Sentinel Poetry #35 – October 2005

Online Magazine Monthly…since 2002. ISSN 1479-425X




Nicole Richardson


The Rising



In 2004:

Whose dream?


Scanning for links to some past;

Federal neglect

Made acceptable

By those who believed,

Voted and died.

Sprawling waterways –

Paths to honesty;

Discovery of truths

Known but now unearthed

By broken levees!

Divined to be mountains,

From which the old rock is sculpted,

Under which he crawled out from.


Ratios shifting:

Light turns into darkness;

America’s debris floats upward

Into the atmosphere

Become acid rain

Attaching itself to our clothes,

The hair in our noses;

Becoming bitter tasting drops

On otherwise soft, supple

Forgiving lips.

Whose America?


A Venice formed in the southern states

Under the watchful eyes

Of those uninterestedly watching

As the canals

Pull the dark into the deep

So that  light can rise

Like mist over the Mississippi

On a damp, dank August day.

As they lay ready, pointing,

Budgeting time for delay.


Support our troops

As they sway and bend!

And collapse,

And drop

And fall like amber waves of grain.

This land of the free

When it can be afforded.

And this land of the brave

When it cannot.


Whose America?


Briefly awakened from her slumber

By whispers of battles fought and won?

Blurry-eyed processing

Of lives ‘watered-down’,

Quiet weeping in solitude

Like the silent buzz of a conversation

That fear must let take place.

Lines around his eyes,

Tired from desperate cries

For yesterday’s America.

As they drift by on the bayou.

Must storm and dark give way to light,

To those States

He never wanted to leave?

Where entry-ways to plantations welcome him home

Someone shouts in the apocalypse,

Half-smiling as he does,

“The water this time!”



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