Sunday, 18 November 2012


Beware the usurer my girl,
who lends to see your lips unfurl
and softly, slowly, validate
the body as his interest rate.
Avoid the flatterer my lass:
grinning, cocksure, bold as brass;
but brass won’t pay the surgeon’s bill,
and gold will buy a bitter pill.
Then love the laughing boy my child,
go dancing with him through the wild,
where ecstasy and perfumed sweat
will grant a gift, not claim a debt.
For kisses laid upon the womb
are sweeter than a lonely tomb.

Russell J Turner – October 2012

Pissing up the walls of dollar hell

She's spitting out some screwed-up villanelle
to every Johnny looking for their luck,
she’s pissing up the walls of dollar hell.

And ninety cents an hour don’t cast no spell,
that hot steel peels her cranium unstuck
through spitting out some screwed-up villanelle.

All dried-up bitches with no soul to sell,
them lame floor ladies, they don’t give a fuck–
done pissing up the walls of dollar hell.

Forget it sister, there’s no kiss and tell,
no Catholic girls, no fine young cock to suck,
just spitting out some screwed-up villanelle.

Those stallions won’t drink from this poisoned well,
and Sally’s mustang’s too damn tired to buck–
gone pissing up the walls of dollar hell.

Still waiting for that final graveyard bell,
a New York ticket flowering in the muck.
She's spitting out some screwed-up villanelle,
she’s pissing up the walls of dollar hell.

Russell J Turner – October 2012

Sonnet for Mia

When I first heard Mia Zapata rhyme,
The fist that clenched my soul began to shake
This sleeper, startled, suddenly awake;
A drumbeat dancing up and down my spine.
Like Janis, twenty years out of her time:
Some spirit cast in fire, a tongue to break
Your heart in two, then mend it new, to make
Mad love to thousands on the borderline.
But now I hear Mia Zapata weep–
For there are times when we are all afraid–
Seattle stalks her while her lovers sleep,
Seattle breaks her beauty with a blade;
A ballad of divine profanity,
She sings a soft unfinished symphony…

Russell J Turner – October 2012

Tuesday, 6 November 2012

trashcan romance

when the dustmen emptied out the bins
     they started a totally inappropriate relationship
all over the garden and onto the pavement
     so I warned them that they were making fools of themselves
mixing up the landfill and the recyclables
     but they told me to mind my own business
I went completely ballistic
     said something about stones and glasshouses
threatening to call the council and the police
     which was a bit close to the bone
but that seemed to have the desired effect
     leaving me in floods of tears
shaming them into clearing up their mess
     and then they snogged in the middle of the road just to rub it in

Russell J Turner – November 2012

Monday, 5 November 2012

An escalated war against my nerves and my soul

able to fit inside one suitcase
the whole thing is as plain as a sock on the jaw
An invaluable tool
It all started in March of last year
during the surgery, they went ahead
which would remove nearly every person
when it is best for him to keep his lips
Language is wine
How odd to use it as an insult
Latin was an elective
to get a taste of the history
to give you the straight dope
we have to resort to long and arid dissertations
we have to resort to long and arid dissertations
we have to resort to long and arid dissertations

Russell J Turner – September 2012

Dedicated to all the fascists in the audience

opposition means death by slow starvation
there could be a vegetarian version
Boston is trying to catch up
the effects of wind and water
cool cups of hot chocolate
burn up in the wildfires
into the Colorado River
led to the collapse of these societies
‘The Last Hours of Ancient Sunlight’
we borrow it from our children
as a guide to mundane relations
studying national charts
showed a clear secular trend
showed a clear secular trend
showed a clear secular trend

Russell J Turner – September 2012

situation normal all fucked up

War, Peace and all that Jazz
on a red firetruck moving tense unheeded
as an homage to the paintings that were made in homage to them
the changing fates of history
reaching the ideal of urbanization
the world is an endless one
when all those whales and dolphins are swimming around
they feel comfortable
sashes add bulk and make the waist look larger
Although we cannot compete with Chinese import prices
this logic is compelling
to build a timepiece that would last forever
and has had many vastly different iterations
before heading back into the fray
Honestly, When Should I Go?
my phone’s blowing up tonight
my phone’s blowing up tonight
my phone’s blowing up tonight

Russell J Turner – September 2012

Wednesday, 26 September 2012

I assert my right to suicide

and this is the weird part
it can be read as a viewer’s lament
encouraged by the Roman Catholic Church
mindful of the truth
that helps you stay on track
the patient’s phone number is provided for easy contact
sending out generic reminders
will be a bigger threat
in my generation, our mentors and our captains
burn twice as much land each year
in the coming decades
In order to build a more robust understanding
That New Design Smell
and Dutch foreign affairs
has a unique combination of expertise
to ensure the perfect accuracy of your translations
linguistic structures that have no direct equivalent
apart from terminological lacunae
apart from terminological lacunae
apart from terminological lacunae

Russell J Turner – September 2012
(with thanks to Jennifer Grey)

Never sign anything if you're just about to come

don’t be distracted
and do what you do
at least a million people are already experiencing
The Most Common STDs
you should go to see a doctor
tell the teacher you’re sorry
to build a medical clinic in Guatemala
Even the home is a dangerous place
according to the Cardinal
the mouse and the lion
But you have made me laugh
It’s fucking funny
barking like a dog
I make noises like that during sex
I don’t mind as long as I don’t go deaf
Prevention is best!
It is a tool to help you find a healthy balance
and cook food at home correctly
No pink should be visible
to optimize flavour and moisture
it could be from the unpolluted mountain
Over craggy terrain in the remote village
Over craggy terrain in the remote village
Over craggy terrain in the remote village

Russell J Turner – September 2012

Bad Robot feeds me cake

there are pencils and pens and paper available
technology is marvellous
the distinction between information and knowledge
taxonomies and ontologies
it looked like we had a mountain to climb
a huge glacier between us
the grizzly and mountain goat as well
which is nice when you are running
like some sad, bent slave
“I must get my soul back from you; I am killing my flesh without it.”
Be the first of your friends
Built in 15 days
with a helicopter
his testicles are of sufficient size
When compared to other primates
in St. Louis, Missouri
which has numerous sinkholes and caves
leaking through the pavement and carrying dirt
leaking through the pavement and carrying dirt
leaking through the pavement and carrying dirt

Russell J Turner – September 2012

Friday, 7 September 2012

Synchronize your dogmas

inadequate to the stormy present
we must think anew, and act anew
Impact in Black and White
simple and to the point
Geometric aspects of the definition
and its methods and principles
There are no discussions
Hillary Clinton said
it is not sincere about peace
trust women
to put the trafficking business out of business
in the painfully slow race against death
pursued by Manfred von Richthofen
wild boar, elk, birds, and deer
A few decades ago
It seems strange to me to hear
Fierce fiery warriors fought upon the clouds
Fierce fiery warriors fought upon the clouds
Fierce fiery warriors fought upon the clouds

Russell J Turner – September 2012

An evil genius for a better tomorrow

included in the gallery for documentation purposes
You can help too!
flesh isn’t the same as cardboard
That turkey deserved it
The banker buys himself a tub of ice cream
a heavyweight contractor
killed by falling window
“sorry we couldn’t save you”
and then the light went out
into a deeper relationship with the Lord
define yourself based on your appearance
eat only hamburgers and pasta
seems to really have legs
(leaving out the fat differences)
pinched and prodded by some dude
pinched and prodded by some dude
pinched and prodded by some dude

Russell J Turner – September 2012

Lobbed quietly into the advantage court

There are no umbrellas in the umbrella stand
lots of options for heating and lighting
mounted and unobtrusive
A novel tag-free solution
renowned for innovation
How did you develop the passion for this subject?
bring the non-existent into existence
one big city of awesomeness
made from old buildings
protects the inheritance of our children
‘downsize’ and release
the cheapest and most transparent option
Seamless Relocation
as positive and smooth as possible
“Life is far too important to be taken seriously”
Perhaps that will be the end of me
Perhaps that will be the end of me
Perhaps that will be the end of me

Russell J Turner – September 2012


1) Feed seed phrase/title/first line into Google

2) Go to first suggested page and pick a phrase from that page for the next line

3) Feed that phrase into Google

4) Repeat until looping occurs

Tuesday, 24 April 2012


met a stonebear on the platform put me in your pocket boy and call me lucky six hundred nights i slept to bring me wisdom count the crows and hear their cries wheeling above white towers drowned by the sun

put me in your pocket boy and call me crimson take me further down the line to pirouette on tarmac shattered wrist and elbow we have seen the future under blue light shaped like silence blood red dreams of children

put me in your pocket boy and call me three times bring me a whiskey prophet to bless the waters find me a flame haired girl to heal my heaven send me tattered melodies to sing the seashore down

met a stonebear on the platform put me in your pocket boy and call me broken

Russell J Turner – April 2012

Monday, 27 February 2012

One-Eyed Witness

Marie Colvin 1956 – 2012. There are two sides to every story...

A rat-faced creature, very often pissed,
Who hacks his way into our private calls
And brings contempt upon our ‘hallowed’ halls:
Perfidious, deceitful columnist;
Untrustworthy and faithless journalist.
The fourth estate has got us by the balls,
As back under his slimy rock he crawls
To itemise the lovers we have kissed.
By motorbike, by stealth, she creeps across
The border, to a place few dare to go.
Until she dies we cannot know our loss -
Nor comprehend the gratitude we owe –
As thousands perish in a foreign land,
The one-eyed witness sleeps beneath the sand.

Russell J Turner – February 2012

Thursday, 23 February 2012

'On the art of writing'

And the ink flowed like tears...

A stream of consciousness flows from my pen
Across the paper’s blank, unyielding stare -
Some flights of fancy take me who-knows-where?
It’s not a question now of ‘If’, but ‘When’
The spirit soars beyond its normal ken,
With all those secret hopes and fears laid bare.
I journey now, above all earthly care –
Composed, serene, within my scribing den.
But then, the faintest sliver of dread doubt
Begins insistent whispering in my ear,
And rises to a raging, throaty, shout
From all those bards and poets down the years,
Who care not if I bend or break their rules:
“Enough! Just write, you poor deluded fool!”

Russell J Turner - February 2012

Sunday, 19 February 2012

The Leaving of Harar

The outlaw death of Arthur Rimbaud

He lies upon a stretcher in the square
With grim men, pistoled, daggered, standing guard:
The leaving of Harar is proving hard,
But harder still to stay under the glare,
Such hatred and contempt. And so from there
By camel, across countless burning yards
Of sand, at last a precious boarding-card
To France, with gold enough to pay the fare.
Then birds take flight around a drunken boat
That cuts the Meuse beneath those voiceless trees,
Where reputation grips him by the throat
And cancer drives him finally to his knees.
The widow brings her devil-son back home
From Marseille, to a grave under the stone.

Russell J Turner - February 2012

Wednesday, 15 February 2012

The Day That Love Was Banned

All watched over by machines of less-than-loving grace

The day that love was banned I packed my things,
That debris of my life, into a case
And headed for the coast – some other place
To hide all hope and joy under the wings
Of hawks. Whilst handsaws sliced the souls of kings
In half, machines of less-than-loving grace
Disfigured poetry and brought the face
Of beauty deep beneath, where no bird sings.
But birdsong broke then far along the beach:
Her footsteps, muffled by the surf and sand,
Still boomed like drumbeats just within the reach
Of outstretched arms. She stopped, and took my hand,
Then climbed the cliffs and sat us down to teach
Our hearts to soar, the day that love was banned.

Russell J Turner - February 2012

Monday, 13 February 2012

So pale she was, so pale

S├ęgou, Mali, 1993

She floats above the river like a shade
Of summer in her yellow cotton dress,
As pale and perfect as the moon’s caress;
With blood-red fingers slicing down the blade,
Then tracing tracks across the roughly-made
Old linen of those maps, which only guess
At crimes the conquerors dare not confess.
She hesitates: for now she is afraid
I want her. But, in truth, we never met -
Just some conceit that I may know her need,
While empires rise and empires fall - and yet
The hope remains that we may still be freed
From fear, to lay a perfume on our sweat,
To have, to hold, to love until we bleed.

Russell J Turner - February 2012

Thursday, 9 February 2012

I'm on the side of the angels but the devil is my best friend

For all the Ranters in the audience...

I went out on the piss with Satan’s mates,
Cruising up and down the Old Kent Road;
Searching for the Goddamned motherlode,
A box of hope, a perfect twist of fate,
Jerusalem – now Lucifer’s estate
That flourishes through streets where Blake once strode,
Where angels longed to tread, where beauty flowed -
Some fucked-up paradise of fear and hate.
But then, outside the World Turned Upside Down,
We met a bunch of loved-up seraphim,
Who spread the spirit of the dove around -
Big fish, little fish, shiraz, dope and gin -
Whilst shouting at uncomprehending crowds:
“You may only ever know the Lord through sin!”

Russell J Turner – February 2012

Tuesday, 7 February 2012

The day I forgot my password...

The day I forgot my password an asteroid crashed into the Atlantic, generating a massive tsunami that engulfed Europe, Africa & the Americas, whilst throwing millions of tons of water into the atmosphere and precipitating a ‘nuclear winter’ which wiped out 90% of animal & plant species on the planet. The cockroaches were pretty fucking smug about it all.

The day I forgot my password the love of my life flounced out of said life to set up home in Brighton with some wanker called Digby. In a fit of pique I crept into their house and wired the front-door handle to the mains.

The day I forgot my password Richard Dawkins challenged the Pope to a game of darts in a pub in Hackney, in order to settle once and for all the question of the existence or otherwise of God. This historic match was abandoned halfway through the second set when a drunken punter glassed His Holiness.

The day I forgot my password the cat drank an entire bottle of brandy, stole a selection of kitchen knives and then hijacked the number 27, shouting “Take this bus to Cuba!” in a bizarre Yorkshire accent. It was trending on Twitter for literally minutes.

The day I forgot my password Tony Blair was caught naked in a brothel in Singapore, masturbating furiously as he snorted coke off some hooker’s pert little tits. “Well, at least nobody died” he chuckled, as they hauled him off in handcuffs.

The day I forgot my password absolutely nothing noteworthy occurred. I simply kicked my computer in the fucking teeth and put the kettle on.

Russell J Turner - February 2012

Sunday, 5 February 2012

28 Sonnets Later

The poem below is part of a project I'm involved in during February. Visit 28 Sonnets Later for more sonnety goodness.

The Prevention of Literature

After an essay by George Orwell

The glories that we find in fourteen lines
May justify those wars and battles fought,
Or timeless conflicts of another sort,
With portents, miracles and wondrous signs.
For there is power in a crafted rhyme
And beauty in a gleaming frozen thought,
But power, craft and beauty may be bought,
Then set to service in some evil time.
A time when we should heed the clarion call
And steel ourselves to face the common foe:
Though literature and journalism fall,
Yet poetry shall be the last to go;
Till jackboots echo, endless, down the halls,
As Orwell whispers “See, I told you so...”

Russell J Turner – February 2012

Thursday, 2 February 2012

oh it's unlust and the one dimensional boy

she clips her nails like a film star carves fame into tawdry caravan doors swooping aerodynamically down some red carpet into a golden future where young men file her tax returns and fawn on hearth rugs drunk on hearth rugs till that faded photo microphone thrust where did it all go wrong just sing that same old song but who’s this puppy on your shoulder is it marriage is it love the fingers scrape again again oh it’s unlust and the one dimensional boy

Russell J Turner – February 2012