Water
Words
By
Dave Turpin
Volume I 1977 to 2007
THE POEM
It is not Poetry
unless your pentameter
is showing. She said, "You must
have thus, therefore, thou, thee...
prose, it must, it has to,
for this mess of words
to be considered Poetry..."
Yeah Yeah Yeah
I say if it comes from
my heart
and it feels right...
Don't say it ain't POETRY
jus cuz it don't line up
with some imaginary rule.
So please oh please oh please
don't stifle someone's creativity
with rules and thus's and thou's...
rhymes and pent up meters.
please consider this a finished
poem...
11-92
UNTITLED
THE ESSENCE OF DEATH
IS
THE UNTOUCHED SENSE
OF
BEING FELT
1977
UNTITLED
You find death as a final
page to an unyielding novel.
I see death as rewriting the manifest
of those of us with
superficial whims of controlling ones own
destiny.
You misconstrue death as
being the work of God,
to whom which has been
painted many times and colors.
I feel death...
I see death...
I understand death as it is...
Tradition is what death
wishes us to believe
it is not...
1987
ITS A BIT TOO LATE
It's a bit to late
ta say grace over your plate
in the courthouse cafeteria
while awaitin' the judge
ta sentence your son
twenty ta life
for gang bangin
mistaken a baby
for a punk in a caddy
its a bit to late ta say grace
Its a bit to late ta ask'em for help
after the bullets are spent
the hair is cut
the colors are worn
its a bit to late ta say grace
They made the wrong turn
the chevy is gimp
the lead is dumped
the punks all jump
the baby goes slump
its a bit to late to say grace
9-4-90
THE CLOUDS...
they were here before
they are back
they were gone for an hour
in Gods day
I didn't miss them
those damn clouds
in a way I did miss them
clouds are blankets
blankets we are taught
somehow mean security
sometimes blankets
can be heavy
I really did miss
my blanket
my cloudy blanket
of despair
why am I so lucky
to have such security
others need not-have
such blankets
look at them
those damned clouds...
9-5-90
UNSMOOTH
the paper
smooth
the words
rough
the feeling
sorrow
the touch
numb
the breath
hot
the brain
off
the help
unasked
the want
burning
the need
pain
the life
cold
the paper
smooth
9-5-90
THE CRIPPLE
He can't really walk,
I can.
He can't really talk,
I can.
He can't really drive,
I can.
He can't really see,
I can.
He can't really have kids,
I can.
He can't really think,
I can.
He can't really feel,
I can.
He can't really feel despair,
I can.
9-5-90
UNTITLED
when do you stop
eating off the plate of self-pity
will god help
who knows
he does
self-pity
self-hate
self-shame
self-love
not yet
when
who knows
he does
9-5-90
STILL HERE?
still here?
who asks?
me
me who?
this loving person deep within you
I do not know you
you have known me
when?
long ago
leave me alone
you've said that before
did you go?
still here
why stay?
I love you
I don't know you
thats ok I know you
how could you know me and still love me?
I love you
love hah!
yes love
I don't love myself
sure you do
I hate myself
no I don't
I hate everyone
that’s okay
I hate everything about myself
that's okay too
sometimes I hate so much I hurt
don't worry
you still here?
still here...
9-6-90
INCARCERATED
BLACK
MALE
"Oh shit I'm hit!"
"Hold on Homey!"
"It hurts..."
"I'll get the punk that did this!!"
"Am I gonna die?"
"No you gonna be just fine..."
"I don't think I'm gonna make it..."
"Homey hang on... hang on... sweet Jesus hang on..."
Tears... blood... a dead friend
"Don't worry Homey, I'll cap the punk that did this to you I promise..."
Promises... the lies of sorrow
"How do you plead...?"
"Not guilty..."
Innocent yet guilty
"We the jury..."
"I sentence you to no less than..."
Guilty and innocent....
9-6-90
HANDS
Hands on guns
Hands on hearts
Hands in hands
Hands in red sand
Hands on handles
Hands on tears
Hands wave good-bye...
1991
FINGER POINTING
A colonel points north,
the sands turn into
a crimson painting,
A captain points to a
ditch full of men,
A sergeant points to
a tank,
A private points to a
stranger in the night,
A mother points to the
cemetery where her son lies,
How much pointing
have you done...
1991
WAR GODS
Like so many leaves,
being blown across the street,
The hands of the War Gods,
sweep across the dessert,
The leaves tumble,
The sand crumbles,
A son dies,
A mother cries,
The War Gods,
move the sand,
We move men,
home in boxes...
1991
P E A C E
Personal
Effect
Attitude
Conservation
Everything
4-91
MO CLOUDS...
skin and bones with no holes
yet the clouds seep in
gradually suddenly savagely
they have come
unwelcome?
uninvited?
never at rest
they move
sometimes they're gone for a long time
closed nor open
they find the way back
those damned clouds
I dare put a label on them
in a crowded room they encircle
wisps of despair
no great magnitude just wisps
at a quiet romantic moment
they appear on the horizon
barely discernible
you can never run fast enough
or far enough
the clouds I speak of
the despicable encompassing cloud
which I recognize
which I cannot hide from
which no one can cure nor medicate
which?
the clouds of loneliness...
4-9-91
SILENT SCREAMS
dreams unrealized
fear of accomplishment
fear of dreams attempted
why?
why so much fear
why so much hate for the self
is it genetic?
is it environment?
is it a lack of some kind of enzyme or amino acid?
is there a cure I have not heard of?
is there
will there ever be
a lessening of the fear?
who can say
who can answer
maybe its not fear
I'm afraid to look... to ask
fear
silent screams
silent screams
do you hear them
no... because
you too are afraid
silent
silent
silent screams...
4-9-91
SEE YA!!!
I've looked for the right spot
all my life
I see it in my minds eye
I see it in reality
its just there
off the asphalt
300 yard walk through the
waist high golden brown wild oats
I stop and soak in all that is
heat waves float in all directions
do I lay down or stand
I lay down... crunching the oats as I go down
the pistol in hand
checked and re-checked the cylinder
6 rounds--that better do-it
I've killed before
but myself? maybe bits and pieces over the years
clear my throat
nestle my body against the hard hot ground
heart? might miss
head? to loud
in mouth out back of head? too gross
maybe not today
but again
heart
I draw the hammer back
clear my throat
see ya...
4-9-91
THE LOVERS
nature forced their flight
flip-flopping--down and up
they were playing lovers tag,
I, a block away, could not see them
as they flip-flopped
towards the ground
a beautiful in-flight entanglement
once, twice, three times
they touched and parted
I encroached, moving ever so close
driving my car down the road
passing under and through morning shadows
suddenly, my eye caught their flight,
closer, closer unable to slow
the nature of their love public, for all to see,
flip-flopping flip-flopping
the yellow and white butterflies of spring
never again to fly, to love... imagine...
my heart is heavy for the lovers
no matter that I slowed, the car, man made,
against yellow and white lovers...
the ending of flight
4-91
LAKOTA LAMENT
written word,
spoken word,
broken word,
broken land,
broken man,
broken heart,
wounded knee,
wounded spirit,
wound no-more,
O' Great Spirit I cry...
5-91
FUTILE GARDENING
I have to water the lawn.
Why?
So it will grow and then I can mow it down.
Why?
So I can water it and then cut it.
Why?
So I can water it then cut it.
Why?
5-91
THE GARDEN HOSE
my minds tired
not my body
I walk
I drive
to think
can't... my minds to tired
broke
fix
can
can't... my minds to tired
the garden hose is on the lawn
where's the garden hose
right there on the lawn
I need the hose
IT'S RIGHT THERE
I see it
pick it up
can't... my minds to tired
you can
I can
we can
I can't... my minds to tired
when
when you're ready
when is that
you'll know
how
you'll know
can't... my minds to tired
5-91
FLYAWAY
the morning air heavy with breath,
ice on the dark sides of roof tops,
no fog, clear skies, leafs are still,
paper boys quicken,
turtle dove on a wire,
preening, gleaming, smiling,
the sun warms the wings,
preflight, eyes sparkle, tail feathers twitch,
a beautiful day of abandonment,
falling, falling, upward shooting,
off the wire into the crisp air,
slipping, darting, smiling,
nest, home, mate, love,
everything, everyone, the same,
soar... full force, breathe, return,
safely landing, preening, gleaming,
smiling...
3-92
SLUMBER
My eyes seek to dwell in the darkness,
I rub my orbs, squint, blink, breathe.
My chest heavy... breathe deep,
tingle, stretch, yawn.
Body parts warm and cold,
I hug myself.
My head longing for a pillow soft or hard,
lay down, spread out, some fetal some not.
Cool cotton covers under my chin
breathe-in-breathe-out.
My heartbeat sounds in my eardrum
as my ear crushes into the pillow.
Its quiet now, I'm quiet now.
Darkness is seeping in.
Invited invasion complete
deep sleep.
Breathe heavy...
smile.
4-92
OLD WOOD
Sitting here, beneath the trees in the park,
caressing the park bench,
I gaze upward at the man made city-forest,
I wonder old wood, where do you come from?
Where is your home?
The weathered bench cannot say.
The years have been good,
the visitors have not.
Margie luvs Frank.
"79" I was here.
The scars have been named one by one.
A park bench in a dirty city.
Dirty air,
hot-cold.
A long way from the cool Humboldt forest,
it grew in.
A park bench, did God really
spend 700 years of growth
to end up scarred, tattered, gray and away from home.
What if Einstein had been forced to be a janitor, Socrates a slave,
Lincoln only a trapper.
300 feet of tree. 700 years of growth.
Cut, chopped, cut chopped.
Sat upon without respect or dignity.
The city forest knows not this pain,
only silent witness for a fallen brother.
5-92
PAIN-FULL
talkin' about pain here,
let's try pain spoken here,
when pain feels better than reality,
is that painful reality,
I went to the pain store to buy some pain,
the pain man said I didn't have to pay for it,
because pain was free,
I just had to ask,
"free to have or use or borrow or what?"
"pain just is."
pain just is,
think about it,
pain just is,
but so is pleasure,
if pain is pleasure,
is that painfully pleasing,
I didn't pay for the pain... just like the man said,
pain just is...
5-92
THE CRUMMY BIRD
sleek black feathers
beautiful eyes of
yellow and black glisten
peck
peck
pecking
at my crumbs
lunch crumbs
mine yours
theirs and ours
he comes and goes
sometimes lucky
sometimes not so
he doesn't ask
for the crumbs
he flies, chirps, flexes his wings
he pays for his meal
with song and dance
now he's full
so long beautiful black bird
tomorrow
lunch is on me...
7-92
BREAKFAST DANCE
dewy grass lays for miles
she sets her wings
silently falls
dips and plants her talons in the grass
she struts, cranks her neck,
fluffs her tail feathers,
its breakfast time...
glisenting grass can't hide her meal
slowly making its rounds
in a blink she moves to the table,
its self serve and all you can eat...
she grasps her morsel ever so gently
yet deadly
she does her breakfast dance
around the retracting worm
first this way, no, wait,
back the other way
back and forth
round and round
slippp... slippp
out it comes
a cordon bleau master could never
prepare a more satisfying meal
dangling a little
on each side of her beak
the sun blasts through
home home... going home...
7-92
UNTITLED
THE GUN SHOTS OF THE NIGHT
ARE THE REALITIES OF THE NIGHT
THE MOTHERS CRIES THE FATHERS SCREAMS
THE SIRENS ARE THE REALITY OF THE NIGHT
THE YOUTH THAT STANDS BY THE CURB AT NIGHT
LIES ON HIS BACK IN SATIN
THE SIRENS ANNOUNCE ANOTHER NEED FOR SATIN
SHOT BANG DEAD
THE GANGS THE YOUTH THE DEATH
THE ONES THAT LIVE SAY, SHIT HAPPENS
THE ONES THAT DIE ARE SILENT
THE ONES THAT LOVE SCREAM WHEN THEY HEAR SIRENS
THE ONES THAT LOVE CRY OUT WHEN THEY HEAR
GUNSHOTS
FOR THE REALITIES OF THE NIGHT ARE GUNSHOTS
AND
SIRENS...
9-92
Chain Gang
A chain, they say
is only as strong as
it’’s weakest link
A heart is the
weakest link
in the chain of love…
9-92
Dr. P
He’s a man not short in stature
He’s a man long on wisdom and compassion
He’s a man who is quick with a gentle touch and smile
He’s a man whose physical strength is apparent though never used in anger
He’s a man who has seen ten thousand tears
He’s a man who has heard ten thousand nightmares
He’s a man who has visualized others dreams and nightmares
He’s a man and I feel fortunate to have crossed paths with
2-93
Hey bro…
Do you have one?
I didn’t know
for twenty odd years
I had one
Then I found
three of them
Do you have one?
2-93
GOD'S GOT THE BEST NOW
8-27-93
JD Bledsoe
God hasn't won a hand of 42
since Granddaddy was called home.
Yeah... he got some relief when Jack and Opal showed up.
But God's got the best 42 partner now.
When those heavenly peach orchards are ready for market
God's got the best trucker to get them there.
No log books... No CHP's
just a beautiful road of gold to drive on.
When God wants to go camping
he's got the best guide now.
When God wants a plate of biscuits, gravy, tomatoes and cantaloupe... he's got the best man for that too...
And wash it down with a great cup of coffee.
When God gets a hankering for a catfish dinner... need I say more...
I just hope God don't bid nello...
Cause he's got the best now...
8-27-93
SOMEBODY ELSE'S SWEATER
you can wear your own sweater
for years and years...
it's just a sweater...
but when you put on someone else's sweater
things change...
suddenly you feel warmer,
safer...
the material feels
softer...
it takes you back to your
baby blanket...
you pull at the collar,
you hug yourself, smile and remember...
the sweet smell of after shave or cologne,
you put a name on it...
after all it's somebody else's sweater...
11-93
SPIDER MCGEE
I spy a spider,
between my TV and me,
hanging in mid-air,
on a fine wispy wire,
not any bigger than a match head,
new at this web thing,
Spider McGee,
I name thee,
back and forth in the breeze,
you sway and enjoy,
between my TV and me,
lives Spider McGee,
I wonder Spider McGee,
what thee would see,
if you were me,
and watching TV...
2-94
WING IT
what rules her wing
to tip left
to tip right
swoop, lift
lift up
tip left
tip right
flutter, land
safely down
tip left
tip right
launch from ledge
dipping
wing tips left
tips right
warm air
pushes her up
what rules her wings to
tip left
tip right...
9-94
Bee
Does the Bee know
that he is just using the flower
The embrace of infidelity
pollinates black emotions
Which one recognizes
the abuse of friendship
Do they use each other
and neither one cares
Such muddied lines
are those of infidelity
Doe the flower care
if the Bee comes back
Or hurt when the Bee
finds a different flower
more useful for its
own purposes
Such muddied lines
The Bee goes
the flower stays
Such muddied lines…
9-94
THE SWIM
I speak to you in spirit form
from the light,
My family has swam for thousands of years here,
in the water,
The water clear-cool,
the light cutting through,
We skimmed and cut and jumped,
all the while the light bouncing,
We ate, lived, loved, bred,
here in the water,
Swift water tumbling over rocks,
the fog of death came,
We were just living,
then we were not,
Pristine-majestic-wondrous,
names of our home,
For miles and miles,
the fog came and went,
We are all dead,
more will come,
But, they won't be us,
they won't be from here,
They won't know,
about us,
We ate, lived, loved and died
in the Sacramento River...
12-94
UNTITLED
never hesitate
there might not be a second touch
of your lovers lips upon yours
never hesitate
for that second touch may never come
the brush of a cheek
the kiss on a brow
never hesitate
the touch may be lost forever
the glow from the heart of passion
will diminish
never hesitate
to steal that last touch
wet tender lips pressing hungrily
knowing of the last time
arms tighten
never hesitate
the shoulda woulda couldas seep in
second guessing empty dreams empty arms
vacant not empty hearts
never hesitate
the, "I love yous...", are only heard by you
no more can, "I love you..." bring a smile
no more quickened heart beats but your own
3-95
IN A HAWKS EYE
you see'em out of the city,
back roads, sloughs, foothills...
today he sits atop a sixty-foot light pole,
looking down at us driving by,
scrambling to work...
he cock’s his head
he glides to work,
he glides home...
the hawks' eye can see straight ahead
and straight down at the same time...
he can see what’s ahead
and what he's passing over at the same time...
his wings glide--dip
and hold upon the wind...
wouldn't it be nice to glide above this mess
we've created and see what’s ahead,
rather than what we're passin'...
6-95
WHAT TO WRITE IN THE PERFECT SUICIDE NOTE:
GOOD-BYE, FUCK IT, I AM ALONE!
WHO KNOWS OR WOULD CARE FOR A GOOD-BYE?
4-96
MR. BUZZARD
hey mr. buzzard
circling circling above me
what delicacies do you see?
surely not me!
perhaps a juicy road kill
or rabbit in the bush
possibly not a thing
just riding the wind
my carrion brother
wings set just
circling circling...
6-96
THE MAD ROOM
I sit here in my mad room
I built this room with my own
madness
Over there in the corner I can see it
you can't
is a pile of hurt I've collected over
the years
In the other corner is a shelf of
regrets
Through the window pain is a floating
cloud of dreams I'm too afraid to
achieve
The only thing I've ever constructed
is this mad room
I've done good
Not much light or tears can enter here
not in my mad room
The nails that hold this room together
are made from senseless insecurities
The structure itself the boards
are made from petrified hope
Yep my mad room designed and
constructed by me
My mad room is all mine
you can't come in
It won't let you...
7-96
HERE LIES...
here lies jack rabbit,
dead...
a broken bag of bones,
for years his family
ran the fields,
the city council voted on
putting in asphalt,
how much did his vote count,
i hardly think they bothered to ask,
imagine,
You’re jogging in a field, your father jogged there,
his fathers father did likewise,
You’re jogging through the field,
out of no-where...
a 2000lb rabbit crashes right over you...
you old bag of bones...
8-96
Questions
Did you know I was lonely
Did I ever tell you
Did you ever ask
Did you hear my screams
Have I eaten my life away searching
The filler to block the void of loneliness
Remember the room full of people
Did you ever noticed I was full of tears
Did you do anything
Could you do anything
Could I?
10-96
WEEDS ALONG THE HIGHWAY
din-gee din-gee greens
din-gee yellow
weeds along the highway
pushing and forcing
through the aged blacktop
solitary yet grouped
drought resistant
dried and brittle
old blossoms dangle
witness to traffic
wind blown and dusty
parched under the red light
weeds along the highway
10-15-96
THINGS TO REMEMBER
TURTLE DOVES SITTING ON A WIRE IN THE MORNING SUN
MY LOVERS SMILE
LITE RAIN ON MY FACE
WALKS ON THE BEACH -- ANY BEACH
MY FIRST KISS
WARM FLANNEL SHEETS
SKINNY DIPPIN'
CATCHIN' CATFISH
BARB & ERN
DEATH -- ANY
SWEAT
HOT SWEET CORNBREAD
LONG DRIVES IN THE OPEN COUNTRY
DOING SOMETHING WELL
MY FATHERS CALLUSED HANDS
A FRESHLY PLOWED FIELD
STRENGTH
COOL EVENING BREEZES IN THE SUMMER
SNOWFALL
QUIET
WRITING
BREATHING
MORE LATER....
10-30-96
LOVERS AND FRIENDS
the hair light airy silken
her touch the same
her skin head to toe
silken easy to touch
tall long legged
passionate
beautiful loving
nurturing caring
sensitive smart
I'm in awe
that she has invited
me into her space
it excites me to know
she is my lover and friend
how fortunate I am
to have two lovers and two best friends
equal in love
why me?
nature created two wonderful humans
for me to be connected too.
all fears ease
when I hear their voices
see their faces
feel their touch
taste them
breathe in their essence
hold them
make love to them
alone or together
I am in "love" their love
swimming in their love...
10-30-96
FREE WRITE POEM
love songs hurt more
when your in & out of love
to those who I let down
I love you always
some see some don't
some know some don't
to those who think they know & see
fuck you
if you haven't lived here
you don't know
I still don't know
I still haven't' found what I'm lookin' for
to those who live there
my respect and love to you
to those who don't
fuck you... very hard
10-31-96
UNTITLED
WHAT IS IT THAT MAKES US SEEK
OTHERS
SOMETHING NEEDED YET NOT MISSING
SOMETHING WANTED YET NOT NEEDED
EMPTY YET NOT
NOW WHAT...
10-31-96
EAT SHIT TO YOU
THE PAST ENVELOPES ME
THE FUTURE SEEMS AN OMINOUS
BLACK HOLE
THE PRESENT
DIM DARK
HOPE IS A 4 LETTER WORD
HOPE FOR WHAT...
WHAT DREAM DO I HOPE FOR
WHAT CAN I ATTAIN
WHAT DO I WANT
THERE IN LIES THE RUB
PEACE AND QUIET BETWEEN MY EARS
THE BLACK CLOUD RIPPED FROM
MY MIND AND HEART
WHAT DRUG
WHAT ACTIVITY
WHAT DO OTHERS HAVE OR DO
THAT MAKE THEM SEEM SO...
POSITIVE... OPTIMISTIC... NORMAL...
WHAT MASK DO THEY WEAR
DO THEY DO IT ON PURPOSE
AM I NORMAL AND THEY NOT?
SHOULDN'T I BE HAPPY... WHATEVER THAT IS...
11-1-96
THE BEST
THE BEST THEY EVER HAD
BASED ON WHAT...
AM I THE BEST LISTENER... HUH WHADDYA SAY
DO I HAVE THE BEST TOUCH... OUCH
THE BEST HUMOR... UP YOURS
THE BEST LOVEMAKING... OH REALLY
SEX IS OVERRATED
1 HOUR WITHOUT DEPRESSION
IS BETTER THAN ANY SEX YOU COULD EVEN IMAGINE
MAYBE I SHOULD HAVE SO MUCH GREAT SEX
I WOULDN'T BE DEPRESSED
NAH... TO EASY... TOO HARD...
11-1-96
TRY AGAIN
THE LEAVES ARE CHANGING AGAIN
I REMAIN THE SAME... STILL
COLD AIR MOVING THE DEAD LEAVES TO AND FRO
COLD DEAD SELF HATRED MOVING INSIDE
THE TREES WILL MAKE A COMEBACK NEXT SPRING
A COMEBACK MEANS THEY HAD IT ONCE
I DON'T REMEMBER EVER HAVING IT
SO HOW WILL I KNOW IF I MAKE A COMEBACK
COMEBACK FROM
COMEBACK TO
WHY NOT JUST GO
AND TRY AGAIN SOME OTHER SEASON...
11-1-96
CHUNKY
two crows fighting over a chunk of road kill
isn't that what we all do
whether we as single crows or multiples
fight over the same chunk
picture your own chunk
job, car, house,
life
don't we all fight for our own chunk of life
my chunk might be mental quiet
a fantasy at this dark point
but I fight internally for my chunk
some do some don't so what
would a bullet or a poison
deliver my chunk
that is my fight
bullet--poison or just keep on and wait for my chunk...
11-1-96
POINTERS
AND YOUR POINT IS?
CHEER UP!
FOR WHAT... WHAT WILL THAT GET ME?
MAKES IT BETTER TO BE AROUND YOU!
IF I DON'T GIVE A FUCK ABOUT ME...
WHAT MAKES YOU THINK I GIVE A SHIT ABOUT YOU?
YOU DON'T CARE ABOUT OTHERS?
WHY?
WHAT DO YOU MEAN WHY?
WHY SHOULD I CARE ABOUT OTHERS?
THEY CARE ABOUT YOU!!!
AND YOUR POINT IS...???
11-1-96
ALONE
A ALWAYS
L LONELY
O OVER AND OVER
N NEVER
E ENOUGH
4-97
Twisted
Deeper into the twisted night of my mind
I wander from side to side top to bottom
I force my suffering back into the dark
the light shines only on a mask
The face in the crowd is not my own
I’m afraid to look upon my twisted face
9-15-97 3:42 am
THE THINGS HE SAID...
"Give me a hug... men don't hug enough..."
"Keep your head down and ass up and get the work done..."
"That was the easiest $20.00 you ever made..."
"What is wrong with you? Haven't I always treated you like gold?!?"
"Don't touch him... he's my baby brother... if you do... you will answer to me!"
"Ya gotta be half mountain goat when you're chasing a wounded deer..."
Tears and good-byes
I can only hope
that in the future
he grows old
with his head high
and know
that I loved him...
6-98
NEVER...
Never, until now, did I reflect upon our relationship.
Never, did I feel more at a loss for words than I do now.
Never, was I able to say, I love you.
Never, until now, was I able to hear you say, "I love you..."
I listen now, to the memories. I listen for the harsh words you spoke to me. Never did you speak them.
I listen for any word, you may have spoken in anger.
Never did I hear them.
Yet, I have spoke to you in anger... I have spoke to you harshly.
In the ignorance of my wisdom, I pushed you away.
For some reason, you would always draw me near again.
Maybe, just maybe, you had been down the road I was headed and wanted to show me the way.
You loved me as a brother... moreover, as a father.
Indeed, we both had a father. He too, in my memory never treated unjust. I simply could not hear him until now...
I now feel the warmth of your arms... never before.
I looked up to you... when it served my needs...
You never looked away.
6-98
THE ONE LEGGED SEA GULL
My lunch companion today is a one legged Sea Gull
The cooing of a Dove serenades as I sit
sharing my scraps of lunch.
A Blue Jay bounces and hopping chasing
pieces of french fries I toss his way.
A cool gentle southwest breeze cools
my lunch room.
People walk and jog by, lunch buddies
drove by.
A sip of soda, the wind now moves
the branches of the shady trees, casting
changing shadows all around.
My lunch buddies are squawking at
each other over scraps that each want.
The blue jay takes flight with two french
fries in beak.
My one legged lunch buddy remains,
squawking and slurping up scraps...
4-1999
THE DOVE
how alone must one be to commune
with a lonesome dove cooing in a tree top...
so sad and pathetic is it to find
comfort in solitude...
people speak and the longing for silence
is breathtaking...
a dead end road the song states, is
just a place to turnaround... but what if you
are the dead end...
dream and screams are separated by two letters
but they blend and meld in daylight and
darkness of the soul...
just another walking wounded in the sea
of unknowing, centered, socialized and
actualized populous that clutter this
ball of water and earth...
ahhhhh to be cooing with my
lonesome dove...
4-99
Once
I flew once.
I got it right once.
I soared to the edge of my soul.
I flew once.
I flew once.
I was at the point where dreams become life.
I had it right.
I flew once.
I flew once.
I was lifted to the summit of my spirit.
I had it in my arms.
I flew once.
I flew once.
I flew on the wind of confidence and ability.
I rose to the specter of the universe.
I flew once.
I flew once.
Wings now damaged by unseen forces.
I dream of my soulful flight.
I flew once.
7-1-00
DREAMIN' OF DADDY
What were his dreams?
He was 80 years old when he died
Worked from the time he was 12
Paycheck after paycheck
Struggle crisis children
What were his dreams?
Did he have time to dream?
Did he want to sail the oceans?
Climb the highest peak?
Write the great novel?
What were his dreams?
His face leathery
His hands callused and bent
His mind tired
He was 80
Horseless buggies to the space shuttle
What were his dreams?
Dear father I never asked
You never said
I will never know
My god what were your dreams...
7-31-00
Like
Like a writer
without a word,
Like a winged beauty
without a wind,
Like a drifter
without a road,
Like a lover
without a love,
Started 2-19-05
Ode to the Caballos…
The shadows on the Caballos signal another sunrise. Quail pecking at the ground. Doves the size of fat city pigeons doing their acrobatic flights from perch to perch. Cattle moving on the open range. A wondrous day in the high desert is again unfolding as it has for ions.
The would be prospectors scratching in the sand finding a feather weight of color in their gold pan buoys their spirits to keep on with shovel and pick. Rouge winds swirl and dance through the arroyos bringing dust and dried goat head stickers.
The colors of a living desert are to numerous to count or name, yellows, purples, greens, browns, black, each with a thousand sub-variations of primary colors. Violets in the shade and on the prickly pear cactus. Skinny, hard bodied jack rabbits munching on some tender shoot of green. Puffy cotton tail rabbits bouncing their butts over the desert floor, hoping to make it another day outside of the voracious food chain. Deer sign of the four legged specter. Sneaky is life in the night.
Old people, desert rats themselves move gingerly on ancient twigs of bone in the heat, their eyes wince in the bright sun.
Flies of all sizes appear from no where, sitting, tasting, moving away and then right back the same spot as if aided by magnetism. Time and again they land and leave.
Beep beep step aside for the fleet footed roadrunner, the size of a hen pheasent.
Tumble weeds and dust.
Breath the high thin clear air, listen as purring flights of sand hill cranes pass aloft. Rumors and whispers of Bald Eagles nesting in the hills. That shadow figure behind the century plant, friend, family or foe.
One wonders how a single clump of grass can survive in the desert, yet, in the new moon of the morrow it will be clinging to it’s mother, the desert.
9-20-07
Miscellanea
The following was published in the Oklahoma Edge Magazine
April / May 2009 issue
Walk a mile with this grass roots American grandfather. Let him take you and his grandson from his porch to Washington D.C., to the jungles of Viet Nam.
It’s a Country Matter
by Dave & Mark Turpin
He’d worked in the field all day, choppin’ and hoein’, pullin’ and sweatin’.
Sun was hanging low–took him 30 minutes to walk to the porch.
He sipped sweet tea and wiped his brow.
“Grand Daddy why do you work so hard?”
“It’s a country matter, Grandson.”
He sat down next to him. The music started, and the man stood up.
“Stand up, Son.” He was drinkin’ soda-pop and munchin’ popcorn.
He stood up, not knowing why: Taylor sang the Anthem.
“Grand Daddy, why do you stand up?”
“It’s a country matter, Grandson.”
He leaned hard against the tall, black, name-covered wall.
He found the name for the hundredth time.
He remembered the firefight–
the tears, unstoppable, as they were countless times before.
“Grand Daddy, why do you cry?”
“It’s a country matter, Grandson.”
“It’s a country matter, workin’ hard and lovin’ God every day;
It’s a country matter, fightin’ and dyin’ and doin’ right every day;
It’s a country matter, livin’ and lovin’right every day.
“It’s a country matter, Grandson.”
2009
Poem
One tank of gas
Blindfold or cigarette
Nope just a tank of gas
The old & comfortable is gone
Let me leave with the old & comfortable
A tank of gas won’t get me far
But to go, ahhh, to go
Let me chase the old
Not much dignity in the new & latest trap
2011
CREDO OF THE WOLF
RESPECT THE ELDERS
TEACH THE YOUNG
COOPERATE WITH THE PACK
PLAY WHEN YOU CAN
HUNT WHEN YOU MUST
REST IN BETWEEN
SHARE YOUR AFFECTIONS
VOICE YOUR FEELINGS
LEAVE YOUR MARK
Timeless
Step to it
There’s a smile in her eyes,
An undeniable light from her spirit,
step to it.
A lightness abounds within and with-out,
A lightness of sense, touch, and toughness,
step to it.
You can try and resist,
Her laughter, succulent smiling spirit,
step to it.
The openness, free flowing love,
gentle confusion of a fawn finding it’s reflection,
step to it.
What is known is unknown,
Want to know the unknown,
step to it.
7-7-2013
When...
I raged, unfocused, confused,
desperate, lonesome,
restricted by want,
blinded to myself.
When I was that old.
I worked, worried, challenged nothing,
took it in, worked, worried, drank,
worked harder, foolishly went about it,
constricted my dreams.
When I was that old.
I blew apart, mind traveled, body started decaying,
slept, never found all the pieces, slept, worried,
died in segments, slept, body at rest without excuse,
slept, life changed for others, slept through it.
When I was that old.
I changed realities, location followed, sunrises important,
sunsets critical, priorities fluid, worried less, worked less,
bombarded senses, opened eyes, closed them, catch, release,
untouched again, dying within, alone encore.
When I was that old.
I regard your heart, assuaged broken parts unsuccessful,
depths of struggle too black to explain, silent corroboration reckless
uncaring, unforetold outcomes, apathetic communion secession, solitarily
singularly stagged.
When I was that old.
I revolt against mortality, resist morality, convention fries under the pressure,
haunted abode no longer, unfettered enchantment unto light, myopic, scrutable machinations,
amenable breath giving-taking sunrises-sunsets, interminably appended absorbed by our
luminosity.
Now I’m this old.
7-16-2013
Night
The switchblade night
quick, sharp & to the point
sitting, waiting, grinding out the seconds
into moments of breathless death
A thrust into life bleeding tears
joy, hate, fear, love.
Hope hanging on the click of the blade.
The night folding away, extending
and folding with unrepentant edges,
slice & dice, pick & choose with
a click of the button
Chrome heat without a reflection
of the night with a temporary soul
carves through the long
dead night–
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