Biography of Jack Turner
Hey! Right so, I'm 20 year old college student in Dublin, living, working and drinking hard. I didn't have an email address when i set up this account (I know, I'm a freak) so I've been using my cousin's one, which is really starting to get on her nerves I think, but she's just too polite to say.... I've been writing poetry for as long as I can possibly remember, at first awful, pretentious stuff over influenced by the old greats, but I've been working on developing my own 'voice' if you want to call it that, my philosphy being that I only write about things I understand, things that affect me...bit narcississtic maybe, but it's the only way I can be true and honest, so here I am, feel free to read, comment, etc, or take me out for a pint; -D Enjoy!
Jack Turner Poems
London calling it's smokers lungs bleating in sharp consonants, lulling vowels a mother's voice calling to her bosom
The white, white rot of apathy Wraps its ivy fingers round my throat I resist against the blinding blankness But the will to fight is leaching from my ones
I have a secret. I keep it locked away, clutched to my heart. I guard it with my life, and I may give it But it will not let me go.
And So, Retire
The twilight comes slowly, Almost unnoticeable and weary limbs sink thankful to the chair. Another day over, and in for the night.
I bought you Roses fresh ones, pretty, two dozen wrapped in silk Carried them from the shop like a newborn cradled gently in my arms
Old Boy's Movies
I worship boys in old movies. Cool swaggers, careful quiffs the slouching leather jacket
Lady In Green
The moon dawns upon perfection A dream, nestled in my bedsheets, Hair as rich as brandy and lips
I'M Not There
I am my jailer, and my cell I am my heaven, and my hell I am the beauty and the beast;
Once, something passed between us more than space and time And something other filled my bed than flailing arms and kicking legs And nights pass by in silence Television fills the void
The girl's a shooting Shining star I hold my net
You are not real to me; I don't think you ever were. You weren't real in the cold October
Grey clouds gathered on the seashore Doom and gloom that loomed upon our heads Markets ebbed and flowed upon the shoreline People screamed Drowning
He breaks his back slaving over Lager laced with never mind Mind nothing, mindless, mind your step
The smell, embedded in my flesh Attacks my stomach the stench of death burned into my hands
And So, Retire
The twilight comes slowly,
and weary limbs sink thankful to the chair.
Another day over, and in for the night.
The fire flickers like a memory
of summers past
and passions turned to ashes.
The mirror lies, perhaps - but only to the young
and no frosted glass or gloss can hide