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This page opens with Poem No 41 from MATT JONES. Thank you, Matt.

The Beast.......

Another day. Even more pain.
I`m being made to pay. But I can`t sustain.
This hate inside. It must get free.
I can no longer disguise. The beast in me.
No slowing its pace. No pulling it back.
There will be no trace. When the beast attacks.
Blow upon blow. The victim will suffer.
Crashes down on the skull. One after another.
At last it`s done. Vengeance is mine.
The beast has gone. Will return in time.
There will be no remorse. No sense of guilt.
It`s justice of course. For the anger that`s built........

cc Matt Jones 2001

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Two poems and a short prose piece from

Jim Bennett,

winner of the 2000 Poetry Superhighway Award.

Poem No 42

flocculent

you gave me a fleece coat

a present at Christmas

I didn't realise how cold it was

until you made me warm

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Poem No 43

Topological cellular automata

the purpose conclusions accepted that the universe similar position smooth
as it looks
would be distorted distance space looks like a network of loops paper
this project
similarities chapter working the program nature in theory parallel language
access
chosen as threading support mainly entity identified

identify all the nouns in the specification and call them potential objects
then the verbs found in the specification are the potential actions that the
system will
have to perform

identified designed datatype state dynamic to them and manipulating
totalistic draw
going generation passed a value if the rule says that Rule will be the
part of the
universe crossover parents and siblings impenetrable variation through
mutation
genetic algorithm encoding to be evolved array characteristics of the
differences
experimentation container class has double-scripted array set during
initialisation by
the object that creates it informal conventions generations distinguish the
steps have
this written in a form of topological automata all high-level functions need
to co-exist

verb - live
noun - self automata
noun verb phrase - topological cellular automata
operate - live

No 44 (Prose)

Something I Found Out About Myself Yesterday.

Words. words, so many words and what choices to make. So many adjectives full and ripe ready to explode with meaning raising the noun to new highest. And this story I am bursting to tell - now let me see how shall I tell this story. I need an opening with some fire. I know - “Bill was a rich man” perfect, after all everyone likes a story about the rich.

So to work.

“Bill was a rich man from a rich family he had everything he wanted except true love. he had often stood in the garden, which had big rich bushes and flowers and stood outside the window of his big house. but when he stood at the garden gate he knew that true love avoided him like birds in the garden.
True love he could not find. He found the other sort of love, untrue and exposed himself to it. As he was rich he could indulge his whims and did. Then one day Agnes passed his garden gate and saw him and wanted to be his wife wanted to get his love. But Bill being rich did not see Agnes she was stricken with poverty and would not get his love. Until one day as she stalked him she saw him fall and trip. He banged his head and lost his memory then he forgot he was a rich man and fell in love with Agnes. When his memory returned... “

Oh what to do. What a choice to make, does he stay with her and live happily. or does he return to his monied life and leave her. Oh Agnes how could he do that to you.. I can see it now, days after the publication the press will hound me. They will be demanding a press conference and I will walk in aloof from their masses. Perhaps I should have a big cigar, no that is too brash, perhaps a cigarette, held casually or better still in a long holder that I can chew as I snarl back my answers. They will demand an alternative whatever it is so maybe I should write both endings.

There are not many words but I have captured the essence of their relationship on a page.
I can understand why people will fall in love with Agnes and hate Bill but I must not take sides. They are both the children of my pregnant mind. Yes pregnant with ideas. Yesterday I did not know who I was but today, I have insight, I realised I have music in my pen, for today I know I am a writer.

Find Jim's Home Page at http://www.geocities.com/Athens/Academy/1127/

Poem No 45 is from HEATHER BOWERY

Thanks to Heather for sending this by e-mail

JACK'S QUEEN

Intending work,
I glanced out
through my window
and transfixed,
was there ensnared
by beauty.

She lay languid, quiet,
still across the hills,
hair blending with the clouds
'till endings and beginnings blurred

Her skin:
a sky of purest duck egg blue
threaded through with apricot,
warmth of afternoon's low sun
blooming
in her cheeks.

Her mantle:
woods and fields,
woven silks of dove and grey
shot through with softest sage,
embroidered then
with finest traceries -
beech, rowan, sycamore and oak
reaching to her throat.

And at her waist and hem
delicate tangle of
bramble, holly, thorn
in shades of olive,
charcoal, rust.
And beadwork sparkled over all
A sensuous sprinkling
of frost and rime.

And as I gazed
she saw
my look
and flushed.
And smiling, took the
setting sun
and pinned it
in her drifting hair.

And as a lone wild swan
flapped effortlessly home
I turned away,
remembering anew
to breathe.

22 Dec. 2000
by Heather Bowery