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 May 2014
Roger Turner - Poet
She worked in the market
She sold flowers and jewellery
but, nobody there knew her name

With fifty young vendors
Of flowers and jewellery
Each teenaged young girl looked the same

No one remembered the smiling blue eyes
The child like lilt to her voice
No one remembered the smiling blue  eyes
Or the way that she blushed for the boys
No one remembered the smiling blue eyes
They all could be one and the same
No one remembered the smiling blue  eyes
or her hair, or her smile or her name

She was hitch hiking home
From the market one night
A car pulled on up for a ride

He told her he'd take her
If she needed a lift
It was cold,  so the girl  got inside

No one remembered the smiling blue eyes
The child like lilt to her voice
No one remembered the smiling blue  eyes
Or the way that she blushed for the boys
No one remembered the smiling blue eyes
They all could be one and the same
No one remembered the smiling blue  eyes
or her hair, or her smile or her name


No one has seen her
She's been gone for three days
She never arrived at her home

Nobody saw him
All cars look the same
And besides he was travelling alone

No one remembered the smiling blue eyes
The child like lilt to her voice
No one remembered the smiling blue  eyes
Or the way that she blushed for the boys
No one remembered the smiling blue eyes
They all could be one and the same
No one remembered the smiling blue  eyes
or her hair, or her smile or her name


The market still bustles
With sellers of flowers
Where everyone looks, shops or buys

But, something is missing
A young girl is gone
The girl with the smiling blue eyes

No one remembered the smiling blue eyes
The child like lilt to her voice
No one remembered the smiling blue  eyes
Or the way that she blushed for the boys
No one remembered the smiling blue eyes
They all could be one and the same
No one remembered the smiling blue  eyes
or her hair, or her smile or her name
 May 2014
Roger Turner - Poet
The albatross once filled the skies
Cormorants watched silent, from the shore
These are echoes of times long ago
There's nothing here for them any more

The coastline littered with sunken ships
Villages full of ghosts
Empty buildings and empty lives
Where just the sea gulls act as hosts

Oceans away lads, Oceans away
Out past the breakers and out to the sea
Oceans away lads, Oceans away
Out on the Ocean, where my soul is set free

The cod stocks have dwindled
There was no need to stay
There's no catch of the day, son
From here to Gaspe'

The canneries shuttered
The landscape has changed
I may be a sailor
But, my life's rearranged

Oceans away lads, Oceans away
Out past the breakers and out to the sea
Oceans away lads, Oceans away
Out on the Ocean, where my soul is set free




The Grand Banks are empty
Our boats are in hock
There's nothing that grows here
Except depression and rock

While others moved onward
I'll stay 'till I'm dead
Now, I feed off the tourists
I work the casinos instead

Oceans away lads, Oceans away
Out past the breakers and out to the sea
Oceans away lads, Oceans away
Out on the Ocean, where my soul is set free

The salt air still calls me
The wind in my sails
The sound of the rigging
Heading off to Kinsale

The coastline is empty
Where Ghost towns now stand
It used to be vibrant
But now just sea grass and sand

Oceans Away Lads, Oceans Away
On out past the breakers, and out to the see
Oceans away lads, Oceans Away
I still am a sailor, and I always will be
 Apr 2014
JK Cabresos
If he cheated with you,
he's gonna cheat on you.
 Apr 2014
Roger Turner - Poet
I saw her at the diner
She caught my eye right from the start
It wasn't too long after
That this woman caught my heart

She didn't fit in with the people
Drinking coffee , eating up
She was drinking with her pinkie out
As she held her coffee cup

She's was high class in a low class world
That was plain as plain could be
I wanted to be in her world
And I wanted her with me
She was queen of somewhere
I don't know, and I wanted to be king
She was high class in a low class world
And I wanted to be king

She had her napkin tucked
Just so, you know
Not all scrunched up in a ***
And she only dabbed the corners
Like an Angel sent from God

She was crisp and pressed and perfect
Not a hair was out of place
And the light just made her eyes shine
She had such a lovely face

She's was high class in a low class world
That was plain as plain could be
I wanted to be in her world
And I wanted her with me
She was queen of somewhere
I don't know, and I wanted to be king
She was high class in a low class world
And I wanted to be king

She was sitting in our diner
although she belonged far uptown
Most folks here all wore ball caps
while she deserved a crown

When she spoke, my heart just trembled
Her voice was breathy, like a wisp
And she spoke like she was Royal
So cool and cut and crisp

She's was high class in a low class world
That was plain as plain could be
I wanted to be in her world
And I wanted her with me
She was queen of somewhere
I don't know, and I wanted to be king
She was high class in a low class world
And I wanted to be king

She was someone from a movie
Full of mystery, intrigue
And I knew from looking at her
She was way out of my league


I wouldn't know just where to start
She was gold and I was tin
She was High class in my low class world
And I surely wanted in

I stood there in the kitchen
Washing dishes in the sink
And I knew I'd go home lonely
What else was there for to think?

She's was high class in a low class world
That was plain as plain could be
I wanted to be in her world
And I wanted her with me
She was queen of somewhere
I don't know, and I wanted to be king
She was high class in a low class world
And I wanted to be king
 Apr 2014
Roger Turner - Poet
When people ask me "when you write, where do you get ideas"
I say sometimes they arrive at night, and other times from beers
I put words in an order that people seem to like
To me it is real easy, like riding on a bike
You can do it too I say, the words are all the same
Just write about the things you like, and make it like a game
Take things that go on naturally and give a little twist
Some will like what you just wrote and others will be ******
Now, take it one step further and give this one a try
Try to keep them twisted, but try to make them cry
Now some words fit together and they go together well
While others change in meaning, they shoot your writing all to hell
Certain words just do not work and to them I give a pass
It never made much sense to me when one says "plastic glass"
Jumbo shrimp is another phrase that I find quite confusing
But to George Carlin, these two words were really quite amusing
One word right now I'd like to use, and I don't want to be a hero
Is the one you know, that means nothing and that word now is ZERO
A zero is what's left when you take all things away
It can also be a person, like an actor in a play
It isn't easy to write this word alone and make it fun
And even when you pair it up, your work just isn't done
It changes things, negates, subtracts it's not an easy word
And in fact outside of math class, it's very rarely heard.
It doesn't come off positive and it doesn't make one laugh
To even use it properly, your work you have to craft
Other words and phrases can complicate things too,
For instead of just one meaning, there's some that might have two!
***** is one example of a word that goes both ways
And if you look down deep enough, there's humour in that phrase
I try to pair words up in ways I hope will not offend
I try to take some topics, twist them up and then I blend
Them all together to make it something new
Of all the poems I seem to write you may only see a few.
Now, back to words that don't make sense, and this to you I'll show,
The next word will be tolerate, you know...accepting, letting go,
Tolerance is something most accept, you know just let things  slide
But pair it up with other words and the doors just open wide
Just pair it up with zero and it means that's not allowed
Not now, and no not ever, not alone or in a crowd
But funny, how this phrase gets used and used and used again
It's like saying "Now...I've told you once...and I'll tell you yet again"
To me it means "your'e finished, you've broken all our trust"
"you've taken our **** rule book, and you've made it into dust"
To me it means final, the end, no more, you've ended up like Nero
I need to know, how many times there are that add to Zero!
Now, many words can hurt and sting and just aren't nice at all
These, I avoid and in a pinch, I work on back to "ball"
I'm glad that you have taken time to read my poems and verses
It's because of you that I stay sane, and stay away from Nurses
and Doctors who say, you're just mad, your mind it isn't right
So, I listen to their words, twist them up and say good night
Now, do yourself a favour, try and write something that's fun
You can show it off to others or you can be the only one,
That reads what you have written, you know it really could be good
But, you'll never know exactly...till you show it like you should.
 Apr 2014
gg
Sometimes, Saturdays are too quiet
silence swallows thoughts
about papers and parties
woes and worries
about exams and events
and leaves too much room for your words
that reverberate in my skull
 Apr 2014
Roger Turner - Poet
There is a story of the beach that's been told
Of shipwrecks and pirates and their ***** of gold
Of devils and angels and souls that were sold
For the location that's hiding the treasure so old

During the day, the beach is quite full
Of tourists and locals and such
But, when the sun's going down
The locals don't go there so much

Most nights in movies there's groups at the beach
Singing songs round a large burning fire
But, this beach is different, no one goes there
Cross my heart, you can call me a liar

Out at the end of the breakers and rocks
Is a graveyard of old pirate ship hulls
Divers have checked them and nothing was found
Now they're home to just crayfish and gulls

The story is told of the pirate....Muldoon
And the treasure buried round in these parts
It's protected by witchcraft and devilish lore
And is covered by ten pirates hearts

They say that Muldoon took down ships by the score
From Jamaica on up to Gaspe
But whatever he took, no one knows where he left
his treasure from then to this day

His ghost it is said, roams the dunes in the night
His wailing is heard near the sea
Folks don't stick around when the day is done
There's nary a soul there to see

Muldoon was a man with a penchant for gold
He made deals with the devil as well
Witches have said that the last deal he made
Let him take all his ***** to hell

Pirates and Ghosts and Witches and ships
These are tales that will play on your mind
But for all that he took, and through all the years past
Not one single dubloon will ye find

From cradle to grave the folks in these parts
Know the story of the Pirate Muldoon
The tree where he died still stands by the shore
Glowing bright when there is a blood moon

The word is that he, was hung from the tree
And Muldoon cursed the beach as he dropped
He said that his gold would never be found
Though the searching never has stopped

Fires go out, and the wind whips his cry
Is it Muldoon or just tricks of the air
It doesn't much matter, for no one will know
Because at night, there is nobody there

Muldoon walks the beach with his leg made of wood
Guarding treasure, of jewellery and gold
He will stay there forever, for it will not be found
This I say, being ever so bold

If you should find yourself down at the beach
And the sun starts to set in the west
You'd best make a move and get home where it's safe
Or meet Muldoon who is guarding his chest.
 Apr 2014
Roger Turner - Poet
Streams of colour
In constant motion
showing shades of beauty hidden
Powered by the wind
As it caresses the river of scent
Gently, softly, lovingly
And moves through the rows
Never stopping, always moving
Following the wind
Lavender tributaries
in a Sensual  scented sea of colour
Never ending.
Inspired by a photo by William Carr....photo artist friend and talent extraordinairre
Every minute without a word from you, was a reminder that you were thinking of someone else.

And every hour was another reason why I understood.

And every day caused another piece of me to go numb without your touch.

And every week reopened the wounds I had stitched up with your smiles.

And as the months have broken me down, I realize soon there will be nothing left to break.
I've been away for so long!!!
 Apr 2014
Roger Turner - Poet
I'm drinking for tomorrow
I gave up drinking for today
Because tomorrow never comes
Or so they say

I figure if I'm drinking
and tomorrow does arrive
then I have found a new way to survive

I was drinking yesterday
towards tomorrow, now today
It's a deep dark endless circle
that keeps tomorrow far away

I'm going to continue
Until tomorrow is today
though tomorrow never comes
or so they say

Somewhere there's a bottle
with my name there on the label
I have to find the tavern
and I have to find that table
one day I will find it
as long as I am able
to reach into tomorrow from today

so, right now I do my drinking
for tomorrow, not today
I did some drinking yesterday
but, that's now far away
I'll try to reach tomorrow from today

it is an endless circle
on a track without a train
tomorrow holds the sunshine
but today is filled with rain
one day I know i'll reach it
and forever I will gain
the fact I reached tomorrow from today
 Apr 2014
Roger Turner - Poet
Listen to me and I'm sure you'll see
That because of the brave
We all live free

Freedom to choose what we will be
Because of the brave
We all live free

I pledge my alliegence
I honor my flag
I honor my country
My support will not drag

We whine about government
We whine about crime
We whine about taxes
We whine about time

The freedom to choose
Of how life will be
Is because of the brave
That we all live free

We live life as free men
and women as well
For if we did not have freedom
Then we'd be in hell

We complain to the masses
Because that is our right
We enjoy that freedom
Because of the ones who did fight

They sacrificed all
So our ideals we'd save
We're the land of the free
Because of the brave
 Apr 2014
Roger Turner - Poet
There was a shooting in Redstone
Only one man dead, none hurt
He was found dead in the morning
With just one hole right through his shirt

He was lying in the main street
Face down, right there in the dirt
He was found dead in the morning
With just one hole right through his shirt

I'T WASN'T SUPPOSED TO END LIKE THIS
FACE DOWN HERE, IN THE STREET
I'M A GUNFIGHTER OF MUCH RENOWN
I'M JUST A GUN WHO CAN'T BE BEAT
I'M NOT SUPPOSED TO BE HERE
LYING DEAD, SHOT IN THE BACK
I WAS GUNNED DOWN BY A COWARD
I DIDN'T HEAR THE GUNSHOT CRACK

The crowd had formed around him
Lying there, all hard and cold
No witnessess to the shooting
At least not one so bold

They knew him from his weapon
The sixteen notches on the grip
He came in on the Flyer
He won't be on the return trip

I'T WASN'T SUPPOSED TO END LIKE THIS
FACE DOWN HERE, IN THE STREET
I'M A GUNFIGHTER OF MUCH RENOWN
I'M JUST A GUN WHO CAN'T BE BEAT
I'M NOT SUPPOSED TO BE HERE
LYING DEAD, SHOT IN THE BACK
I WAS GUNNED DOWN BY A COWARD
I DIDN'T HEAR THE GUNSHOT CRACK

He was staying at The Belfry
He only brought one bag to town
No one knew why he had come here
Except to shoot somebody down

The papers ran the story
The next morning in THE SUN
They ran a picture and a story
Of the "Man With The Pearl Gun"

I'T WASN'T SUPPOSED TO END LIKE THIS
FACE DOWN HERE, IN THE STREET
I'M A GUNFIGHTER OF MUCH RENOWN
I'M JUST A GUN WHO CAN'T BE BEAT
I'M NOT SUPPOSED TO BE HERE
LYING DEAD, SHOT IN THE BACK
I WAS GUNNED DOWN BY A COWARD
I DIDN'T HEAR THE GUNSHOT CRACK

The story was quite lengthy
Considering no one saw him shot
But, as usual there was someone
Who had a story to be bought

He'd been shot from an end window
Above the Local Mercantile Store
One bullet from a rifle
And the gunman was no more

I'T WASN'T SUPPOSED TO END LIKE THIS
FACE DOWN HERE, IN THE STREET
I'M A GUNFIGHTER OF MUCH RENOWN
I'M JUST A GUN WHO CAN'T BE BEAT
I'M NOT SUPPOSED TO BE HERE
LYING DEAD, SHOT IN THE BACK
I WAS GUNNED DOWN BY A COWARD
I DIDN'T HEAR THE GUNSHOT CRACK

Turns out the gunman's killer
Was the one he'd come to find
The shooter was the killer's child
The only son, he'd left behind

They never met before this
He'd never ever met his Dad
But, The Gunman came to find him
And in the end, it's kind of sad

I'T WASN'T SUPPOSED TO END LIKE THIS
FACE DOWN HERE, IN THE STREET
I'M A GUNFIGHTER OF MUCH RENOWN
I'M JUST A GUN WHO CAN'T BE BEAT
I'M NOT SUPPOSED TO BE HERE
LYING DEAD, SHOT BY MY SON
I WAS GUNNED DOWN WITHOUT KNOWING
I GUESS HE'S NOW THE WANTED GUN.
 Apr 2014
Roger Turner - Poet
I was sitting playing slots
It was two a.m. and vacant
When a man came up and asked
Is this seat beside you taken?
I turned and told him no i'ts free
I looked deep and saw despair
He dropped his rumpled duffle bag
And plopped himself into the chair

He let his body acclimate
More to the warmth, than to the seat
I turned and played my game some  more
This man was basking in the heat
I watched him pull the tickets
From his pocket one by one
He laid them out before him
Until he'd counted twenty one
He fed them to the slot machine
Some kicked back, he got real tense
When he was finished I looked over
He had put in just ninety cents

The tickets were the remnants
of what others may have lost
But to him, they were a rental
To keep him not from getting tossed
He watched me for a while
Not hitting one button on his side
I could not help but look over
No matter how I tried

His hair was grey and matted
His fingers showed the stains
Of many years of nicotine
His eyes just showed the pain
He lit a smoke, second hand I'd say
He'd pulled a bag from in his coat
It was full of butts, all well worn down
Already ****** down someone's throat
He gave a cough and coughed a bit
Like he was getting set to speak
Then this man, slid over some
And in a voice, weary and weak
He said 'you got to line them up
I'll give you some advice
I knew that slots were random
But, this man....he had a price

He stared close at my empty glass
I'd just finished a cold beer
He coughed again and then he said
Son, it's surely dry in here
I waved a drink girl over
And I signalled to her "two"
I mean, it was cold outside
And I couldn't let him go  with out a brew
He kept eyeing up my ashtray
Where I'd left half a cigar
I knew that he would have it
in his grasp, before I went too far
I watched as he kept staring
Looking round, checking his back
He was fidgeting, and shaking
Waiting for the drink girl to come back
He had no bills to tip her
So as he saw her coming near
He got up to use the restroom
He said son....please watch my beer
I tipped her for the two of them
He was watching from the door
I guess when you've got nothing
You've got to learn just how to get more
I lit a second cigar up
clipped the end and took a puff
He sat back and breathed the smoke right down
Until his lungs had had enough
I asked him if he'd like one
His eyes lit up at this
He said thank you and was grateful
He said sir, I'd be remiss
But, can you cut it with your cutter
It's been so long since I've had one
I used to smoke them in Miami
When I used to winter in the sun
Lately, though, I've had hard times
I'm not half the man I was
I can't tell you what I used to have
I can't total up the loss
I lit the smoke, he ****** it in
Almost passed out from the taste
He said, I see these on the street some days
All crushed, son....what a waste
I used to winter in Miami
Watching jai lai, betting big
spending cash like it grew on trees
His eyes, they danced a jig

You know, now, when I think on back
I'm more thankful now than then
But, son, if I had the choice
I'd do it all again
Now, I come on in here
I pick my row seat in the fifth row, son
The fourth one in by the third glass door
The second seat, just over one
I listened to his seating plan
I looked around and tried to see
He said, you're looking at what seat I'm in
Looking for door number three
I'm kidding with you, there's no seat
I just move around to where it's warm
to where I might find some conversation
A place, some shelter from the storm
I knew he was a grafter
And in the end would be found out
He was looking for the easy way
Of this there was no doubt
whether he'd ever seen Miami
didn't matter all the same
But, in truth how many drifters
Know that jai lai is a sport and not a game
I finished up and told him
Keep warm and find a bed
He told me thanks, and shook my hand
And ran his hand over his head
I got up and I left him
Leaving five bucks on my machine
A fresh cigar in my ashtray
all where it could be seen
I walked away in silence
Heard the ticket get spit out
I then turned to see him leaving
Looking around for his next route
Whether he'd ever seen Miami
had cash, or food to eat
didn't matter in the long run
As he searched out another seat
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