Archive for the ‘Poetry’ Category

I’m Not Alone

Posted: August 1, 2016 in Poetry, Uncategorized
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I’m not alone, I’m not alone, I’m not alone.

Frightening figures, fucking forever.

Death is looming over our minds.

Warp our imaginations some more!


You are a bore

to the hand that feeds you

Laying out in the night gazing upon the stars,

waiting for the morning dew

Tomorrow can come no sooner,

everyday is becoming the same,

sick and tired from the day to day games.

I’m not alone, I’m not alone, I’m not alone!

(c) Alex Turner 2016



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These walls, they’re closing in on me,

Ruminating rumours,

Only doubting their authenticity,

Show me the light, the one that I need,

Only on the inside do I bleed,

I walk on and I smile or I glare,

Meeting their eyes with mine,

Seeing how much longer they dare,

I always win!

I always win!

I always win!


So come and ask me,

I don’t bite,

nor with with my hands shall I smite your presence,

I’m playing your games and I’m winning.

Until I die I shall be on top,

Bully me,

I could use the energy,

Hate me,

I’ll only love you back,

Do as you please,

I’m infamous till death do us part,

Take me away,

Harrow my soul some more,

Because it makes me laugh,  and I have grown to love it.

(c) Alex Turner 2016

I Fell in Love

Posted: July 26, 2016 in Poetry, Uncategorized
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Is it possible to miss a love that was never real,

So cold she was at times,

It made me feel,

A love, a hatred,


I can’t explain,

Her fake love grabbed me,

and slapped me in the face,

Every ”I love you” burning in my veins,


I’ve been around the bend and back,

Thinking of her,

The others haven’t seemed to fill the void left by your smile,

Only for a while,

Come and kill me with your love.

(c) Alex Turner 2016

Blue Blood

Posted: January 23, 2016 in Poetry, Poetry-Prose
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His once blue-blooded veins now flow with vodka,

He walks down the roadside,

Only seeing lovers entwined,

Fingers, thumbs,

Interwoven with an ivy vine,

Street lamps pulsating revivifying electricity,

Reviving lost memories of brighter times,

Seeds of despair and regret,

Blooming in the cage of his mind.


© Alex Turner 2016


Posted: October 8, 2015 in Poetry, Poetry-Prose
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there is what sounds like a middle-aged man sat behind me on the coach.

He is drunk.

How I wish I was drunk!

He has made the same phone call about four times.

He goes on to talk about work and how he hasn’t been paid for over-time.

He goes on to talk about how how he isn’t going to stand around doing nothing at work.

He goes on about how he wishes to get even more inebriated on the bus.

His voice is common and husky.

He sounds like a plumber or something like that.

someone who is used to the daily graft.

manual labor…

He sounds confused.

I imagine he has stubble.

And a short back and sided haircut.

I can’t help but wonder.

Has he found love ?

What are his hobbies?

Is he happy ?

Does he have children ?

He speaks with authority.

I think he is a boss or a manager of some kind, maybe self-employed ?

His life seems simple.

His problems ordinary.

I think I possess some kind of envious feeling towards him.

You know how some people are just plain and simply ordinary humans nothing more nothing less.

Like plain rice, casually just managing with no errors, just plain sailing until he dies.

Nothing else seems that different.

Just kind of generic…

A nine to five sort of guy.

I want what he has.

© Alex Turner 2015

A Plea For Freedom

Posted: September 13, 2015 in Poetry
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I’ve done a lot of things wrong.
I’ve done a lot of thing right.
Rabid red haired whores.
You see, I just want to be left alone.
To be given a chance at a normal life.
Yet I am so alone, craving, wanting the touch of another human being.
Wanting away from your fascism and psychopathic mind torture and ideologies.
I’m going to run.
So chase me if you care to do so.
This is an appeal to you.
I’ve been a lot of places.
Seen a lot of faces.
I’m not so naive.
And only slightly psychotic.
What harm could my happiness have on humanity.
Amidst clouds of smoke, vanity, profanity.
So, no more secret agents please.
It’s fucking my head up.
I don’t know if I can ever trust again.
I’m hoping you shall see this plea.
Whether you are one or a thousand.
This is me on my knees asking for my freedom.
So just this once listen and let me get what I want.

© Alex Turner 2015

A Journey

Posted: September 7, 2015 in Poetry
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As I sit on the coach;
The wheels, they just keep turning ,
friends talking , strangers ignoring.
You see, we don’t exist, not to each other.
Although, you do get the occasional chatty soul.
I see cows huddled together.
You know, they say that when cows huddle together it will rain.
Walls on the hills, connected like road, lingering around up until the horizon engulfs their presence.
I see cracks over foundations, where nature fights the iron fist of man.
I see cars and people in them. Each with their own story. Their own lives.
Executive saloons.
Small hatchbacks.
Fragile and curved, rounded like balloons.
I see lorries, dominant steeds of the motorway.
I turn around and see a beautiful blonde woman.
For all I know, she could be my one true love.
Alas, I shall never find out , as I am much too timid whilst sober.
Which makes me feel sombre.
I see, you see.
I am not blind.
I see trees shedding their leaves.
Malting gradually, as they stand roadside.
Observing, patiently, for the rest of their lives.

© Alex Turner 2015

Town Street Blues

Posted: August 30, 2015 in Poetry
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A lonely night on town street.
Many apples to be picked among the remains of lost youth and innocence.
Many a brew to be consumed,
until I am blind with joy  and distortion.
The clear sky of night, blissfully ignored,
due to the beautiful ladies of night.
Eyes meeting eyes.
Shivers up my spine.
Big brews and fine wine.
Exciting flaws anticipating rejection.

© Alex Turner 2015


Posted: August 21, 2015 in Poetry
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Fill up your mind and empty your stomach
Sweet gluttony
Open your mind and the heavens fall
Sweet gluttony
Gluttony of the saints
Unlike a child in need
Foresee what is to become of the future
Preach to nothing
Say die
Do another day
And say die
Sweet gluttony

© Alex Turner 2015


Posted: August 20, 2015 in Poetry
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Is my life capable of poetic substance.
As I sit and peer into the television screen , full of nonsensical boredom and pretentious drones of plastic Hollywood androids.
Presumptuous robots created by contemporary bullshit.
My mind drifts in and out of the box, just waiting for something, something like inspiration to come around the corner.
Just anything! As long as I am not sat rotting and smoking in this spot.

© Alex Turner 2015