Poetry By Douglas Turet
©November 11th, 2025
The lioness sleekly cascades along and from her acacia bark plateau….
A study in curves and coarseness, golden tan, sinew and whiskers, rhythmically huffing into silence.
How does the branch hold her?
So slight…
It knows not, yet it does
And so it continues, until it or she concedes with a sound of protest!
A marriage or contest of will,
thorn and claw,
Settling into or rising up from the Savannah of the Rift Valley,
As the large ember slowly simmers below the uplifted ridge, until nothing
but the huffing and the hunger and the prey and the waiting…
And the waiting stillness, as the ember’s glow dissolves into stars.
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© October 30th, 2025
Oh, dew-kissed chanterelle...
You wrinkled thimble of sunset glow
Between sweet fern, leaves and moss,
"just so".
There in mid-step, I freeze, and...
"OH!!!"
(Well, I guess you'll still taste as good flat!)
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© October 14th, 2025
Sleekly spying, eyes barely poking through:
Two steps, then JOLT!
Jiggle-shake; freeze; spying...
Seven steps swiftly... shake!
Jiggle-shake; freeze...
Wait! There she is! Run, run, run, run, run to her. Then shake!
Shake in unison.. well, not, but almost!
Freeze; spying each other, checking each other...
A move; a feignt and move again; a tease?
Then chase up the tree, a pause for fluffy-backed juggle-shake, and gone.
But wait! What about those acorns?
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© October 10th, 2025
That goes here and this goes there,
Though how that’ll work is never shared.
It’s all neat and tidy when the surface is bare,
If things’re put back on the shelf…
“Shoot!! Lookatthetime!!!” (There goes the buzz!)
Though doing so well, I thought I was,
But time escaped, as it often does…
On its way to “over there”!
We creatives sure are an interesting lot:
Imagining things we haven’t got
And then making a few, just to take a shot,
At our quest for mental health.
And that should be enough, you’d think,
(But it drives whoever can to drink)
So we throw in all but the kitchen sink,
On our way to “over there”.
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© Douglas Turet, August 28th, 2025
So, that goes there and this goes here,
And the rest will fall between, my dear,
But just who, when, how and how much aren’t clear,
When Polly comes to town.
The pundits hue and the prophets cry
And the outliers go lay and lie,
And swear it wasn’t them (or try),
When Polly comes to town.
Who’s “Polly”, you ask? She’s a two-faced slut:
She’ll suck you dry, then pump your butt
With sunshine, warm, as she strokes each nut,
So you’re distracted when it comes…
But soon enough, you’ll realize,
When the dawn reveals the depth of guise,
And the vices hid by the vise you’d surmised
Would be tempor’y, but now is fixed.
It’s because, my friend, when the day is done,
And you find you’re not the only one
Who’s no longer cheering as you were, once,
For Polly’s Karat and her shtick…
There’s no cause, my friend, for asking why,
Or to beg salvation from On High,
‘Cause it’s just as you were prophesied:
This IS how Polly ticks!
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© April 18th, 2025
I was out walking...
The lights had changed.
Sudden, wild fumbling between console
and seat for that fallen something!
A sheepish, smiling shrug offered.
An empathetic, knowing one returned.
Two nods. A complete conversation in no words and all knowing.
I turned right at the light as she sped off to her somewhere...
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- By Douglas Turet, 10/07/2025
Sometimes, I’ll smell the taste of you
(Love you - Breathe ssssSudden!!
Smile-pout, then sigh…)
Softly kissing my way
Up your arches and calves…
Sniffing, suckling your inner thighs…
Gently, teasingly gliding
Over vellus, soft…
Only barely full-touching your skin,
Just my lips on your hair,
Yummy slurp ‘n’ blow air,
Down and up and then back again!
Then, of course,
There’ll be those other times,
When our “inner critics” conflict,
From ‘tween again & again
To “Please! Not again?!”,
When we’ll both glance askance, remiss…
Aren’t you a strange little dance,
You sweet thing, “Romance”:
Alternately hardening,
Then buoying folks aloft?
Sweet to sultry to stormy gaze,
You so quick’ vacillate —
“So, are you my partner, now,
Or suddenly, The Boss?!”)
And so, we wander forth,
Betwixt nuzzle and scorch,
As inexorably as
Night flows into day…
Whether in passionate caress
Or in search of redress,
If we love “us”, we may both be the way.
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© February 15th, 2017
The snow, it came dumping,
then dissipated, and "thein"
'twas swiftly followed
by the waterier "Snain",
which fell, then froze...
And don't you suppose
it'd loudly crunch,
without the warmth
required for slush?
Roads neither fit for man nor cow...
'Deed it did! But, now,
paths are all moist, but gait safe,
at 40 degrees, sans
Heaven's watery strafe.
Though more of it is coming...
Soon, there'll be some drumming,
(just the faintest of all)
upon the rooves of the high-born
and those in their stalls
as scant flurries and/or thundersnow are forecast...
And how long will it last?
If you're among the countless dozens
who believe in the fable of that obese gerbil's cousin
known as Phil of Punxataw'...
Then three or four weeks, at most, is all.
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© August 5th, 1981
Yo, Maria -- Babe!
You're pissing-me off, again!
Always whining and complaining, and-a pitching a bitch...
I fuckin' hate your instigatin'
'Cause o' what you make me do,
When you get all outta line, an' you get me like this!
When I was younger's when I learned about what women really want.
I also learned just how to keep 'em in line...
Y'know, I learned it all by watchin' Daddy do it to Ma;
They never said much, but they taught me just fine!
A- frame T-shirt, "Don't you look at me, sir;
I'll fuck you up, you look at me wrong!"
No frame makes sense, if the only defense
Is packing up and running from home.
(p.s.: I’ve often wondered: whatever became of Lisa after I moved away? Did she survive all of that? I hope so.🙏🏻)
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