A bit of this and that. I update from time to time. Stay tuned. Last updated in July 2003. If you like it, sign my guestbook!

Cheese

Are you cheating on the cheese in your life?
Are you eating your curds and having your whey?
Do you mock the (simple) cheddar virtues of your wife?
Do you sample other cheeses when she doesn’t have a say?
Whether Cleopatra, Helena, or Mrs peel
Either sprung from the cinema or absolutely real
A bottom basement bargain or a real sweet deal,
She’s sure to fit the feminine ideal
Stimulating conversation or just copping a feel?
Are the fruits within your basket less than safe
From the terrifying manifested son of ape?
When we tell it like it is, or we try to run the biz
Cause we always think we know, and we think we run the show
Because of hannibal and the alps we won’t consult the map
We just need to find our elephants and our diplomats
And our hunter gatherer spirits all seem caught in traps
We’re sure to fit the masculine ideal
Building rockets to the moon and always trying to cop a feel
Underneath it all we do what we know pleases
Because we know there’s oh so many cheeses

Ticktock Teapot

Ticktock Teapot lived in a house
Tuilp Buttercup was his spouse
Clever and proud their children were
Thistlesing, Butterbarrow, Shockleburr
Thistlesing was oldest, good with gears
Butterbarrow grew corn up to his ears
Shockleburr delighted in magic play
And so passed all their days

Thistlesing built a robot man
Put an old brain in a new tin can
Mechabrain lifted heavy loads
Fixed leaky roofs, paved new roads
Gave the whole village civic pride
And gave all the children a ride

Butterbarrow’s corn fed the whole of the land
Shiny and golden and picked by hand
Naturally tasting of butter and salt
Truly a grain without any fault
Enjoyed by all and wasted by few
Wouldn’t you like some, too?

The bodies and minds of the world were fat
Something was missing from all of that
Shockleburr waved his magic wand
Hammered out tunes on old half grand
Now he sings them in the square all day long
And what is his favorite song?

Ticktock Teapot lived in a house
Tuilp Buttercup was his spouse
Clever and proud there children were
Thistlesing, Butterbarrow, Shockleburr
Thistlesing was oldest, good with gears
Butterbarrow grew corn up to his ears
Shockleburr delighted in magic play
And so passed all their days

February

February is the queen of thieves
Chill wind stealing my heat
She even pawned a day to seduce the year
Offered the opening spot, she showed up late, probably hung over
She does not get along
Only the promise of April can lamb the lion of March
After his usual argument with February
February is the slut month
No wonder she scored Valentine's Day
And March is no prude, but he still
Buttons his top button in her presence
And looks away, clenching his clouds close
Waiting to give them to April
Whom he loves so much

Negative Space

Unburning wet alleyway
Cold draft whirlwind catches up
scrap of newspaper in a hideous solitary dance
A cheeseless rat whispers by
whistling its contempt of absent cats
A riderless cardboard box sleeps soundly.
The rain pours into this blessed place.

Amusement Parked

Diamonds quilted into false faces of rain,
shimmered out from clouds over my feeling face.
Tiny drop of water and his ten thousand friends
dance down into my hair.
Roller coaster stumbles in its carefully planned circle.
The tilt-a-whirl, a crucible for time, gets boiled up in the gravity and all stretched out.
A small flock of teenage girls stands right next to it,
smoking delicious cigarettes.
I stumble out, hungry myself.

Under Construction

Will the language in my head stop running around?
Take your seats.
As I dip my pen, I spill over my vocabulary.
Now I have Einstein, conundrum, and crabcakes
all over the floor.
And endlessly computerized jungle hats
flip-flopping in machine gun circles near the door.

Fair May and the Many Months

Fair May! You have given birth to me, charted my progress
waylaid my birthday with the occasional Memorial Day
brought rain and sun and first warm gusts
eyed me, then let me go.

June was once the promise of freedom
vacation, reading, too many cartoons
bike rides and lawn sprinklers
juggled me about, still does.

July was named for Caesar, the ritual of doing nothing
interrupted by explosions, then little burnt scraps on neighbors’ driveways
flags migrate through the year but always flock down
upon the pond of July.

August is not red hot but green hot
spicy sky making pepper faces
It’s fun to sizzle in summer’s pan.

September is served up on a cooling plate.
Lawnmowers whine about, still out of their shells.
The first day you don’t know to take a sweater
reminds you that you are still a child of the world.

October becomes gently,
flowering her plumage down the spectrum
as if bowing.

November is a chorus of melodrama,
vibrating strings make up the whole of the world
The trees drop their masks in shock.
We remember square hats in pageants and feasts
our senses swell up with our bellies.

December crashes in bells, runs ragged through the streets singing
we put on ridiculous clothes and become would-be elves
calling cards parties bottles are passed in tinseled glory
angels and reindeer are loose upon the world
they scatter candy canes and tidings, and leave sugared shadows.

January sighs, runs up the hill, then tobaggans down.
Clouds nest on the ground and camouflage the yard
the driveway, too.

February is a screaming maniac
that said something about chocolate
while hurling blizzards in my face.
The hell with february!

March is no lion or lamb as he sweeps up the world
His broom of winds is tedious and chill.
All you can do is wait.

April’s caravan brings flowers from afar
plants them in her wake
dots the world with specks of green

Politics

You’re like Gerald Ford in a leisure suit
nobody wanted you, but you still come off as kinda cute,
yet charming the world with your sunny disposition
hides the sinister secret that you were once a member of your own warren commission.

You're like Abe Lincoln without the beard,
dejected and unelected, possibly universally feared,
stalking the countryside of old kentucky;
most folk can't decide if you're a werewolf or just unlucky.

Or maybe you're Millard Fillmore if he possessed superpowers
he could turn back time and win the war of 1812 in a matter of hours
then the people would've made him king
but you're no Millard Fillmore and you have no powers and that's the thing

The six million dollar man minus the bionics and about six million dollars
yet all the townfolk come a runnin whenever they hear you holler
there's no rational way to explain your charisma and charm
I'm torn between always taking your side and wishing you serious harm

Optimism About Cities

Human beings in cities
packed together as close as can be
requiring a weird combination of directness
and keep-to-yourself
where the most profound and long lasting relationships
can arise from a fight
between two people
who, as it turns out, have the same favorite
band team politician author book album restaurant car show movie
so many people
in so much space
you’d think all the friction would burn it all up
and cities would become infernos
a mill of anger
but instead what is inside people is brought out in unexpected ways
as millions of interactions to the power of millions of interactions
makes us explode
not like a bomb, but like popcorn
and we react like chemicals
and rise like bread.

Well, that is that for now. Like every web page in the universe, this one is under construction. I will be adding to this page soon, so please check back if you have enjoyed what you've read.

©All materials and works on this page are copyright 1999 - 2003 by Douglas Robert Turek. Reproduction or distribution is forbidden without the express written permission of the author, who welcomes polite inquiries.