Bleeding Black Blood

By T J Turner

In his second publication, this North West poet brings raw thoughts on darkened love, injustice, illogical and idiotic behaviour.
A woman scorned, a child misdirected, or an individual incapable of breaking a lethal addiction, are dissected with a detailed voice which often ends with unhinged conclusions. Alistair Cooke, Johnny Halliday and Orson Welles come under scrutiny as does our obsession with love in its many forms.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: May 29, 2019
• ISBN: 9780244189228

Book preview

Bleeding Black Blood

Bleeding Black Blood

by

T J Turner

Copyright

Category: Poetry

Text Copyright T J Turner © 2019

eBook Design by Rossendale Books

eBook ISBN: 978-0-244-18922-8

All rights reserved, Copyright under the Berne Copyright Convention and Pan American Convention. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior permission of the author. The author’s moral rights have been asserted.

Dedication

For the one who kept me alive. My Sal.

Acknowledgements

Iain D

Prof PP

Elaine S

Tappers

Filippo Tommaso Marinetti

Tullio Crali

Scottish Paul

Charles C

David E

Big D nuts

BODY ODDITIES

Warty outcrops

Tissue scarred

Keloid remains of invasive work

Bulges by the ankle

Peeling patches in the instep

Blotches across my aging flesh

Oddities of skin surfaces

That parade an advancing weathered body

Fineries of mirror observations

Yield pocks and impurities

That must

Tell of age

Of slippage

Of youth departed

Christ I’m old

BALLOT BOXING

Fulsome agitator

Irksome anarchist

On the hustings stood

Raving looney

Far right scum

Shoot ‘em if I could

Eco green

Marxist rebel

Wishy washy Tory

Far left soldier

Castro-centric

Communistic glory

Suited blaggards

Spouting lies

That have no grip of life

Who’s for real?

Who speaks clear?

Wields a truthful knife?

‘A cross in the box’

It’s just a footballing metaphor for a democratic ideal we must accept en masse irrespective of madness, disagreement or internment.

HOURGLASS

Seven million chimes of old father time’s soothing hourly strikes

Slipping past at unreachable speeds, nobody catches the sand

How splendid it would be to see existence

From the husk of a sedimentary shell

Never to see one’s clear mistakes.

Sight centres on joyful glimpses

That well the soul.

Feed the warmth

Of life.

Complete.

Who’d derail

An evolution train

As it ambles forth

To break each hourly gain

Through pain, through mirth, by wonder.

Unstoppable futures, laid open to a memory.

Stockpiling so many flashes of lives led lavishly.

Poorly hearts cemented by valour; deeds done in generosity.

That infinity point that lies somewhere ahead. Somewhere in view.

CLIVE

Clive was an elephant

Stomping around in his trunk grey trousers

Hulking across the classroom

And stumbling out his words

In farm boy fashion

But his hunched shoulders

Were always juggling with chuckles

Dusty shirt

Hole ridden jumper

Red veined blushed cheeks

And a jovial greeting to every morning

Chunky cheery Clive

Pure agricultural stock

He bid his presence to his education

But at 13 he was always

Going to take to a life on the fields

A SMOTHERED LOVE

Pull away the lembic climb

You scarab misfit with smeared beard.

I ask of you - Hide any love.

Misuse the magnetic charm with semi-sexual spoken word.

Shock the girl with Maileresque dominance

Then pull your fiercesome veil away.

Charge your love to a fervour

And cling furiously to her.

Shape