POEMS are the lifeblood of creativity and were my starting blocks for this elevated period of life I feel I am now living

Poems are archived in sections. Most of the work has been done over a couple of days. It is a flow of creativity and self expression that is constantly growing and developing


Poem of 19th December first reading



Old Wanderer


White colic, strumming cool evenings, dreams for lent out arguments,

An old wanderer greets the wedding guest and begins a plucky tale

When I travelled in time for magazine story” he started

By which time my crispy noodle titbit had marginally suggested tooth bills to the extortionate

Then went on I to recall such as he retorted::

I met a monkey who spun me a yarn

A raw cloth desk map of honey and hidden happiness

I scrubbed the deck for cleaning subconscious

Might chatter the mystery to flow in bloody channels near my tantrum

A practical sun ship released the notion

Of a felled tree, mulled wine celebration

Thinking that perchance my quest would there unfold

I took myself and a given lady Beatrice onwards.

We smacked the wine until bellies wobbled

Tiptoed noisily on dustbin lids like a steel bands’ imagination.

We clambered mystically undone by time,

Transcended by rhythmic conundrums,

Plates of fidgets spinning on spikes of fish.

Dynamic disco dancing a gesture of festoon

A barricade of piranhas chewing Bonds’ shoes

A gold rimmed bowler hat tossed at a memory

Lasting gesticulation, pink balloon sporting ductile tape

Rearing for disastrous clunky smash against the Eiffel Tower

Screams of traffic on radio broadcast first trans Atlantic edifice

Fortune in Napoleon short trousered horsing around

Blasting quacks of monks in torso shaped melon pies

Jasper Mac hard and nuts crisps for after snacks

Plummet to the depths of Jordan by the split sea opening

Cleavage leap a soft landing for peppered steak

Duke of bother smashed in potato advert robot dream

Smelt like iron age punting stick

Grow through department x to see the sexiest grate

File in the mirror to see a chance death dance past

Furrow the plough to march the minister to plunge

Head in bucket explains the cheese is off

Ah Happiness is in this mess of a head

Sept 26th 2014 Copyright Patrick Turner-Lee