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Netting The Goat

And Other Poetry

J. Elk-Baptisté

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2018

J. Elk-Baptisté

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Netting the Goat

You’ve heard the one about the wobbly man

He will not be stilled

His tale cannot be unheard

He is undead

You are condemned by him

To an excruciating unrest

Crying is unceasing

Carries on forever

You are his and he can’t let go

You are the Ranger from up there atop old Smokey

And never again can you be trusted with matches

Carry on claiming amnesia

Protesting this or that

A terminal case of confusion

But the burning house was real

The monster no mystery

No mystery

For you are he

My friend

And best get used to it


Captain’s on the bridge!

And his feet have never looked so large




Downright dangerous

Perfect for bumping into things

Keep quiet grinning.

Stay mum

Think of her at home

With a new blue teapot

A ton of sugar in the larder

Every canister fresh-filled to brimming


Stay clear of props.

With the mouth jammed tight shut

Toss that sailor a line

Knowing far worse must come

The radio man sinks to the deck

Torpedo coming in on port-side like a fist

Get ready now

Brace yourself, boy!

Be quick

Glance away

Glance away

Dress Code

Might be an old sea-dog

Or a sandwich

Claims she’s a qualified nurse

You’re no nurse, says I



Where’s your proper gear then?

Where is your…

You know…

Pinned-on tiny watch and white-starched cuffs?

Where’s your little cap with wings?


No uniform

You’re no real nurse without one

She knows it of course

No Cloud Busters

No white hose

No thermometer. No actual nurse-vibe

An ache without a home is fair description

She is tight-stitched, wicked-smiling and there’s hellish-gloating going on behind it

She places a thin syringe on the small table, explains, “This one is very fine—it is designed for the fleshy tissue of the abdomen.”


You will take NO MORE blood!

Le petit Trianon

Petit fours

Flowers by Fragonard

Lost fragrance

I recall a timely meeting with a friendly Scot on Argyle Street after rain

A swooping and swaying takes me—I’m like a yacht. A yacht tossed-about

The Milky Way is a beautiful galaxy

Up on the Cardiac Ward at the Royal

She hums a golden oldie by Ricky Nelson

Hello Marylou

She’s cute, she thinks

Thinks I am ugly and, everyone must see it

After making my escape I will rest beneath stars


If you’re ever down our way you must come on up for one

I’ll wrap it free of charge and you can take it home on the back seat

When you’re with us

The wife will show you round the garden

It’s a treat a real treat

Done wonders she has

Drew up the whole thing

The plan—yes—the plan

And right from the get-go

Worked out the bridge traversing the pond

Set the four big pylons in place

She’s a right bitch when it comes to hard work is our Jez

Be sure to give us a bell before you set out and

We can be nice and ready for your arrival

Remember number sixteen—sweet sixteen—and you can’t ere

Name‘s right there on the box out front by the gate

It is a big red gate and you won’t miss it

Always blue birds perched on the pickets

And if you see a lady with an elegant walk

On your way into the village

Tell her from me

To keep well away from the underpass

Colors and Notes

War fought with green planes?

If planes were heritage green it might seem wrong somehow

To send them off to strafe villagers in villages

With puppies, caged birds, babes in arms

House cats, toddlers, and you name it

Suede pumps if you please?

Puppies, caged birds and fish in bowls

A marmalade kitten making a pretty picture at a wayside shrine

Can war carry on soundlessly?

Tanks grinding in silent ditches

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