Trust Never Sleeps

There are things best left unread:
Like the Necromonicon.
Or the Daily Mail.

There are things best left unwed:
Like the Bride of Frankenstein.
Or the Groom from the Black Lagoon.

There are things best left undead:
Like a cat-in-a-box.
Or a particularly recalcitrant zombie.

There are things best left unfed:
Like the fires of dark Satanic mills.
Or a voracious and unwarranted ego.

There are things best left unbled:
Like those war story wounds.
Or a big, big heart.

There are things best left unshed:
Like a pair of sheer silk stockings.
Or a snakeskin layer of trust.

There are things best left unsaid.

Russell J Turner – January 2011

they'll all be dead in six months anyway

when the ship sank there was barely time to break out the brandy dig out the manual figure out this new calculus this other set of variables

when the ship sank do not forget this is war my son i won’t papa just this once but never again i won’t papa they will use this to put a noose around my neck just put the cross around my neck papa and be done

when the ship sank adrift in an ocean literal and spiritual no place of sanctuary nothing but a big red talisman to hide behind and whisper

when the ship sank called to the others not sleeping but wideawake they came from the west lost in translation lost in jubilation into the waters into the boats cut the ropes cut the ties that bind

when the ship sank everything changed he was a good man good man shake his hand but they’ll all be dead in six months anyway

Russell J Turner – January 2011

Othertimes I Bring Gifts

I

The lines run down the window
Broken by light
I call you from the diamond
Singing of fair cities and dead prophets

Not one but three
Take tea with the lanternman
As if hoarding memories
Against the coming frost

II

Startled she wakes
Clutching like a drowning girl
Scattered pattern princess
Heading for the bright lights

There is no honour in abandonment
Grey weeds between the bricks
Yellowed paper road
And red ruby slippers

III

Sometimes I weep
And othertimes I bring gifts
As the crowd roars
For their shy hero

Then as now the clock beats
Some staccato silence
Fourteen times he took their plaudits
And broke their big hearts

IV

No more nonsense
Just a quiet sense of the ridiculous
No more nonsense
Sleeps with me, sleep with me

Russell J Turner – January 2011

Books What I Have Read

July to December 2010

Jitterbug Perfume - Tom Robbins (9)
Madame de Pompadour - Margaret Crosland (4)
2666 - Roberto Bolano (10)
The Crucible - Arthur Miller (9)
Antwerp - Roberto Bolano (10)
Salem Possessed - Boyer & Nissenbaum (7)
The Daughters of Juarez - Teresa Rodriguez (5)
Amulet - Roberto Bolano (10)
Judge Sewall's Apology - Richard Francis (9)
C - Tom McCarthy (8)
Censorship - Julian Petley (7)
The Pillowman - Martin McDonagh (8)
Otherland Vol. 1 - Tad Williams (6)
Surface Detail - Iain M Banks (9)
The Skating Rink - Roberto Bolano (8)
Wittgenstein's Poker - Edmonds & Eidinow (8)
Oryx and Crake - Margaret Atwood (8)
Monsieur Pain - Roberto Bolano (8)
The Year of the Flood - Margaret Atwood (7)
Southampton Dada - Nick Rogers (6)
The Heart of a Dog - Mikhail Bulgakov (7)
Pandaemonium - Christopher Brookmyre (6)
The Little Prince - A. de St-Exupery (8)
Thought Disorder - Joshua Jones (6)

Films What I Have Seen at the Cinema

July to December 2010

Inception (6)
Winter's Bone (10)
Richard III (7)
Blood of a Poet (8)
The Social Network (9)
Police, Adjective (3)
The American (7)
Somewhere (9)

The Oslo Girls

The Oslo girls paint by numbers.
The Oslo girls supplement their income through bookkeeping and prostitution.
The Oslo girls weep for the dead of Juarez.

The Oslo girls invented baseball.
The Oslo girls called for you while you were out.
The Oslo girls like boys with toys.

The Oslo girls are inside the tent pissing out.
The Oslo girls have come for your children.
The Oslo girls favour the brave.

The Oslo girls are outside the tent pissing in.
The Oslo girls shot JFK.
The Oslo girls asked questions later.

The Oslo girls shall look on Helen's face in hell.
The Oslo girls have started so they'll finish.
The Oslo girls plagiarise, plagiarise, plagiarise.

The Oslo girls are training men. Hallelujah.
The Oslo girls will free your mind and your ass will follow.
The Oslo girls give as good as they get.

The Oslo girls are God's gift to women.
The Oslo girls are God's gift to women?
The Oslo girls are God's gift to women.

The Oslo girls know where you live.
The Oslo girls scream when they wanna go faster.
The Oslo girls are on the side of the angels. But the Devil is their best friend.

The Oslo girls do not break eggs to make an omelette.
The Oslo girls are slippery when wet.
The Oslo girls had a farm. Ee-i-ee-i-o.

The Oslo girls got married in a fever.
The Oslo girls would like to meet your mother.
The Oslo girls threw the baby out with the bath water.

The Oslo girls licked the platter clean.
The Oslo girls built Rome in a day.
The Oslo girls told God to do it.

The Oslo girls got drunk on dark wine.
The Oslo girls gather no moss.
The Oslo girls went down to the river to pray.

The Oslo girls like it hot.
The Oslo girls are only slightly bent.
The Oslo girls love you. Very, very much. They just don't have the words.

Russell J Turner - December 2010

My Cocaine Mistress

You were huddled round the fire on the beach,
Shepherding the flames for the evening breeze.
Swapping Special Brew and spliffs with your mates:
Laughing stories of boys and toys,
Cocks and dildos.
Wrapped in a duffle coat of former days,
You flicked a curl back from your ear:
Unselfconscious, sweet, distracted, mischief on your mind;
You smiled not at me, but for me.
And I fell in love with you that night,
That very moment, on that beach,
I fell in love with you;
My cocaine mistress.

You were curled up on the sofa like a panther,
A panther with a roll-up and a glass of cheap red wine.
Grinning at the old war stories:
Tall tales of men and motors,
Parties and regret.
Wrapped in a dream of former days,
You spoke as secret lovers do:
Unselfconscious, absent, perfect, music in your eyes;
You talked not to me, but for me.
And I fell in love with you that night,
That very moment, on that sofa,
I fell in love with you;
My cocaine mistress.

You were crying on a corner in the rain,
Crying for your dead youth and the years that had been lost
At the loving hands of families and friends:
Relations of the blood and the blade,
Instruments and cigarettes.
Wrapped in a dislocation of former days,
Your tears washing away the innocence:
Unselfconscious, squalid, human, sorrow on your breath;
You kissed me. You kissed me.
And I fell in love with you that night,
That very moment, in that rain,
I fell in love with you;
My cocaine mistress.

You are stretched out on the bedsheet like a doll,
Arms akimbo, damaged lady porcelain.
Tracing the journeys your body has taken:
Broken maps of pain and lust,
Addictions and despair.
Wrapped in a skin of former days,
White powder fills the furrows of your flesh.
Unselfconscious, ephemeral, eternal, a perfume on your sweat,
Purging me of all my guilt.
And I fall in love with you this night,
This very moment, every moment,
I fall in love with you again;
My cocaine mistress.

Russell J Turner – March 2009 & November 2010