Issue 8
September 2001
David Caunt
For your information, born in Derbyshire in 1947, on retiring from the police force through ill-health, I subsequently studied English Literature at Sheffield Hallam University. I consider my poetry as an attempt to come to terms with self within a postmodern world. I am presently engaged in struggling to maintain my daughter in the life-style, she has become accustomed to.
Perversions
Number 43
In a search for the everlasting
flying only on some astral plane
the spaceman living at 43
cut off from his mothership
has relations with Darwin
who holds onto his dick
like some umbilical chord
through fear and the local press
and so
being corrupted
he remains earthbound and hairy.
Number 45
The Theban king on the other hand
who lives next door with his mam
knows that death is a coming together
best kept in a family bond
and realising society’s baseness
that life perpetuates sin
concentrating on the line he has taken
he keeps himself to himself.
So believing we’ll all be corrupted
his values are hidden away
though we may say he’s blinded to reason
or
that he’s walked too long in the sun.Number 47
The word is
the lodger at 47 was evicted
for keeping pigs
when his mind was never properly reassembled
after the fall
and believing he was a snake called Polyphemus
he returned to his roots
casting his seed before swine
fulfilling the Pythia’s muddled message
that the apes shall inherit the earth.
Number 49
In a room
no longer illuminated
Madonna and friend fall from the frieze
dislodged by vibrations of mental abuse
from a patron of Jewsons
who know it’s a fake.
But because the void is an anathema
for a connoisseur of Art
He attempts to retrieve the atmosphere
with a masterpiece called Madge
who sits and relates his fantasies
whilst he knows he’s hearing truth.Number 51
The Third Reich squats at 51
still consciously making sacrifices
for the cosmic energy crisis
though their spirits rose
when leather came in vogue
as it’s a universal truth
that bloody stains
can be wiped clean from lederhosen
whilst their arses twitch
for that final blow
when they, not you, are One
on the eve of a Golden Dawn.