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



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

Chasing Shadows

Chasing shadows on brittle frozen lake.Hear the cracks darting through the air like arrows, some might say its a pleasure of the damned. As the old man edges closer to the shadows the further they flee.They will stop haunting him now. Harming his posture so leans back and nearly sees the light. It’s just easier to have a smoke and become victimised in this dark and eternal land and somehow find hope within the cracks. One day there shall be honey bees and cherry blossoms building around an empire of happiness. As Bukowski said : find something you love and let it kill you.

One day maybe it shall prevail and be straight and true but until then chasing shadows amongst the for is what he shall do.

© Alex Turner 2015

My Liberty

Pierce my heart with the arrow of liberty with your enchanted and brave soul.
Don’t let me give up there must still be some hope,
That I can muster,
If only I could trust her.
The strength I need,
Caught up in the spectrum of fragility.
All with mite if I might get through to the other side.
Well he’s a mixed up guy peering up into the sky,
In search of wanderlust, love and lost sorrow.
He just needs to keep his head in the clouds and his feet on the ground.

© Alex Turner 2015

An Island

We’re on an island, an island I say!
Where a dark grey sky is never a miss, and to be ignorant is just sheer bliss.
Put down your pool cue and put up your fists.
Pits and pubs and pubs and pits.
Men dressed as women and women dressed as men.
There was a party of pirates too.
Our culture is now barren.
My generation is selfish and is prone to to fuck itself over over and over again.
I just hope to find the small group of exceptions .
The ones who fight for the good of our generation.
The ones who find the warmth in the dark animated shadow of night.
The ones who shall find the freedom of their persona.
Find themselves .
Not follow fads and the trends of the sheepish like majority on the God forsaken dull island.
Good luck. Good luck. Good luck.
Reach the end and find it. Reach for it . And catch it.
Because no one else will do it for you.

© Alex Turner 2015

Me, Myself and The Other Guy

Is my hair too long?
Is my hair too short?
Am I too ostentatious?
Do I try too hard ?
Do I not try hard enough?
Am I too self obsessed?
Why are my fingers crooked?
Do I think too much ?
Do I think to little ?
Does she like me ?
Does he like me ?
Does she hate me ?
Does he hate me?
Do I care too much ?
Do I care to little?
Am I too nervous?
Am I too self conscious?
Am I too vain?
Shouldn’t I have more time for other people?
Do I care what other people think ?
No comment required.
© Alex Turner 2015


His ears always hear the sound of the ice cream van.
His sight is also fine.
He is pretty content with life.
He has interests and hobbies.
He is just human just like anybody else.
He doesn’t need to be anymore than he needs.
He is never late for work.
He isn’t particularly talented at anything.
He isn’t different.
He is himself.
© Alex Turner 2015

On The Edge of Albion

I’m on the edge of Albion,
Where the river connects the sea.
Alcohol in my system,
Guaranteeing a good time.
Euphoric blizzards filling up my mind.
Condensed bubbles of madness showing themselves to yours truly.
I’ve drank too much again,
walking amidst the sadness of night like a zombie.
And to my surprise I’m greeted by a guard who shows me my way home.
© Alex Turner 2015


Crack my head open like an egg,

to see what ideas and eccentricities lurk and wander inside.

Fry them up and ingest,

like planting a seed in the stomach,

trunks and branches protrude from my nose and mouth.

Grab my jacket then walk out the back door.

I’m going for a walk, on the highway of souls.

looking to give mine away.

Deep shades of black blue and purple under my eyes.

but I’m not tired,

I’m just headed to the city of night.

Stars so luminous and bright.

Rudimentary thoughts wade through my mind,

flashbacks to the other side.

Bearded men and sandy, sandy desert storms, cacti.

Sometimes you can be wrong,

but I’ll just keep on tagging along.

Bar to bar, beer after beer.

drug addicts cradled in fear.

green leaves of summer,

white powders of all seasons.

Faces hollow, shallow and empty.

© Alex Turner 2015

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