Some people have lessons

Some people have lessons to demonstrate their prowess
Some people have lessons their friends to impress

Some people have lessons succumbing to pressure
Some people have lessons merely for pleasure

Some people have lessons to pick up some tips
Some people have lessons because they like the trips

Some people have lessons because they feel they should
Some people would have more lessons if only they could

Some people have lessons thier scores to improve
Some people have lessons to get their horses to move

Some people have lessons just for the ride
Some people have lessons thier hopes and fears to confide

Some people have lessons to talk and to chat
Some people have lessons to learn how to plait

Some people have lessons their teacher to praise
The next time you see them it's a new teacher, a new craze

Some people have lessons to relieve their stress
But very few have lessons to make any progress

I offer my hand

I offer my hand
Accept it, I demand
You spit it back, your reprimand
It is unacceptable.

I offer my hand
You pull and you jerk
I pull back and you smirk
It is unacceptable.

I offer my hand
I am not sure, I’m afraid
Your trust starts to fade
I am unacceptable.

I offer my hand
I believe, I am true
This hand’s worthy of you
You take it, what joy
It is acceptable.
I am accepted.

The actor

Strong and weak
Shallow and deep
Thorn and rose
One perpetual pose
Naked with clothes
Active in repose

Torn and forlorn
Recognition adorns
Precious and precocious
Feral and ferocious
Pauper and king
Innocence and sin
Lose and win
A passionate thing.

Drowning in fire
This honest liar
Sinking while floating
Fawning while gloating
Boss and slave
Cowardly brave
Reject and crave
Can he save
Himself?

Master of roles
Escaping the droll
Mistaken and understood
Mere flesh and blood

Luxurious wealth
Hiding with stealth
From being himself
What toll on his health?

His aching heel?
The reel.
For ‘tis our applause
Which makes him kneel
At our altar.

Feb 2009

Colours of Life

White
Pure and light
Snow and ghosts
Thoughts in flight

Black
Forest and night
Dark and cold
Evil might.

Grey
Tears and fears
Clouds and ashes
Prevaricating Peers

Red
Blood and wine
Crazed and angry
End of the line

Yellow
Flowers and sun
Bright and fun
The maillot jaune
A coward’s run

Blue
Seas and skies
Deep and broad
Movies and worries
Appealing eyes

Green
Grass and trees
On target, proceed
Envy, greed.

Clear?

The Murderer

Today by nature I’ve been tried
And she won’t be pacified
She accuses me of awful crimes
Whilst living in these peaceful times.

The issue is that few can see
We’re living in the midst of world war III
Each day a peaceful war takes place
For mastery of the human race.

It’s time to stop sitting on the fence
With the weight of evidence
I break down, I confess
This man’s life is marked by death
This devastation is called progress.

Sticks and stones

Sticks and stones
May break my bones
But words will never
Hurt me.

No not words
Its thoughts that kill
They drill deep holes
within my skull.

All the good
Just leaches out
As the voices in there
Curse and shout
Filling me
with fear and doubt
and emptiness.

My Bed

My bed
My place
My escape
From the human race.

Lying here
Is my disgrace
Outside, the pace
Is too fast for me.

So I lie here
Waiting for better days.

Hypocrits

Say yes, mean maybe
Say no, mean maybe
See black, say grey
See white, say grey
Disease, pain, future
Pleasure, ease, today.
Low commitment
High delay
Who will pay?

Life Cycle

Baby, weak?
Blank sheet
Fear, fate
Eat, regurgitate.

Child, strong?
Same, belong
Subjects, separate
Read, regurgitate.

Worker, why?
Things to buy
Out with mate
Drink, regurgitate.

Parent, how?
Father, son
Right, wrong
Repeat, regurgitate.

Baby, weak?

On cosmetic surgery

Outside
Same,
Size, shape
Sheep?

Inside
Shame,
Fear, difference
Shape?

Money plus knife equals beauty?
Different equals strange.

Outside
Diverse
Unique, individual
Fish?

Inside
This verse
Understanding, loving
Bliss?

Knowledge plus life equals beauty
Different equals strong.

c. Kerry Turner October 2007

Dr Dr

Dr Dr help me please
I’m out of breath, I cannot breathe
My heart is beating really fast
I’m afraid each beat may be my last
My joints they ache, I’m black and blue
I can’t bend down to tie my shoe
And then there’s my problems with the loo.

I’m up at least 6 times a night
This constant pissing’s really shite
Half my teeth have fallen out
My big toe’s sore. Could it be gout?
My ear is really hurting me
My eyes they smart I cannot see.
Sometimes I cough so much it hurts
My food ends up all down my shirts
Dr Dr I’m so glum
The only working part’s my tongue.

Old Stig

77 years old, how often I’m told
It’s time to slow down, and fit in the mould.

Last year, craving youth, I bought a new bike
She’s my heavy metal, elixir for my psyche.

She is a beauty. Her lines sleek and smooth
Curves in all the right places, designed for fast moves.

Each time I see her is just like the first
She never taunts me or brings out my worst.

She’s a fit lady. She sips on her juice.
Shaken not stirred. Tight never loose.

Time for her pampering, her skin polished til it shines
All her joints oiled, protected. When she flows so do I.

If sometimes I don’t see her, she never shows what she feels
She stands aloof and centred while I try my mates wheels.

If ever I should tyre of her or yearn for pastures new
She doesn’t demand a divorce. She comes to my rescue.

Do I love her? Yes I do. She’s cast her spell on me.
Ageless and timeless, turned on by her key.

Dead

What is death?
When I breathe my last breath?
When my heart ceases to beat?
When my last brain cell resigns in defeat?

When am I dead?
When I no longer need to be fed?
When my body’s as hard as lead?
When I’m no longer in my head?
When there’s no more dread?
When my words are no longer read, or said?
Is that dead?

The eagle and the rabbit

Eagle
On the wall
Watching, waiting, wanting

Warren
Rabbit waking
Wandering, wavering

No warning

Eagle
Swooping
Rabbit
Waning.

Eagle plus Rabbit equals Eagle
Understanding
Weeping.

c. Kerry Turner October 2007

If people were ponies

If people were ponies
Bedrooms become stables
Males sleep in dormitories
Inadequate males castrated
Best males “papered”.
Best mares mated.

Best gals their trainers
Guys strengthened, stretched, stimulated
dressed, nurtured,
never berated.

Playtime paddocks
Kicking their heels
Scratching their backs
Testing their mates
Freedom confined
This is the pact.

Meanwhile she
Learns all she can
In her quest
To improve her man.

Controlling herself
Moving with ease
Creative, energetic
Thank you and please.

Developing herself
Developing him
Partners for life
This is her aim.

Could people be ponies?

c. Kerry Turner November 2007

The Feeling of You

This feeling is special.
Why?
Could it be the look in your eye?
I’m drawn into you
Or have I drawn you into me?
Let me experiment.
Help me to see.

I feel you now.
Deep in my brain
Massaging each synapse
Easing the pain
Softening my eyes
Always whys
I see all and nothing
Your trance hypnotised.

My mind, liquid soft
Is this how you feel?
My tongue, velvet mouth
And moist liquid seal.
Now I’m breathing with you
Or breathing you in?
My inspiration, your air
Lighter, I’m flying
Confidently bare.

Repeat and repent
Never relent
Is this what you meant
By your experiment?

The Loner

I touch her cautiously, carefully
As if for the first time,
Sensing her heat, her texture.
I embrace her
Softly at first, testing her reaction.
My focus?
My breathing, my sensitivity to her, how I use myself
Always her. Her. And me.

Now I feel her all around me
Caressing my body
Easing my mind
Less and less resistant
More open to me
Wanting me, through her
My aim?
Connection, harmony with her
Always we. Oui?

She is my meditation
Water on my brain
She stimulates me.
My mantra is more
Stroking her
Length after length
Relentless,
Again,
Always repeating.

Resistance, minimal now
Exquisite awareness
I breathe with her
My heart beats for her
I am higher, lighter
I am alive.
Always satiated with her.

She is my release
Will she release me?
My thoughts turn
She clings to me
A last attempt to suck me back into her arms

I climb out and creep away
Droplets of her on my skin
Separate we are less graceful
More ordinary
Just a swimming pool and a regular guy.

The Guitar

I am beautiful
draped around his shoulders
supported by him
but I have no soul.

He gives me life
He is my Frankenstein
I am always available
Receptive to his touch
responsive to him.

He explores himself through me
He gives me a voice and I sing for him
He made me this way, hyper sensitive
one false move
and I must punish him
I can do no other.

I cannot forgive him
but I bear no grudges
I am always the same
his battle is with himself
his shame.

He can't sweet talk me
I respond to his feel
With me he gives himself away
I help him heal.

Together, we are more
you like, you adore
after, encore
I am left on a stand.
I lose his touch
we hear your hands.

(fyi - One of three poems inspired by guitarist John Petrucci. This to be read with "The Guitarist")

The Guitarist

I step on the stage
my mistress awaits
my calm is my rage
our audience anticipates.

Draped around my shoulders
I carry her with ease
My fingers tease her vocal chords
and she starts to breathe.

I press all her pedals
and stretch all her strings.
I play with my plectrum
and she starts to sing.

Distant yet close
confined yet free
I breathe and liquify
my cool is my heat

my sensation exquisite.

My fingers are fire
touch her and she burns
our heat singes you
as my attention turns.

Faster, I freeze.
Her shriek strikes my soul
I blink, c'est fini
This rock sometimes rolls.

I embrace her renewed
after our tiff
forgiven, in my heaven
my kiss heals the riff(t).

(fyi - One of three poems inspired by guitarist John Petrucci. This one intended to be read with "The Guitar")

As you were

I gaze on you in fascination
Ever seeking comprehension
Tell me where can you be found
In these pictures?
Lost in sound?

Which one is you in your disc eyes?
Which one the lion?
The one who lies
On a rock
And chants
The art of pomp and circumstance.

The new millennium arrived
In a raven-haired Jesus’ eyes
Not quite sure
Idealistic. Pure?
Making a stand.
A flame, blood red,
Cradled in your hands.

Time moves on
To two oh oh three
You stare in the mirror
We like what you see.
Shorn and set free
The gleaming black mane
Radiant, confident
Basking in fame?

The lion now is playing a lamb
Maybe a pirate? Sometimes a ram?
Is this one the family man?
The one who makes his bread with jam?
Tell me did you seek add vice
Consolation for her sacrifice?
I think I see it in your eyes………………

Four years passed since your G3 kiss
But mark the metamorphosis
The lion has become a bear
What answers lie within his lair?
I wonder what has become of him
The one who tore us limb from limb?
Confined, perhaps within his walls
Built to save him from a fall.

Tell me have I understood
This guy is more than strings and would
No tell me I don’t understand
You never would extend your hand.
To me.

(fyi - This poem is dedicated to G3 guitarist John Petrucci)

A Horse’s story

Forwards I move
Getting into the groove
I breathe and I blow
I release and I flow.

Blood courses through my veins
He feels it in the rein
Melting body, easing mind
Focus on him
Otherwise blind.

Lost in sensation
Systemic fascination
Two beings unite
No fear, pure sight.

A pause you don’t see
A release and I’m free
Forwards and light
Grounded in flight.

We straighten, we bend
Thro’ patterns we blend
We turn left and right
My steps increasing in height.

We stretch and we tone
My muscle, his bone.
Softer, I’m through
Both him and you

He asks for more
Now I’m really off the floor.
Piaffe, passage, pirouettes and changes
Transitions, precision in all my three paces.

Together we’re blessed
Separate less.
Just a guy and a horse
His dismount, our divorce.

c. Kerry Turner Nov 2007

The Trees

Here you stand
Skeletal but proud
Striking a pose
Naked, no clothes
Cryogenically froze
What lucid dreams
Absorb you?
Such brittle bones
Who would confess
You are sleeping beauties undressed?

Spring again
The kiss of the sun calls
And you melt in his warmth
Removing our layers
As you don yours
Time for new finery
A fashion show of latest shades
No rival in Paris
Velvet green
Blossom cream
Natures showers
Wash you clean
In liquid warmth
You luxuriate, unfurl
No longer bashful

Summer burns
We bask and thirst
We yearn for cool
We hide in your shade
As you seek out the light
Shimmering jewels and perfumes
The winds plays
And we hear your voice.

Autumn sneaks in
We are jaded and faded
The wind steals your clothes
our eyes are pleased
Daily we observe your silent striptease
As you dance to the rhythm of natures breeze.

The Gravestone

I don’t exist
Carve up my parts and I am lost.
My role is the whole.

My genetic parents gave me life.
A chance to see.
“I” emerged through my choices
touched by countless others
whys made me wise
hows made me whole
a world inside and outside me

I am a node. A synapse of the universal brain
Contorted by the performance measures of mankind’s beautiful game.
My mantra is more
More qualifications
More money
More houses
More cars
More kids
More proofs of worth

None silence the doubt of my existence
The unspoken so what
Avoided, unanswered
Too frightening to contemplate
So I run faster and shoot more goals.

My fortress is strong
And keeps you out
And the one who doubts
Is locked prisoner in the garrison
Sometimes I hear him shout
“This is not your fortress
and it’s crumbling. You will let me out”

where is safety?
Where is my home?
Am I alone?
With my gravestone?

My story. His story.
Eternal life
Two nodes united.
One purpose.
No strife

Now I know God
My fortress crumbles.

I wonder

He’s always there
When I look up
Standing
Staring straight back at me
He has no eyes
But still he pries
Into my life.

Today he’s just a silhouette
Framed by my window
He dominates my point of view
His body wrapped in a blanket of ivy
As he reaches outwards and upwards
Some others copy the fashion
But it fits their weaker frame less well

I wonder how many are his relatives?

He’s older than me
Older than my home
Older than the others of his kind
He’s a survivor

I wonder if his mother can see him now
If she watches him each day like me.

I wonder if his relatives are close
Creating soil by recycling old clothes.

Guinea Pigs

I wish I was a guinea pig
Cos then I wouldn't give a fig
I'd run around and fart and squeak
and shit on laps or have a leak.
I'd eat my oats
and screw my dad
and act like I am going mad
everyone would say I'm cute
tho I only wear my birthday suit
A guineas life is great you see
Bye for now I need a pee!

Dear Client

Thank you for your ITT
We’re really very pleased
To give our views on your issue,
Our workplan and our fees.

You want to solve the problem
Of ex-cons who re-offend.
Don’t worry we’ll add value
There’s no problem we can’t mend.
By the way how much do you have to spend?

Our team is ready and waiting
The best in all the land
Well at least they’ve done the training course
And a briefing’s being planned.

We’ve contacted our expert
Who we haven't seen for years
But she’s asking the same old questions
That we never liked to hear.

Why do we humans turn to crime?
And lie and steal and cheat?
Now solving that conundrum
Would really be a feat!

But if folks behaved rationally
There would be no problems at all
What would happen to jailers, police, probationers,
Consultants?
Well at least taxes would fall!

But sadly this is not to be
Our client has failed to see
The best team out is KPMG
So let’s get back to me! Me! me!

A horse died today

A horse died
While people watched
And others, hearing of the death,
Came to see him too.

A horse died
In glory, he was a winner.
The lady owner cried
It was the first time she’d seen him this year.

A horse died
Others passed, too quickly to see
On their way to collect
Their winnings or for a pee.

A horse died
He was fast, now he’s fast on forever
Was he really alive?
Before, now or ever?

A horse died
Now he’s safe, for he’ll never lose
And end up old and thin
In a field full of poos.

An old friend

lonely
don’t like people.
want to belong
don’t want others to be long with me.
imprisoned
want to be free.

hungry
won’t eat.
want things
won’t spend.
tired
don’t sleep.
soft
won’t bend.

old
want to be young.
disabled
want to run.
want to get up
scared I’ll fall.
“Thanks for coming.
I was going to call.”

I want you to listen
Oh can’t you see
All I want
Is a chat over tea.

Fat

My fat
my choice
feed exceeds need
my greed.

My fat
my right
wear big clothes
take more space
my disgrace.

My fat
my excuse
Movement difficult
Consume and spectate
My morbid state.

My fat
my health
Strangled organs struggle
doctors assess
my lack of progress.

My fat
not my fault
ate the ads
no choice
my vice.

My fat
Not happy
suffer alone
One more mouthful in the coffin
Mind your own business, boffin.

Your cat

I want to be your cat
To wrap myself around your legs
To see you eye to eye
To purr as you caress me in your lap.

To test my claws on your skin
To breathe you in, in and more in
To smell you, to taste you, to feel you
All of you with all of me.

But if I am a cat
I need more than this
I need to eat and sleep
and poo and piss.

I need to be with other cats
To spit
and fight
and arch my back.

Can you accept me?
This is me.
I’m just a stupid cat
You see.

The Buzzard

I’m flying high
I want to sing and scream
And cry
For joy.

I soar, I swoop
On wings of faith
And legs of hope.
Wind ruffles my feathers
And alters my course
What do I see now?
Should I pause?

On high
Your world is small to me
Master of all I survey
I see no boundaries
Only patterns
A patchwork quilt wrapping mother earth
Keeping her warm until I return.

Please don’t try to shoot me down
Fly here with me
Let’s spread our wings and soar together
For eternity.

Riding High

In each stride I lose and re-find you
I move with you, I move in balance
I am still. Still with you,
But I run deep.

I open myself to you.
I allow you through me.
You leave no part of me untouched.
You touch my hand with your mouth, as light as a feather
I feel your lips and your tongue in my hand
Up my arm, down my shoulders
And into my soul.

Where do I end and you begin?
Where do you end and I begin?
You raise me. You lift me up.
I am high on you.
We are more than we can be.
In a world of our own making,
You, me and our feelings.

Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.
I make much of you
And you make even more of me.

August 2007

About Faith

I don’t trust:
I hold, you stiffen
I insist, you resist
I push, you pull
We are at cross purposes
Discord.

I trust:
I let go, you soften
I ask, you give
I find myself, you seek me
We form a cross of purpose
Harmony.

August 2007

Myself

Am I dreaming?

The world sighs and I hear something fall and break.
Everything is changed. I’m alive.
Is my mind full of me or full of you?
I don’t know where I end and you begin.
You give me what I need. I belong. I am not alone.

You show me how much bigger than me you are,
And I love you even more.
Of course I love you.
You are me.
We are each other.
A different point of view on the same system.
I am yours wholely.
I don’t come in pieces.

My fear? Losing you.
How can I lose you when you are me?
What makes you real is me.
When you are lost, I am lost.

I feast on you and I am never satiated.
You touch my soul and I overflow.
With you I live in a different world.
You save me from myself, but who are you?
Where did you come from?
I forgive myself. Can you forgive me?

It’s lighter now.
The sky cries out in anger,
Releasing its burden and bringing new life to the world.
Afterwards the sun will shine and I will be whole again.

(c. Kerry Turner June 2007)

The Tour de France v2

The Tour de France v2

Competition
Route, hard, black, white.
Scene, soft, jaune, green.
Sleepy sunflowers, leafy lullaby
Heads nod
Expectant, reverent.

Attention
Hell, horns, helicopters, hands
He arrives.
Man, machine, muscle, metal
Rubber, carbon, flesh, bone
Exceeding, excelling
Expectations.

Perspiration
Silent, strong
Heaven, hell
Focus, finish, fast.

Conservation
Mass male
Gros gal
Gate, gateaux
Here, hero.

Inspiration
Touched
Awake, alive
Momentary motivation

Dedication
Life, choice.
Spectate, participate
Minimise, maximise.

Repetition
Encore, explore
Implication?

The Tour de France v1

The Tour de France v1

The route, hard and black,
The countryside, soft and green,
Sunflowers rocking themselves to sleep to a lullaby of leaves,
Some regarding the route as expectantly as us,
Others facing the opposite direction,
Ignoring our imposition on their peaceful existence.

Attention!

The haven is interrupted by a hell of horns, helicopters and hands
Announcing the arrival of he we await.
Part man, part machine,
Metal, rubber, carbon, flesh, bone, muscle
More than the sum of the parts
Silent, alone in the heaven and the hell,
Strong components, strong connections
Sole question: How strong?

A fat guy and lady, conserving energy opposite.
She carries her spare tyre around her middle.
What unites this couple with their hero?
In that moment he passes he shares his life with us
We get in touch with the part of us that believes in possibilities.
In that moment we are all alive.

What about the moment after?
And the one after that?
We leave with a choice.
To spectate or participate?
To give little or to give all in each moment?
Until next year,
The spectacle returns,
And we return to watch them.
Exploring the limits of life in the limitless beauty of nature.


Kerry Turner July 2007

Paper People

Paper people
Pretty, perfect,
One dimensional,
Uncomplicated,
Throw away,
Bought and sold for money,
Look but don’t touch,
No feelings, no responsibilities,
Controllable.

Real people
Imperfect,
Multi-dimensional,
Complicated,
Sticky,
Bought and sold for many things,
Maybe look, maybe touch,
Too many feelings, too many responsibilities
Uncontrollable.

July 2007

Accountants

Accountants are everywhere
I worked for an accountant
Some of my colleagues were accountants
One friend did accountancy at university
Another went to night school to train to be an accountant.

Accountants count things
Credits and debits
Profits and losses
Assets and liabilities
Material things

Accountants expect returns on their investment
They give to receive
They don’t give from the pleasure of giving.

Some things can’t be counted
Does pleasure have a value?
How about happiness?
How about love?

An accountant is someone who counts
What I want is someone I can count on.

Are you an accountant?

c. Kerry Turner July 2007

The Peach

The Peach

I saw a peach on someone-else’s tree.
I watched it grow.
On the outside I saw it was colourful, different to the others.
The more I thought about it, the more I wanted it.

Daily the peach changed on the tree.
I wanted to touch its skin: out of bounds.
I awaited the day I would surely taste it with pleasure.
I dreamt of that peach. My mouth watering in anticipation.

I loved the dream so much I became afraid of the reality.
One day I plucked up courage and ventured into the garden.
I reached out but my peach was gone.
On the ground my dream in reality:
The best parts robbed by lesser mortals
The worst left to rot.

A year later I remembered my peach.
I wished I had tasted it.
I remembered where it had fallen and returned to the place.
A new seedling had started to grow.

c. Kerry Turner July 2007

Man Kind?

The population of mankind
Has grown and grown and groan
We are the most successful species
Planet earth has ever known.

Our success is so prolific that
From Darwin’s laws we are exempt
We keep alive the weakest
When their quality days are all spent.

Now why is that?

We seem to believe
That breeding is our right
We’re not content with love and sex
No, we’re not that bright!

Now why is that?

More people means more carbon
Rising into space
‘Tis the countless breaths of us and ours
Which toll the near end of our race.

The problem is each breath we take
Breaks down our protection from the sun
The planet becomes warmer
And the icecaps start to run.

Further still as icecaps melt
The oceans start to rise
The loss of lower lying land
Makes resources vanish before our eyes.

And this is no illusion!
This is proven.
Whether you like it or not.

As our world gets hotter
So the deserts will expand
And the problem is that very little
Grows in fields of sand

Our just desserts?

More deserts and more oceans
Means less space for us and ours
The weak will simply have to go
We can’t escape Darwin’s powers

Not long term anyway…

We must learn to manage
Our race, in balance with the earth
Or accept that wars and bloodshed
Will soon trim back our girth.

For peace and growth do not make
Perfect partners at the brink
Hell always follows too much heaven
Unless we pause and think.

And if we don’t?

Inspiration must exceed respiration
If we are to survive
If not our planet will become
A place where only the clever stay alive……

A Men!

Kerry Turner
1 March 2009

Persist or resist?

The first time I had a proper drink
It made me feel quite sick
But repetition kept it down
And now it makes me tick.

The first time I had a cigarette
It made me cough and burn
But repetition made it fine
And now for fags I yearn.

The first time I ate too much food
It made me swell and ache
But repetition made it fine
And now I love my cake.

The first time I watched a tv soap
It really seemed a waste
But repetition got me hooked
And now they are my taste.

The first time I let a man touch me
I really felt quite bored
But repetition got me hooked
And now I’d like much more.

The first time I went to a gym
My muscles ached for days
But repetition got me hooked
And now it’s my latest craze.

The first time I really used my brain
My head it hurt and throbbed
But repetition improved my speed
Now thinking is my job.

For all the things that I have tried
Ease comes when I persist
So the most important choice to make
Is which ones to resist!

Peaks and Troughs

It’s warm in shallow water
My feet they touch the ground
I see the world around me
And I feel safe and sound.

It’s cold in deeper water
But curiosity
Leads me to my hidden depths
Exploring beneath the sea.

It’s warm in the mountains shelter
Protected from the wind
My view obscured by this huge rock
And no-one sees I’ve sinned

It’s cold on the top of the mountain
And few can make it there
I feel truly at my peak
As I stand hear and stare.

Thro’ all my lifes adventures
The thing that I have found
Is that the key to greater heights and depths
Is the safe return to ground.

Kerry Turner February 2009