36. Kyle Turpin's poems

My name…

My name is Kyle
not Kylie
or Kyles
not Smiley-Kyle
With saggy mouths
not ‘put a Kyle on ya dial’
not vile Kyle
or Kyle, put down that coat
or ‘the’ Kyle
I’m not an animal, contrary to popular belief
not ‘Kyle of the Night’
Lurking in the shadows
or Kyle Turnip
or Kyle Turpentine
not Kyle Brandon Dane Flynn Anthony Shae Monique Leslie Victoria Turpin Uglow Esonahpets
That’s so stupid and long it’s hardly a name at all
or Ky-yell
or Ky
or Kizzle
or Turpinator
Out to terminate and exterminate and say any other catchphrases of death-bent destructo bots…
not ‘just’ Kyle
or Style Kyle

But KYLE
CORRECT?


By Kyle Turpin
My family (the dream one)

There’s my Dad
in his 3 piece ironed flat suit
celebrating after putting up another SOLD sign.

My Mum
she should be back shortly
she’s promoting her new bestseller
it’s a big line there, I guess.

And my brother? He’s out for a bit.
He’s living in the homeless shelter cooking food for them
he’s been in the newspaper a couple of times
‘Their Little Saviour’, they call him.

My sister?
she’s at the theatre, blocking her part in Little Shop of Horrors.

And me.
I’ve just finished my painting.
I love art.
















By Kyle Turpin
I am…

I am a lover of music
A creator of tales.
I wonder my most boys must constantly show off their brawn in routine brawls and beat-ups.
I hear the heartbeat of flourishing trees, and
I see their cringing, wrinkled faces when a young lad twists off one of it’s many arms.
I want to be able to draw amazing trees and clouds.

I am a creator of music
A lover of tales.
I pretend to be a Broadway star, because one day, I will be.
I feel intrigued about fuzzy butterflies and dragonflies, and
I touch their dewdrop saliva, that attaches itself to my finger.
I worry about people who have recently lost someone they hold dear, and
I cry when it occurs to me.

I am a loving creator of musical tales.
I understand that life isn’t just sugar and honey, more like fruit salad with bitter punch.
I say sudoku, no sough-dough-kough, or suduku.
I dream of a place where chickens can cross road, and skeleton don’t have to (due to their lack of stomach), without being ridiculed immensely.
I try to do no less than great, who doesn’t?
I hope I will wake up tomorrow.

I am a lover.
I am a creator.
I’m In Charge of the World

If I were in charge of the world
I’d kill all cauliflower plants
Squeaky floors
Itchy blankets, and Miley Cyrus too.

If I were in charge of the world
There’d be bigger chocolate bars
Cleaner parks
And a climate always the perfect temperature.

If I were in charge of the world
You wouldn’t have sadness
You wouldn’t have rancid porridge
You wouldn’t have curfews
Or cigarette butts.
You wouldn’t even have cigarettes.

If I were in charge of the world,
Donuts with pink strawberry icing and coloured sprinkles would be a staple food
Good TV shows on earlier

And a person would sometimes forgot to clean his pup,
And sometimes forgot to freshen up
Would still allowed to be

In charge of the world.



By Kyle Turpin
The Uncertainty of the Writer

I am a writer.
I am rather partial to chocolate.

I am chocolate.
I am rather partial to a writer.

I am a writer of chocolate.
I am rather partial.

A writer of ‘I am, I am’-
Rather chocolate.

Partial to “Am I chocolate?
Am I?” – a rather writer.

Chocolate to a writer!
Am I partial? Am I rather?

Writer chocolate! I am.
I am partial to a ‘rather’.

I am to rather partial chocolate.
Am I a writer?







By Kyle Turpin
A Couple of Random Questions
An extract of “The Minister For Exams”.

Describe the taste of the moon.
It tastes like the subtlety of bocconcini cheese, with a tang of feet and a good helping of the purest discovery.

What colour is love?
Love is the precise hue and texture of a young girls’ first shopping spree with her mother. The look of excitement on her face is one of the most rarest of colours nowadays.

Why do snowflakes melt?
They melt because they absorb the heat of joy and euphoria that covers the earth like a glove a size to big.




Uhhh…











By Kyle Turpin