Turnstiles Poems | Examples

Rush Hour

I clock in my own breath,
Minutes stack like folding chairs.
My limbs queue for permission,
Time herds me through its turnstiles.
We all wear the same silence—
Pressed suits, creased with wanting.

The Craft

(A lone voice speaks to a crowd of poets)

You do know everyone has their own magical style 

A style filled with such wild illustrious promises and kaleidoscope's of such deep vivid depths

For in poetry
No stone is left uncovered, 
Ranging from life to death

Whispers of love’s wild explosive adrenaline filled triumphs 

Everlasting hope or altarpieces of self-fulfillment

Descents into darkness
Opening portals to dimensions of festive destruction

And at the core for the inquisitive 

The Red Flag
The smiling frown
Up or down 

The fire to ignite a curious reader's eyes to the soul 

That really matters
Is the what
Why and guile

It's quite simple
It's why everyone has their own magical style 

For there is no guide to the labyrinth of the mind

When you enter poetry's smiling black and white turnstiles

And line up to read or write

 With so many other groups of people who are still walking or standing still in history

In single file

(C)
Copyright John Duffy

New Pathways

Tollgates on redemption road
calling out my name

Turnstiles of a fated past ...
exiting the blame

Looking back all fares are paid
new pathways to begin

Eyes now closing, heart at rest
— salvation free within

(My Son Trystan & I — April 16, 2024)

The Animal Orphanage

Its the sight waft of rotting flesh
That first hits you
While the smartly dressed
Smiling warden ushers you in,
Through narrow turnstiles

There are rows of enclosures
A maze of them, a maze of the wild
Its like a snapshot of danger
A dangerous predator-laden savanna
Danger enclosed

Lions...
You will hear their shouting matches
Royal majestic roars
Like cage competitions
Even the females join in
While one stares you down
Sizing you up
Like a piece of flesh
(Well come to think of it...)
Some males lie down
Nonchalant

Amidst the noise
The leopard paces in its enclosure
Waiting for its daily ration
While the young buffalo
Grazes nervously,
Its enclosure next to the lions

They have emergency exits
Just in case...
You will spot a Serval cat
A croc, bored
And nervous rare Sokoke cats
Terribly out of place...

Click Vs Clink

It already seems so long ago
    transactions went
      'clink, clink, clink'

  Now that we all buy online
    our 'turnstiles' go
      'click, click, click'    

  The first way requires me
    to get up off my duff
  The second lets me laze away
    in pj's ~ that's not so tough 

  Between 'clink, clink, clink'
    and 'click, click, 'click' ~
  Which one have you picked?

Shout For Joy, Dance and Sing

I wake up, to celebrate the morning
    It's gonna be, a beautiful day
  Birds are singing, without warning
    I'll take my pills, last night or yesterday

  You know I've got, no patience for complaining
    Who gives a hoot, if cats and dogs it's raining
  Even if, the sunshine is abstaining
    Deep in my heart, it never went away

  How do you do, How do you do
    I want to see the real you
  Shout for joy, dance and sing
    Positivity's the thing!

  So get up, put on your best smile
    Take a run, even go a mile
  Wave Hi to folks, you see in the turnstiles
    Hop, skip and jump, you are so versatile

  How do you do, How do you do
    I want to see the real you
  Shout for joy, dance and sing
    Positivity's the thing!



         October 27, 2022
   Brian Strand Premiere Choice
           Contest Entry

Parallex View

Night light star spirals
Galaxy streetlight full moons
      Dark matter fuse box
      Planetary plentitudes
local groups enter turnstiles

Conundrum

Conundrum 

This confounding conundrum,
This continuing act of untying the pesky knots of existence,
This conniving, beating whirlwind of ever-swirling stresses,
Again served up on a plate mixed with legumes and angst,
Is taking all of us to the brink of aqueous insanity.
Life is eating at our gonads like a ravenous chigger,
And the madness of it all bites at our minds and hearts,
Leaving half dead infected people with terminal frowns.


We wake up every morning dreading the endless daily tasks,
The endless psycho-dramas concerning trivial insignificances,
The never-ending shuffles through the busy, hopeful turnstiles, to
Another turn of the page, another interminable trip to Magic City,
Where we all find our share of romantic nirvana dressed in grey suede.
But a dollar must be earned to pay the bill of the one who must pay his.
And so, we continue to breathe on reflexively and instinctively,
Like fat whales pulsing in a green bay.

The Match

Match day is here, scarf around your wrist
Dad takes his lad the games never missed
Sea of red winds its way down the lane
Singing the songs that announce the game
The turnstiles click as they hurry inside
Narrow passages opening out wide
The green of the pitch is sharp on the eyes
Hot Chocolate in hand and the promise of pies
The team emerge from the tunnel to cheers
Hands waving scarves and pints of beer
The whistle blows and the match begins
Each supporter hopes it’s their team that wins
A flying tackle, a quick taken free kick
The headers won, home fans feel sick
More running and shouting from the team in Red
90 minutes are up and they are still ahead
The ref calls the game, and red fans cheer
The blues are disheartened, it was near.
1 – 0 to us, we are top of the league
Billy is smiling his dad is relieved

Be a Good Bugger Clyde

Good bugger Clyde
Some look for the hell on the other side,
is it cause, yes cause for some mirth,
the sum of your sins and the good things you've done,
are balanced by time in the earth,
will the Lawyer be fried,
for being nasty and snide,
Reborn Uganda or worse?
Bush Lawyer they'd say in Aussie today,
Just doing his time till the hearse. 
Well babe,
 we is in Purgatory being purged during this ride,, 
and the turnstiles are waiting on the other side, 
to see whether its New York or Somalia on the flip side,
or a more subtle hell in the Earth...
to slide, 
stuck in the muck till you died?
this knowledge is all that you're worth,
the where do you go, its the curse,
So be a good bugger Clyde
not again came the echo ...denied,
the wheel of suffering, don't reverse...

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nhp4PdP-FHw
Don Johnson

Denied

Well babe,
 we is in Purgatory being purged during this ride,, 
and the turnstiles are waiting on the other side, 
to see whether its New York or Somalia on the flip side,
or a more subtle hell in the Earth...

to slide, 
this knowledge is all that you're worth,
not again came the echo ...denied...

Don Johnson

Hold Me From a Distance

I revisit this realm where your actions cannot,
Will not,
Stifle my nascence

Never enough,
Never enough

Forward, 
I tear away my onion skin
Embattled by a loathing humanity

I throw solaced emotions
Upon rusted turnstiles

Spinning round,
Right round,
Round,
Right round

But, you wouldn’t call me baby.

Good. 

Because I was told
That it is better to be hated for who I am,
Then loved for who I am not

So, hate me. 

HATE ME!
HATE ME!

Forever…
…always.

Lunge at me with your preconceived notions
Of why I mean(t) the world to you

Open your arms of Fort Knox and
Tell me why I WILL NOT ASCEND
Upon your generic wings
Made of Atheist smiles

Because,
If you don’t believe in anything,
Why
Oh why,
Would you believe in me?

©D.J.E. -11/19/2015

One More Stop

These words that I write are like graffiti on walls passed by,
Large enough to admire,
But too fast to read,
Wanting to be somewhere quick,
Though stuck stopping to watch others drag on,
There's so many people that look like they have something to say,
But I'll never hear their words because I don't have time to listen,
Or I'll stick my headphones in deeper because despite all the silence in me,
Life has a soundtrack,
And it can't be the sound of this,
This milling train,
This murmur of voice that fades like the blur when eyes zoom,
And if I do get off I'll break for the light,
Run til I have no air left to inhale,
But no amount of locked turnstiles will stand in my way,
I'll walk off this steel and on to what's soft,
Never glancing over shoulders,
Never coming back.

Cloaked In Grinding Whispers

Cloaked in grinding whispers
Such inhabitants feel
Their way
Gallop the day
By thrusting, trusting
Emblazoned minds
Envious looks deflected
As the clan stays on task
The full-time preoccupation
And execution of self-expression
Daring risks trickling
The vacant gutters
Thirsty for adrenalin
And a satisfying gulp
Of shattered dreams
Fashionable product
Underserved and underappreciated
By the sanctimonious angels
Slinging hash in pits
Adjacent to the realm of man
Does thou hast remedies
For secrets and manipulations
Self-inflicted
The favored play of
Tenderlicious vassals
Who clamor for more
Than anyone truly deserves
The proven chorus
Decorated in colors
Beyond their years
Hum a distant buzz
Galvanized harmony
Textured strokes o' plenty
Count the measure seventy
Plus whatever is needed
No budget heeded
Because symphonies
Laced with street sugar
And turnstiles revolving by
The peeks and cheats
Sing the bling
And never stray too far
Given no better place
To go.

(8/7/06)

I Ask You, Sir

Apr 2012
Chennai

I ask you, sir!
Of late, inanimate
Toothless, tethered
Can’t jump turnstiles

     "Agree, align"
     "Ask, but smile"
Mute, asinine

     "Uncalled, unnice"
     "Pushy, out-of-style"
You know, I’m fine

      "A wish, undone"
      "Exit, condone"
      "Look back, smile"

      "Unearth, sift"
      "Write," but why?
Unbonded, servile

Alive, a life
…Sad, demise

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