Doug Turet.com
A Journey in Words, Colors, Textures and Sounds

Poetry

Poetry By Douglas Turet


 

Flow to Voi“

©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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"Sunset Sautee" 

© 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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"Pounce!"

© 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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“On Its Way To ‘Over There’ ”

© 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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“Polly”

© 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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"Main Street Communication"

© 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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“Tango Legato”

- 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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"A New England Feb'ry"

© 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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"A-Frame T-Shirt" (The Misogynist's Lament)" (After hearing our downstairs neighbors... again)

© 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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