CAUGHT IN THE NET - Twelve

September 2002

Editor - Jim Bennett

Hello again. This is Caught in the Net number Twelve. Once again this issue includes a selection of poetry "READ AT BORDERS". This emag is only possible if people contribute to it so if you enjoy the eclectic nature of this emag and you want it to continue you will need to submit to it.

Thanks again to everyone who has contributed.

POLICY - My thanks go to everyone who has submitted work for inclusion in this issue and my apologies to those I could not include. I follow a policy of publishing several pieces by the same author in order to enable the reader to see the range of the poets writing, but if space does not allow I may publish the same poet in several editions.

Please note that no particular spelling convention has been followed and the spellings used reflect the national usage of each contributor.  We are always looking for new poets and poems for CAUGHT IN THE NET and our other, web based, magazine TRANSPARENT WORDS both of which are hosted on the site of PK POETRY LIST   The PK Poetry List is a poetry workshop and discussion list.  Anyone interested in joining the list or in finding out more can do so at the main PK site which is at -

http://www.geocities.com/Athens/Aegean/9952/index.htm  

There are already over 900 subscribers to CITN but please feel free to pass it on to your friends.  

Copyright Notice - All the work produced in this ezine is the copyright of the individual authors and cannot be reproduced without permission. All writers have exerted their moral rights to be identified as the author of their work.

Submissions - always welcome - please send to - caught_in_the_net@hotmail.com

walking on the beach with Charlie
by Jim Bennett

Charlie is walking beside me

trotting over the dunes

filling his hair with wind

while I fill my shoes with sand

and we screw eyes

against the gusting grit

children descend

on flattened cardboard boxes

sliding over tufts of grass

and on and down

propelled by shrieks

onto the beach below

I can see Charlie looking

wondering if he could have a go

deciding against it

with a sniff

now we sit

Charlie comfortable

head on my knee

locks eyes with me

and I tell him of the journey

we will take together

of Steinbeck

and another Charlie

years ago

and with unspoken wisdom

he tells me about love

with a glance

 

 

Dream of Dinka Dancing
by Margaret Eddershaw

Her wrinkled finger scrapes the bowl

thrusts stickiness between my cracked lips

She draws my head to a shrivelled breast

tongue drags over nipple

My fist stifles scratched cries

Now she sways through shimmering heat

bright cloth shapes me to her backbone

Heels pound parched earth

Sweating heads shake in rhythm

as distant planes tumble daily grain
Fruitless trees urge her on and on

Three vultures soar in my blaze of sky

Slowly we slip into rainy darkness

skins streaked with tearful rivulets

torrents forcing through her legs

Then on the bank she unfurls me

washes my ballooning belly

moving flies on her soundless mouth

Shrouds me in her exhausted frame

as distant planes tumble daily grain
Unripe sorghum taunts my sunrise

a promise that will crop too late

Her eyelids flutter in her dream

of Dinka dancing with tasselled cows

shiny-skinned women sharing their milk

Soldiers’ boots startle her nightmare

her hand claws across my gaping mouth

bloodshot eyes glaze while they pass

What is civil about war? I want to ask

as distant planes tumble daily grain
Mudtracks hardened by searing sun

grind into her wayward, bloody feet

lure her to white-coated smiles

In her arms I breath in rasps

then collapsed on yellow plastic

we sip solutions, suck at salvation

Somewhere near other women sing

defying pain, war, starvation

and I see my Dinka mother dancing

as overhead planes tumble daily grain

 

Bloom
by Damian Robinson

Pushing, In Bloom
what will me and i care for
in the time to come to pass
flowers shoot and then they'll die
          soon, by my side
to live and to die under one great pretence
to laugh and to cry for one short life, in eternity
to bloom and proudly exhibit in time
              only means
that i can lie          in piece
               in bloom

Sequence
by Damian Robinson

Explosion rips roof off
Today lesbian lovers.
                 in a gay romp (only a pound a pair)
love child, very hush hush
         sordid, put the lid on the whole affair

SCANDAL of kinky sex,
            Lewd. Business man in  (ten percent off)
lurid SEX parlour having           a bit of!
        torrid SEX with a certain MS. Whiplash
          (who shall remain nameless)
'but her name was MS. Whiplash' (Shh)
The graphic seedy details of my
secret GAY lover only in tomorrows

VICE. EXCLUSIVE., How I kept my
secret sex change. secret. Black leather
whips and things 'rumpo'
perverse and disgusting
degrading, unfit for human
consumption - coca cola
(sorry) unheard of
(ahem) Coke is what?

lovey dovey, a bed of roses
made for each other so much in love
we don't have s_x. This is
a good! loving christian MARRIAGE
     (Go together like a horse and carriage)
There is nothing kinky in
our s_x_al relations
we only do to have children

          

YEAH!?!
by Damian Robinson

Being outside hedgehogs (and the human race)
I don't like the term poetry
it's awfully damn pretentious
I'm a writer of non prose
myself, being the arty type
          absolutely

exerCIse in sTYle
by Damian Robinson

appLY wet gel to slight
LY damp or dRY hair
sTYle with fingers or
a comb, leave to
dRY naturalLY
  how can
wet gel give smooth
dRY glaze and be
appLIEd as often as
nevessaRY to increase
sTYle control it is eas
iLY removed
BY brushing or combing
reappLY and
sTYle as
desIREd.
if it's wet
  wHY does it
             dRY / lIE

(exerCIse in sTYle is taken from
           "(20th Century) garbage, Trash and sTYle")

READ AT BORDERS

Trevor's poem
by Jim Bennett

Trevor stood

read his poem through

well grown beard

the union man

who had swum the English channel

then wrung a poem

from the experience

spoke of the final mile

the longest one of all

and it became every challenge

of our lives

the final mile

the one we all face

on our own

 

I’ve got a tick on my head.
by Roger Cliffe-Thompson

I’ve got a tick on my head.

That means I’m ok.

I’ve passed the test,

Can do what I say.

I’ve got a tick on my head. I’ve got a tick on my head.

I’ve got a tick on my head.

Don’t visit my school,

drink 5% lager,

I know I’m cool,

I’ve got a tick on my head. I’ve got a tick on my head.

I’ve got a tick on my head.

Which says I’m free,

to wear trainers on my bed,

if my mum lets me .

I’ve got a tick on my head. I’ve got a tick on my head.

I’ve got a tick on my head.

above tacky, trackey tops,

Footy scarf,

bottoms in my socks.

I’ve got a tick on my head. I’ve got a tick on my head.

I’ve got a tick on my head.

all the Babes love me

I walk the walk

lip whoever I see.

I’ve got a tick on my head. I’ve got a tick on my head.

I’ve got a tick on my head.

Till my Grandad said

You look like Andy Cap.

and he’s …

well dead!

Butterflies.
by Roger Cliffe-Thompson

Mum! I’ve got butterflies in my tummy.

No, I’m not playing the fool,

they make me feel awful funny

I can’t possibly go to school.

Mum! I’ve got butterflies in my tummy.

Yes! I can see them, ‘specially at night,

tiny glowing rainbows.

No, don’t look! You’ll get a fright.

Mum! I’ve got butterflies in my tummy.

If I move they flutter and flit,

you’d want me to be gentle with them,

I think I’ll stay in bed for a bit.

Mum! I’ve got butterflies in my tummy.

Oops, they’re flying about a lot,

could you hurry up breakfast.

They’re dying for coco-pops.

Mum! I’ve got butterflies in my tummy.

Please don’t make me go on the bus.

Why you telling me not to worry,

because…

Grandad’s got moths!

 

Mudflats at Hale
by Tim Stone

One moment a fleet at anchor

Next a brigade on parade

Until they leave with a royal fly past

The audience of reeds

Rise in a rustling crescendo

Waving to the bands of the wind

I feel nauseous and my head aches.

The throat feels a swelling coming on

And I blame myself for the Lack of Achievement in my life.

Yet something out there,

Where the mudflats bubble

And water freezes into my framed picture,

Should,

If I am honest,

Give me a few moments of peace.

My two companions are happy at play

Bounding leaping, testing their lungs.

May be (I think) not everything is wrong in my world

 

 

Elixir of Life
by Tim Stone

Just give me a loaded bottle

With 90 seconds of fuse

Dripping from its throat.

That burns slowly, painfully,

Bringing fire

Until the explosion

That licks my liver,

Scars my skin

And explodes my brain.

Eventually they will lay me down

Into a cushioned packing case

My neck lovingly polished

And my head spun around and around

Until I am truly screwed down tight.

 

It still haunts
by Tim Stone

My throat hurt like a concrete ball

Wedged between cushions on a sofa

And the night outside

Clung like fingers in a fridge.

Tired, I watched air seep

From the valves of the yellow man at rest

And witnessed the final moves

As they carted him from the room.

Red veined eyes, stripped of their present looks

Hung around with vacant stares.

All mirth, hoovered from the room

Like autumn removes leaves from the trees,

As hands gently brushed shoulders

And outside the wind wiped memories

From off grey slate roofs

 

DISCORDANT NOTE
by Maureen Weldon

He said to his wife,
"carry on scrubbing,
I'll do the screwing."
"What?" said she.
"Knockers," said he.
"Where?" said she.
"On the door," said he.
"Why?" said she.
"Knobs," said he.
The paint pot's on the floor
The baby wants it's milk
The sink is full of filth.
"I'm off to The Pub."
"Good night." said she.

(First published New Hope International, and
Poetalk U.S.A. )

SUMMER ABSTRACTION
by Maureen Weldon

I have golden skin
a brown brain
and darker thoughts.

I have purple nails
a longish nose
and green thoughts.

I have curly hair
brown eyes
and no thoughts.

I am asleep!

( First published The Third Half)

ESCAPE
by Maureen Weldon

In these hours I am secure,
The hours that follow the dusk-
Time; when all shapes enlarge
In three dimensional intensity.
Then I am free, free from
The hounds that hound me:
Wrapped by the sleeping night.

(First published Purple Patch)

IN THE FOREST AFTER MIDNIGHT
by Maureen Weldon

She is walking in the forest after midnight,
looking for the moon.
Clad in black leather
the lad by her side
flaps his coat like a vampire.
A bat steaks past the tip
of a gnarled branched tree
to touch the clouds.
The lad, his eyes translucent
as the stars - dances.
In the shadows, the girl lies,
her open thighs
glistening like needles.
"That lad is mine."
Plunging now and writhing
deeper than the fossiled fingered trees,
their bodies turn to milk.
They have walked in the forest after midnight.

(First published The Brobdingnagian Times, Eire)

CANA, A BOAT AND POPLAR TREES
by Maureen Weldon

Last night we walked in the wind
Of the poplar trees,
To a friend's house on a hill
Of boats...
To sit on the floor
Drinking wine and more...
But it was the other man
With the bare toes - and
Singing tongue...
That one -
I want to dance through his skin.

(Published "The Sandburg-Livesay Award" Canada)

Afterword

 

email Jim Bennett - jimbennett11@btinternet.com - tell us what you think.

An archived version of Caught in The Net is available at

http://www.geocities.com/Athens/Aegean/9952/index.htm  

where you can join the mailing list and the PK Poetry List

 

Thank you for taking the time to read Caught in the Net.

Next edition due at the end of November 2002 - look out for it in the in-tray

BACK