last book

never written mystery of the email virus attached

to the left arm of the T Melvil. Dewey requires the title

meanwhile four bees enter, a quartet hawking honey


Melvil recalls the bees from his days in solitary classification.

I keep returning

the room is a rotting apple in Darfur

on the head of a dove blindfolded, unable to testify:


Who saw the shooter shoot the arrow draw the bow?

not I lied William not us lied the bees not me not the trees

not us lied the world not us we are deaf like that canary

blindfolded unable to testify,


Have you reached a verdict?

yes the jury is guilty without parole to cart water;

Sisyphus the water carter,

yet monopoly continues under the stairs inside United Nations


Who will buy Darfur?

what do I bid what do I hear?

not I said the spider not I said the fly not us not us

spoke the lions ashamed by the elephant’s cry


I keep returning

to-morrow the news predicts an increase in umbrella sales

repeats the lottery scores then shuts with Darfur; good-night

my escape has failed I have nothing to bid but these words.



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