I’m still here

music, status update

Hey there,

It’s Turner. I know, it’s been a while. But I am still around! I do still check up on the blog. Collins is a great partner, so I know you haven’t been too lonely without me. All the poetry up in here is awe-inspiring!

I decided to post a song today, because, everyone loves new music…at least I do. This is an oldie, well, if 2008 is old, but there you go. A little different then the normal style I post, but it has always been one of my favorite songs.


my poem titled “Chewing Gum”

life, love, poem, poetry, writing

When words once smoldering

Have cooled and evaporated

Are you left with warm fuzzies?

Or a nasty draft?

The kind a door opened during a snow storm brings

When your tears fall gently like summer rain

And trace the shapes of your cheeks

Do they taste like sweet memories?

Or salty bitterness?

Collecting in a pot that holds watering leaking from the ceiling

When you lay in your bed at night

And you sleep curled next to them

Is it soft like a bed of roses?

Or as unfamiliar as a camping trip?

Tossing in your sleeping bag with pine needles poking at your side

You want warm fuzzies,

And sweet memories,

And roses, dozens of them

But you know this love is a cold one

So before you are left behind patching leaks with chewing gum

You pack your bags

And shut the door quietly behind you





my poem titled “Glass Bottle”

life, poem, poetry, writing

Sharing emotions is one of the hardest things I can do

Sure I feel them, lots of them

I feel them as sharply as shards of glass against my throat

And as softly as a feather caressing my cheek

The only problem is what to do with them

I tend to shove them down into a bottle

A glass bottle with a cork in the top

And then toss it into the dark recesses of my mind

In a dusty corner

I long to smash the bottle onto the ground

To watch it shatter into a million little pieces

And my emotions, like ether, will float into the air

I won’t be able to shove them back inside

My hands will come away empty

And I will feel extremely free

But behind that a crushing fear of offence will appear

For the reason I don’t express these emotions

Is due to my empathy for others

But I’m starting to realize I need to do something

Something for myself

Because if I don’t

I mind-as-well cram myself into a bottle

Pop a cork into the top

And toss myself away


spotlight sunday … on monday

indie, music, spotlight sunday, two door cinema club

Had a really busy weekend at work so I was too burnt out to post yesterday, I’m sorry! But I’ll make it up to you by posting an awesome Two Door Cinema Club song. These guys can do no wrong, I tell ya. They come up with the coolest riffs and unique instrumentation. If you like this song be sure to also check out a few of my other favourites: “changing of the seasons,” “golden veins,” “what you know,” “sun,” “I can talk,” and “cigarettes in the theater.”


my poem titled “Caged Bird”

life, love, poem, poetry, writing

There is a framework of bone curled around my heart

They call it a rib cage

Because I suppose hearts are beautiful

In the frantic way they flutter

And they need to be protected from harm

But the heart’s captor fails to realize

That harm is lurking inside

It creeps between the dark parts

Disguised in the light parts

Because the greatest harm is love

And love is felt by the heart

And that’s why it flutters so frantically


my poem titled “Black Licorice”

inspiration, life, poem, poetry, writing

Sometimes I find life as bitter as black licorice

Because often times it seems like some careless person

Hands me things without looking

I’d clearly asked for strawberry licorice instead

But that’s all they had

I’m stuck with this licorice now

Because the careless person is busy not caring

I take a bite because I hate to waste

But I’d rather waste it than taste it

Because this tastes like disappointment and dismissal

I find this black licorice piling up

Until I have enough to lug around a dreary bouquet,

Of things I didn’t want or need

And maybe I could pass it off to someone else

After all, people enjoy bouquets from strangers

But it turns out everyone else already carries their own

And they all have the same idea

Be wary of bouquets

Until someone offers you a red dozen

Because when you find someone,

Who’s willing to give up their strawberry licorice,

You know they’re a keeper


get to know me

book, book quote, character, get to know me, writing

Here’s a piece for you to get to know Kay from “Unit 17.”

The brakes of the truck groan as Kay rolls to a stop at the gate where a guard is stationed. Nikki sits in back with the cargo, banished there by Kay, who refused to have him ride shotgun. I turn in my seat as the guard, I recognize as Morrow, emerges from her tiny control booth. Her neon green hair is a stark contrast to her black jumpsuit.

“Howdy, Theo,” she smiles, “Kay.”

Kay dips her chin, but let’s me speak. I am the leader after all.


She holds a small tablet, which is used to keep track of who enters and exits the compound. It scans the truck and in seconds she has a tally of every living inside.

“Two Rejecteds acquired? And Nikki’s in the back?”

“That’s right.”

“Good job, Theo,” she says, her green hair blowing around her face as she leans in the driver’s side window. “How was it being unit leader?”

“I er… It was fine,” I say lamely, not wanting to get into specifics.

Morrow appears oblivious to my mood and continues on in a longing tone. “I wish they would let me off guard duty. I still haven’t gone on a Rejecteds assignment yet. Always just stupid stuff, like getting supplies, or picking up stranded units.” She lets out a sigh.

“Are you going to let us in already, or are you going to gripe about how you didn’t get any marshmallows in your Lucky Charms next?” Kay barks. I knew she could only put up with Morrow’s small talk for so long.

Morrow takes a few steps back from the truck, looking dejected. Tapping a few times on the tablet, the gate begins to roll back with a mechanical grind of gears. “You may proceed,” she says, like she’s said it about a thousand times, with just as little enthusiasm.

“Finally,” Kay mutters, steering us through the opening and towards the Center. I give her a look but don’t say anything. I find its better not to point out that she’s being rude, because then she turns on you, and that’s a whole other can of bitchy worms. I learned that from experience.