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.