FROM LIVERPOOL - EUROPEAN CAPITAL OF CULTURE 2008

CAUGHT IN THE NET - Sixteen

JULY 2003

Editor - Jim Bennett

Hello again.  Welcome to CITN 16.  This is the first edition since Liverpool was declared to be the nominated European Capital of Culture for 2008.  Congratulations to all in the North West of England whose tireless work in promoting the arts, leisure and cultural activities have brought about this wonderful result.  This edition features poems read at Jim Bennett's Poetry Night at Borders Books, Cheshire in the UK - one of eleven regular monthly poetry events in the North West.

The next edition of CITN will be in two months at the end of September and submissions are welcome.  I am also planning a special edition of Transparent Words which in future will be an annual review of outstanding work produced during the preceding year.  I will be open for submissions to that from October.

As some of you may know I am now poetry editor for the Poetry Kit Magazine which appears on the poetry Kit site which can be found at - http://www.poetrykit.org/   I am also seeking submissions of poetry, reviews, essays, articles and illustrations for that magazine.  When submitting please ensure that the magazine title to which you are submitting is clearly marked in the subject line of any emails.  

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 which is 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 1000 subscribers to CITN so to keep this number growing please 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 - jimbennett11@btopenworld.com   Please mark as "submission CITN"

I wish you would read the instructions first
by Jim Bennett
 

I wish you would read the instructions first

so you don’t jump in with both feet

thinking you can put things right

because life is not like that

 

there are parts you will always need to avoid

 

parts that are permanently broken

cannot be replaced

things that have been lost

some still pined over

things that do not work the way you

expect

some parts have a built in redundancy

a short shelf life

 

warning signs are placed

indications of what to avoid

diversions are in operation

 

so please note the signs

and do not trample on my grass

 

I’m fragile

breakable

and no amount of insurance

will cover me for

wear and tear

Suck Demon

by Holly Day

The blow-up doll beside me
wants to live. Plastic fingers
touch my arm. I can pull away to
where she'll never reach me.

I roll over. Suck demon wants
to cry. Plastic eyes so glossy;
never wet. She'll hold water forever
if I tell her to.

She'll hold her breath forever
if I tell her to.

 

The Hunt
by Holly Day

the bird of a hundred colors falls
upon the beach from
a thousand stories high
his descent watched closely
by the fat old men with
the huge smelly dog
saliva streaming down
flaccid jowls.
the bird's body hides
a thousand tiny stones-
microscopic rainbows obscured
by the blood suffocating
the fading heart.
 

Cat Toys
by Holly Day

three men hang
from stout hemp ropes
swinging like dolls
against a background
of red setting sun
looming hugely like
a forested mountain
on fire
black silhouettes dance
hang
swing
dolls of shoelaces
cat toys
the wind in the trees
cries someone's name
cries

 

MODERNISM GRASPED

by Kevin Desmond

 

Blue – blue – blue – blue - blue

Blue – blue – yellow – green – red

Blue – black – blue – blue - blue

 

You

You’re nothing

You are

Him over there

Standing by the fire

Looking at his red face

Looking at me

Looking at you.

 

It’s OK

I’m not here

You are

With him over there

And me not here

Looking at  you

Looking at him

Whose looking away.

 

AUTUMN

by Kevin Desmond

 

Golden brown mixed

Colour stretches over

Black uneven ground

Trod by shoes

The feet within

Brush up leaves

Propelling me to words

 

Yellow light filters

While thick squat trunks lead the way

As the journey progresses

Towards a finely defined episode

Within

 

Another cluster

And the first few lines

Finished

By the edge of town

Where colours changing

Bring downward path

Leading to

Uniform, carriage

And more distance

 

Travelling faster

With no effort,

The mind

Fuelled by random musings

Displaces words

With leaves

Only passing shadows

Hidden in

The swiftly darkening night

 

The Garment Factory

by David Irvin

 

I remember regimented machines

and automated impersonal industry.

A cavernous space that swallowed

anyone who entered it's void.

Colours, bright and cleanly cut,

run together with fast fingers

moving without conscious thought.

 

I remember the smell of

new, pristine, unworn fabrics,

yet to be stained and frayed.

Of dust particles, draft born,

shimmering in shafted light.

And aromas of home, snatched

in a hurried canteen hour.

 

I remember the feel of

soft cloth, cold metal

and vibrations that struck

through uneven timbered floors.

The synergy of man and

machine coming together as one,

and production's palpable pulse.

 

I remember the sounds.

The din, the clatter and hum

of programmed belted looms.

The exaggerated mouthings

across needled whirrings,

and desolation's silent stillness

...now the machines have gone.

 

ONE OF GOD´S MOVIES

by Frank Joussen

God is the movie
you'll watch at the
end of your life:
mesmerized, glued
to your hot inner
screen

you shoot all
the relevant pictures.
you cut them down to size,
yet you can't
rewrite the dialogues,
nor recast the characters

not exactly a box-office
record, rather a
minority-of-one show,
it's only fair
that the emotional costs
of the production
are entirely at
your own expense.

 

ANTI-WAR TANK-A

by Frank Joussen

war's impossible -
no human wipes out owners
of words and of dreams
as if he was a cold sponge
devoid of humane feelings
 

Wisps of Smokes

by Pushpa Ratna Tuladhar

Musty whitey smokes belched

From the cigarette I smoke

Convert into circles,
Glide up and up,
Bounce from the ceiling of my room,
Alter the circles into fretted shapes,
And escapes out of the room
Congested with the noises
Of wine glasses striking each other,
Of loud sound of smoking and
Of vague murmuring of discontent
Through the ventilator
And adheres to silvery clouds in the sky.

Only the tobacco-like smells
Disperses the musty air of barroom
Completely disgusting and unpleasant I feel.

The long cigarette I smoke
Glows with fire and
Shortens itself abruptly to the tip
As if it is in a frenzy to sacrifice
For the sake of my pleasure.

To uttermost satisfaction in my mind,
I extinguish my burning cigarette.
Only a wisp of fire appears
And remains the wasted tip
As left over in the ashtray.

Fretfully I glare at
Every circle of smokes
That stick to consume its existence
As I do for my living in my life,
Sitting at the cornered table at the barroom
I sip a glass of wine
That cheers for my life
Savouring every drops, which
Amuse me for a while
Besides the immense disgusting surroundings
Sprung up inside the Barroom.

 

The Peace Digger

By Pushpa Ratna Tuladhar

Staring at the sky of gloomy night
To an edge scanned by his piercing eyes,
The grey haired human,
Grasping his feet hold of his earth
Quaked by the war,
Occupies in his optimum endeavour
To feel sensory experience of
The still of a shining star
That plunged to his planet
By delving with his walking stick
Into numerous groups of the shining stars
Shattered in the sky.

The grey-haired human so severely shivers
With fear of not being unaware of
His spirit of tenacious belief
To experience his consciousness of
A divine breath of serene living
In the cool and calm atmosphere
Condensed by still of the shining star and
Poured by the greenery of Nature.

Every once in a while
The grey haired human
Takes his courageous stand
Grasping his feet rigid hold
Rigorously in his earth
To be severely secured
Not to tumble over his planet
By the sudden hit tremor.

No fatigued spirit he has
Beyond his limitless vigorous efforts,
Truly contented he is
And sturdy belief he has.
The still of the shining star
Drops truly in his planet
And fortifies a plethora of greens
To his planet, where he deeply breathes.

 

Untitled Poem

by  Carol Sircoulomb

 

walk the dogs

do the laundry

fix meals

feed the dogs, cats, fish and  birds

mow the lawn

take the garbage out

read e-mail

baby-sit the grandkids

change diapers

answer phone calls

fill the car up

go to the bank, and grocery store

pay overdue bills

dream of nothing

 

Christmas

by Maureen Weldon

How can we know
what goes on behind closed windows?

We don't, we can't,
it is that man, or that woman's castle.

We can not say, 'Rapunzal
let down your golden hair'.

Yet, to know someone, is walking
in the valley of the shadow of death...

How can we just dream...
Not bother to stop and stare?

Though it is very good, and we must:
sing and dance, clinking glasses to success.

A still small voice is crying,
'they did not care'...
 

READ AT BORDERS

---

War 1

by Roger Cliffe Thompson

 

why should a child have to scream

with pain from bomb splintered bone

worse than any bad-dream

a nightmare the allies bring home

 

why should a child survive

to have flesh sucked up in the air 

skull exposed grin, singed flakes of skin

rain down on smoldering hair

 

why should a child be borne

to have their face set on fire

why are the newborn not told

oil is mans real desire

             just war … I call it despair.

 

 

War 2

by Roger Cliffe Thompson

 

why are you sitting listless

don’t give me that hollow-eyed stare

why aren’t you raging

on your feet demonstrating...

brushing the flies from your eyes

 

I tell you why

because you know there’s no point

pomp-strutters  wring futile-beads

shake ostrich feather heads ...

as the enemy  filches thirty million lives

 

I tell you why

no one else will help

because this is a war no one wants to win 

this enemy strikes from within...

and does not hinder the flow of oil 

 

'NO FOOL LIKE THE OLD FOOL'

by Maureen Weldon

 

'I know every bar of him,'

she said,

as she slipped on the soap.

 

LATE DEVELOPER

by Maureen Weldon

 

Too many pearls in her brain.

'Sort yourself out,' she is told.

There is a war on.  And

Her daughter is having a baby -

Very precious.

She has no time to grow old

Gracefully,

Running in her race for fame.

Chewing vitamins and body-builders,

Leapfrogging over her green-eyed monster.

If she had it,

She would frame it in gold.

Afterword

 

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

An archive of previous editions of Caught in The Net is available at

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

where you can also 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 Sept 2003 - look out for it in the in-tray

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