crawl into my grave and turn the key

i have done all i can to forget you but the memory still creeps across my skin i have done all i can to hide from you but the light still burns my eyes i have done all i can to bury the past in a box carved out of feigned indifference but still you crawl into my grave and break the seal crawl into my grave and pick the lock crawl into my grave and turn the key

Russell J Turner - September 2010

seventeen years

there was a time when i would have given you anything given up anything surrendered my life to you surrendered my life for you but seventeen years is a long time long time stroking her neck running my fingers through her hair beyond comprehension willfully misunderstanding days i wished would last forever nights strung out with pills and whiskey and the laughter the laughter electric glances between us but now the looks are fading tracing lines down the small of her back razor blades cuts of love and pain oozing through dull consciousness some idiot osmosis these celebrations leave their marks on a man and a woman counts the days waiting for her bright lover to return and i dimly feel that desire building up now beneath my tongue she comes to me she comes to me and all is forgotten all buried like water beneath the rush of seventeen years

Russell J Turner - September 2010

Hell on Earth (A Recruitment Song)

If you dig unwanted pregnancies,
Join the Catholic Church;
And suffering from sexual disease,
Then join the Catholic Church.

If child-molesting makes you smile,
Join the Catholic Church;
And help protect a paedophile
When you join the Catholic Church.

Join the Catholic, join the Catholic,
Join the Catholic Church;
If you believe in Hell on Earth
Then join the Catholic Church.

If you believe in fear not love,
Join the Catholic Church;
Because you fear your Lord above,
Join the Catholic Church.

If you deny a woman's right to choose,
Join the Catholic Church;
If you helped the Nazis kill the Jews,
Then join the Catholic Church.

Join the Catholic, join the Catholic,
Join the Catholic Church;
If you believe in Hell on Earth
Then join the Catholic Church.

If you hate gays and all their kin,
Join the Catholic Church;
And think women are the cause of sin,
Then join the Catholic Church.

If you still believe in fairytales,
Join the Catholic Church;
And we'll pin you up with Christ's own nails
When you join the Catholic Church.

Join the Catholic, join the Catholic,
Join the Catholic Church;
If you desire a Hell on Earth
Then join the Catholic Church.

Russell J Turner – September 2010

Got Hitched

Got hitched,
Got stitched,
Bewitched and bitched and ditched.

Got tried,
Got fried,
A bride inside denied.

Got claimed,
Got tamed,
Defamed and blamed and shamed.

Got sought,
Got caught,
Then brought in sport and taught.

Got chained,
Got trained,
Disdained and caned and stained.

Got fussed,
Got sussed,
We must all trust in lust.

Russell J Turner - September 2010

Three Little Words

Listen very carefully:

You will stick needles in my soul,
Run your tongue across my ego,
And pump nitrous oxide through my blood
In a vain attempt to assuage my guilt.

You will paint perfume on my skin,
Interrogate my damaged faith,
And sing songs of synchronicity
In a doomed attempt to dispel my doubts.

You will throw caution to the wind,
Massage my broken bravado,
And write my words in six-feet scrawl
In a futile attempt to confound my critics.

Listen very carefully:

We two are one within the skin;
We two are one between the sheets;
We two are one beneath the knife.
Give me your love and I will give you my ring;
Give me your love and I will give you my heat;
Give me your love and I will give you my life.

Listen very carefully.

Russell J Turner - September 2010

The Mother of Mexican Poetry

I was born in a shack in Sonora.
I was born in a bungalow in Tel Aviv.
I was born in a country house in the Yorkshire Dales.
The details are not recorded,
Because the details are the Devil's secret.

My mother died screaming in child-birth.
My mother turned to prostitution and crack cocaine.
My mother rode with the hunt and the hound.
The details are ill-defined,
Because the details are the Devil's province.

My father raised a hard-eyed child.
My father disappeared in 1968.
My father blew his brains out one Christmas Eve.
The details are transitory,
Because the details are the Devil’s joke.

And three times I was martyred:
In the garden at Gethsemane,
On the streets of Alexandria,
In the cold of Salem meeting-house;
For I am the mother of Mexican poetry,
The daughter of an institutional revolution,
The sister of the unnamed dead.

Russell J Turner - September 2010