Jack Turner Poems

London calling
it's smokers lungs bleating
in sharp consonants, lulling vowels
a mother's voice calling to her bosom
...

Our breath, tearing from our throats with mountainous effort,
Our thighs, straining with the weight
Of the sweat that mars our backs, cotton clinging
Like a drowning lover.
...

I have a secret.
I keep it locked away, clutched to my heart.
I guard it with my life, and I may give it
But it will not let me go.
...

The white, white rot of apathy
Wraps its ivy fingers round my throat
I resist against the blinding blankness
But the will to fight is leaching from my ones
...

The twilight comes slowly,
Almost unnoticeable
and weary limbs sink thankful to the chair.
Another day over, and in for the night.
...

Once, something passed between us more than space and time
And something other filled my bed than flailing arms and kicking legs
And nights pass by in silence
Television fills the void
...

I am my jailer, and my cell
I am my heaven, and my hell

I am the beauty and the beast;
...

The moon dawns upon perfection
A dream, nestled in my bedsheets,
Hair as rich as brandy
and lips
...

I worship boys
in old movies.
Cool swaggers, careful quiffs
the slouching leather jacket
...

Ta mo chroi i do lamh, mo chusla,
Ta mo chroi i do lamh.
Tug se in aice leis do chroi,
Nior briseann se, gra,
...