the line

he could see the line
it was there, always there
constantly daring him to cross

he even liked it
he flirted with the line
taunted it from a distance

but he had chosen a path
a comfortable, winding path
that would never force him to cross it

and then one day
suddenly and without warning
the path brought the line closer than it had ever been

the line sprang to life
startled, he stared at the line
and the line gazed back at him

with eyes and mouth
and body and spirit it spoke
and called his name and begged him

to leave the path

jwturner
8/7/08

Glutton For Punishment – A Haiku

you fooled me once, shame on you
second time’s on me
number three? simply painful

jwturner
5.18.2009

her first letter

her words were written on the page
but they had lips
and they spoke without the rage
that used to be us

i could hear her voice
inside my heart of hearts
so familiar i cried
for the first time since the end

for a moment
i wished she were near
holding me while i cried
telling me i had nothing to fear
making me believe it

but my tears fell on hardened ground
this heart of mine
and soon i couldn’t hear the sound
of her familiar voice inside my heart

it waits now in silence
ready to be torn apart
by more words from her

jwturner
7/1/87

after reading the first letter from cindy… after several years apart.

the ignorance of youth

i crap more sense in one day
than you spew out your pie hole in a year
and still you walk around smug
and clueless, grinning from ear to ear
because i struggle to find a way
to force you to shut up for once and hear
that i don’t like you or your ideas.
i wish i could make myself perfectly clear
serously! this look on my face?
that’s not me grinning. it’s a snear!
yet here i stand, patting you on the back
acting like i think you’re my peer

your ignorance must truly be bliss
but mine makes me want to just disappear

jwturner
8/10/2007
reflecting on a younger version of me

The Glider

The glider on my Mamaw’s porch seemed old, even when it was brand new. I’m not sure anyone but her noticed when it arrived. She had a love for floral patterns that bordered on fanatical. A gaudy display of fake flowers spread out across every piece of furniture like Poison Oak. So too, the glider was covered. It fit in with the rest of the furniture from it’s very first day.

It was not a favorite piece for anyone but her, except when it rained. Then it was my favorite piece.

On rainy days, the sound of the drops on tin above my head was rhythmic and soothing. If I laid back and hung my leg off the glider just right, the tip of my big toe would scrape the porch floor, effortlessly creating a motion that seemed in perfect time with the water. Eyes closed, hands behind head, I would lay for as long as I my cousins would allow and just drift away.

I spent my childhood summers in West Virginia. Rainy days in the Appalachian heat seemed magical and all too infrequent. They always brought a chill and calmed the frenetic pace of play and work. And they always signaled their arrival in advance.

You could hear the rain marching toward the house through the trees. My cousins would head to the basement, which was always cool, but I would invariably head to the glider. It was my transportation to an imaginary place that changed with each downpour. The rhythm triggered thoughts of what could be, of what could have been. They weren’t so much dreams as hopes. I would swing and hope – and pray.

I was a teenager then. I’m 45 now. That glider is long gone, and so are the innocent hopes and dreams of a child in it’s arms. But the memory of those moments make me smile and wish for a cool rain, a tin roof, a gaudy glider and some free time.

jwturner

Does She Hear Me

i say i love you every chance
i get
hoping  she can hear
and yet
wondering if my words
are met
with joy or hidden fear
beset
by childhood dreams
unmet
i know she hears and still
i fret

jwturner
in the moment

forcing it

i need
to force it
more
than a  bit
sit, commit
make the words fit
stop
chomping the bit
stop
fighting, submit
stop
feeling unfit
start
acting legit
start writing

don’t quit

jwturner
7/23/2007
2:16am forcing a poem

215 To 195

i keep looking at the scale
hoping that it’s lied
but it just looks right back at me
screaming, “two one five”

i remember one eight three
saw one nine one arrive
and leave, now I’d be pleased
t0 see one ninety five

jwturner
5/30/2007
i need to get back in shape

Beauty Is In The Eye Of The Beholder

A very interesting discussion took place this morning over at MothersFightingForOthers.com.

After a long string of comments, one commenter, kim.kim, said, “JWT you’re not a physically attractive person, I can tell by the way you write.” Well, beauty is in the eye of the beholder. So, here I am in all my glory.

I’ve been looking for an excuse to show you all something other than my eyes. Maybe this will get me a few more visits. I could use a few more visits. And besides, it would be nice to move her personal attacks off of a site designed to inspire Mothers to take action and onto a site where we can all bash each other with reckless abandon!

The Indecision of Youth

When will I become a man?
Will I feel it when I do?
Is the process taking place in me
as it’s taken place in you?
How long will indecision reign?
How long before I’ll know
what course my life will follow
and how far that I shall go?
Will youth give way to wisdom?
Will chance give way to plan?
Will I know that change has taken place
when I’ve become a man?

jwturner
January 27, 1985