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Brian Turner Feb 2021
Sunken screed below me as I run on the wooded path
The path guides me through the light and darkness
My footing is uncertain

Mucky soil below as I run through the copse
The path guides me through the ups and downs
My footing is more firm

Solid tarmac below me as I run on the pavement
The path guides me safely from oncoming harm
My footing is founded

The paths of life are there for us to take
The footings may be different
But the destination is the same
Just mulling over the different paths we take as I run regularly
Brian Turner Feb 2021
There is a space in the woods
Where the light bends in
The bushes form a large circulate nest
I go there sometimes 'n crawl into a ball
It's safe there, safe from harm
Time stands still

There is a space in the woods
Where the temperature is cool and the floor is dank
No technology can find me
No knock on the door
No demands for more

No one knows where the space is
Not even God
He keeps asking me
'Someday I'll tell you' I smirk
Have you ever found safe place to hide in the woods? If not keep looking. When you find it, sit down, close your eyes and meditate.
Brian Turner Feb 2021
We all need a need a haircut but..
with the daily news and gloom
we're stuck looking at ourselves on Zoom

Zoom has replaced the mirror
and it isn't getting clearer
The bits and the bytes
seek to hide the rights
the rights of my face
the rights of grace

Shall I 'leave' the meeting or stay?
Shall I use the backlighting ring today?
Time to dial up this mace
Time to learn to own my own face
Funny how Zoom is now our new mirror :)
Brian Turner Jan 2021
Three miles of white sand
Fit into my hand
As I look out to sea
Mussenden Temple sets us free

The hills at the top
Look up, what a drop
Teenage time full of fun
Screaming to the bottom of 'the big one'

Forty five degrees to the wind
Sand, grit doesn't rescind
Nowhere to the South
Nearly at the bar mouth

I turn and it blows
My back takes a lift
Portstewart in the distance
I brace for resistance
Portstewart strand is a beautiful white beach in Northern Ireland. Just go there.
Brian Turner Jan 2021
As the night grows dim
The Harbour bar draws us in
Past seagulls who soar
To the welcoming door

The fire is on
The people sit low
The bar is full
The taps are slow

We wait at the door
As the Guinness is poured
How you doin boy?
Not bad, just o'er from Gweedore

The craic is good
The night is long
The drum beats hard
To the Ceiltic song

More people pile in
To the small rooms 'n the floor
More Guiness to order
More time at the door
Memories of the Harbour bar in Portrush
Brian Turner Jan 2021
I'm picking litter
To clear out the litter in my head
To clear out what was said

With a robot arm
I mean you no harm
It's a mental need
To sow new seed

The needs of the planet
Are called out by the Goddess Tanit
Let's gather more litter
And afray from being bitter
Armed with remote arm I've become a litter picker and picked up a huge bag of stuff on my street today. Interestingly many of the pieces are the same leading to the conclusion only a few are spoiling



it for the many.
Brian Turner Jan 2021
Blinded by sweat
Blinded by the threat
Of obvious noise
From your Internet toys

It's gone beyond time to play
It's time to refocus words not images that stay
In your latest Instagram post
Be a word prophet toast, not a primevil tribal ghost

Let the words tell the story
Why the future is not gory
Time to take mental stock
Time to rework words that rock
Drop your social media, use words to change the world. All hail Amanda Gorman at the inauguration.
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