John Turi
December 2007
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| Composite Sketch of John Turi |
John Turi has been writing fiction and poetry since childhood. The sole purpose for this endeavor was a way to survive the torment of adolescents. Turi’s first short story and poetry collection “Sorrow” was released in September of 2001 and the first print run quickly sold out. It was rereleased two more times using the same ISBN number but different covers with added poetry and stories, in order to confuse book collectors as to which book was the true first edition (the limited edition ‘Suicide’ cover is the true first edition). Turi’s second book “Tequila Mockingbird” released in 2005 was quickly abandoned and not promoted by the author as the death of his father drove him into seclusion. Having taken nearly three years off from writing in order to ponder man’s existence Turi currently sits at home in a dark musty room, gradually working on his next project due out in the summer of 2008.
Neighbor of Emily Dickinson
If I stay inside this room you will not find me
As I lay within the quilted blankets –
That mother’s mother sewn for my birth
You will not come and take me from warmth
Out from under the tenderness of wool and cotton–
I look through the glass
Towards the East, the bodies of those
Released from their disposable casings
Remain buried six feet deep
Next to weathered granite stones
Carved with their arrival
And when they were called back
In the company of a sole candle –
On my writing table since youth
I compose certainty
And as long as the words –
Descend onto pages and pages
I know you will not come for me
But know, I do worry about you
Imagine you – often
While observing the gravediggers
Removing the world to make room
For more who have been taken by
The two bugs and a roach*, as the Negros say
For now I will remain, in this ordinary room
Surrounded by mother’s paintings and father’s intellect
As imaginative Austin and beautiful Lavinia secure me
Soon enough I will come for you
Then we will be friends, the best of
But at this moment I have many words to convey
And until such time as they come no more –
You must wait
Inside the cemetery grounds
Just outside my bedroom window
And only when my words are well rested
I will invite you in
For warm cup of charity
*Two Bugs and a Roach was a slang term for Scarlet Fever used by slaves.
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Orphans Preferred
1860 California advertisement: “Wanted. Young, skinny, wiry fellows not over 18
Must be expert riders, willing to risk death daily. Orphans preferred.”
Roaring with majestic splendor towards the east
A youthful rider no more than fifteen –
Clutches his sun-dried hands firmly on the reins
Legs braced against her chestnut mane
Leaning in weight balanced
The mare charges with purpose
Like a passing cloud –
Hurried and floating
With spirit the steed gallops through the barren region
Towards Missouri – $25 a week
Without warning – she is down –
Splendor lies screaming
Blood seeped onto worn hoofs –
Puddling into the mud –
Plunged with Sioux arrows
The mighty has tumbled
The fallen rider bleeds from his scalp –
Just out of reach
His ghost dances
Letters and telegrams from California –
Warm hellos, love and sadness
Spill from the mochila
Lift into the warm wind and yellow dust
Searching for a new way home
Boy and animal
Breathe slowly, together
Believing the lie –
That across the river
Safety is only a few miles away
With a sincere war cry
The blade levels between their eyes
Now – they are silent
The fresh smell of heaven
Travels with passing clouds –
Hurried and floating |
