Saturday, 20 August 2011

Another Stranger and Another Street

stumbling down sick-stained neon streets stalking some random stranger who walks past a pub so I enter the bar and drink a pint and exit the bar then rewind and repeat
rewind and repeat
another stranger and another street

then at pub number I can’t remember trailing the bloke in off the pavement poking me in the chest shouting something can’t focus properly but I see her at the end of the room short black hair short black skirt fishnets pumps and wide wide eyes
wide wide eyes
eyes to fall into and drown in surprise

the punch comes in but she’s already got me by the arm dragging me down the road round the corner laughing so much I can hardly breathe doubled up she grabs my chin slaps me twice and kisses me full on the lips
full on the lips
no sound but the silence of the beat that my heart skips

and the sun comes up and the sun goes down
and my world stops but the earth spins round

and I have forgotten what it was I drank to forget
and all that there is is her body in the bed
entwined around mine
and her voice in my head
and her smile yes her smile
and our future
for a while

Russell J Turner – July 2011

Let's Start Again

Bombs in bin bags, and little boy soldiers
bearing Kalashnikovs and a soul–stolen stare.
‘Don’t be a stranger,’ you said, as the
flickering black and white faded to scarlet.

These are the stuff of your dreams.
Millenarian fantasies girdle the earth,
faster than Puck but slower than the light,
and the world goes to hell in a hand-cart.

Yet you are no Pandora or Cassandra,
though your hope still hides in corners;
skittering from room to room
she whispers to no-one in particular:

‘Burn the churches, the temples, mosques
and synagogues. Piss on the grave of
consumerism and I will bless you and
bring forth sweet wine and roses.’

When I make the call you are climbing
another mountain, screaming at the
gathering storm, and the words stick in
my throat: ‘I love you. Please come home.’

Russell J Turner – June 2011