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The starting point of creativity is found in the poetry collection. This lead me towards the visual representation of thoughts into painting

A collection of work gathered over the past few years.

Plucked in Drains

Separated and seamless

Dressed in white sequins

To shine in pyjamas

A drama unfolding

Like crisps in sheets

Breadcrumbs in linings

Refining an age-long dispute

With croissant moons

Discordant tunes

Resonate with crystal glaze

A maze of memory

Contemporary ideas

Or fears resurfacing 

Like dolphins at breakfast

Between waves

Cave dwellers bereft

And lonely

Deceptively cold

It’s the wind no longer

From the south 

It’s frozen

Chaste Drifter

Draped in tears the sorry soul stands sallow.

Falling grace and wrinkles like caverns

Open up in cracks; make-up broken

Always forcing a smile no longer waiting.

It all seems inevitable:

Like the Wall Street Crash

The ebbing of the tide

The waning of the moon

The passing of a life

The climax of emotion

The end of a stormy conversation

The realisation of a dream

Pressed for an answer

On this occasion

There is just one

A pearl

A diamond

A just deserved introduction

A meeting

A change of heart in a greeting

Alone no more

In tandem


March 1st 2015

Patrick Turner-Lee Copyright 2015

Clamber from Escape

Clamber from Escape

Slip slide mud drawn whiskers hiding exclusion

Taken away and hunted, scratched in trench design

A tunnel hiding, caged in feelings

Crafted to award correction

A last gasp prediction of authority

A killer queen appeal for justice

Broken by living lies, lack of attention

Frown at aspects of jailers terms,

Conditions made from crack blazed direction

Flowers curling at the edges

Incoming calls from silk lined dresses

Shingle chiming on blue green beaches

Another world

A cocktail of glorious shadows

Glimmering on the shore

There is surely

Much more than this

March 5th 2015

Patrick Turner-Lee Copyright 2015

Draped with Honey

Cornered in a slashed and yellow green canopy

Shattered blue light smothers the mixed company

A brigade of brightly dressed marionettes

Pulling beauty from the stars

Dangling delight from the strings of the heart

Pinks and silk lined parts of prisms mask the actual scene

A garden when grey a part of normality

With magic ingested and dreams unfolded: this common land is no longer exhausted

New life the start a spring bud fantasy

All filling majesty

Gripping the whole expanse

A chance

A freedom of spirit


March 15th 2015

Patrick Turner-Lee Copyright 2015



Freezing, captured; falling for a crest of a wave

To stay: in wind curling white as the crinkled lace curtain flutters

Stained with yellow time

Felled because the inside is rotten

Forgotten the impact of a decision

Lost family crying in shark fin scheme

To thin to bite the sorrow that flows from shaking legs

To grey to be bright and forgiving.

Scalding; burnt to a crisp

The long list rolls from the red roar lips

Glistening with lather left from behaving

Raving and solace only in shivering lids

Lashes dripping with hot flushes

Diary is torn and tattered

Did it matter 

Why do I worry: refusing to sleep

Keep on recounting the bashful moments

Before the sun went down

A burst in the door moment

A heartbeat lost; never to be found

A sound: a gentle shoulder to cry on

How comes 

How deep

April 27th 2017

Patrick Turner-Lee Copyright

Frustration – Passing

I crash bonnets with bullets crying troubled stories of windswept landscapes,

In my tent, barking with morning malice in jaw stretching repetition.

Then I challenge visionary women clasping bar bra madness

Standing steady with pretty ringlets, calling shots in my minds eye a rough sea kaleidoscope.

Dancing stars moving mountains and evidence from shore to droplet,

Colours dripping prim and proper crazy, I'm an angry lone star deputy

Chasing features that don't exist,

Designing dreams that only persist

Then I champion causes that effect mastication

Chew on the fat of mass debating autocrats, shot up blood oozing, blocked veins bruising, I shock the neighbouring manners.

Merchandise mucky, quality unsure cut with pepper burning addition inject impure.

My headache cramps and legs shaking projectile vomitting strangely unrelenting.

Wash down with whisky and soda and bang up again lets see if we can finish off the light

Switch down the purpose, crush the pill, stir up the teaspoon and drink together in loved wonder.

Wake one day to escape unreality, just try no immersion evolve free of pollution

Stepping out into ordinary impulses, to grow the internal combustive appreciation

Sliding into car crushed deep canals between places with smog gone city in cinema night neon

Pressing for perception a flutter inside, a recognition a slipper to find,

Glass hearted shoe shine from years of protection for death row living to chequered hoping

Driven to experience beauty

I remember the past as an envoy to a future that has a chance

At last.

The cringe is still rising

The fashion is real and choking

The time to embrace is meaning

Chance the stinging is smarting and greetings to the dull thudding of death repeating

As friends pass by the minute

As they did in the past and always will do together live best

True with purpose

Creating a history not losing to its mystery I must.

March 27th

Crushed Apron

Crushed Apron

Slim chance and slovenly dressed: she staggers in tatters

Flattened papers dancing in the light of the window.

Out to the basking sun. 

Flesh shining

Dining out and burning winters white skin, 

Pink blades scrape on a barbed concrete kerb 

Quietly crushed fragrance smothers 

Another distraction: 

An action to divide attention.

Mention the breeze; cool and fresh beating the confusion.

The place: crowds meet,

Sowing seeds of doubt

Gathering moss like rocks. 

Best left alone: judgement seized with aplomb

Squeezed injunction:

A stool tipped to falling

Appalling resting place for the morning.

The death of thought and gesture

Crust and crumbs scattered on broken slabs of time

Sick of concern for others

Smothered in tired distress

Placid in tortured beliefs

Crushed whilst standing 

Flowers fall on the shallow grave

A crow flies and sits on the waving tree

A spot of rain falls

April 2nd 2017

Patrick Turner-Lee Copyright

Bricks and Torture

Bricks and Torture

Valves open: flowing feeling 

Cut and bound: no sound an echo’

A breath mists the window.

Delving into the emotive dreads not spoken

A token of the past. 

Gates with flowers still hours from the beginning. 

Just slipping in the mud; the hills never conquered 

The dreams all-consuming; 

Clever tricks belie the reasons

As the seasons roll on with frozen ground resisting

The tramp of feet; trying to compete with slavish meaning

All too young beneath the blanket: 

Wet in rain 

Hanging on bedclothes

Stinging rain beating bells

Filling buckets with holes 

Digging trenches; 

Plugs have broken chains

Bloodstains deep red and shining.

Never mind the weather; 

The waves; the clapping window panes

Keeping a cleaver at hand

To slice a soft sentence

Vacuums; times without beginning or end

A pat on the back feeling

Well done for reeling

Shovelling deep evenings

Dusk falls

And again a song is dawning.

December 30th 2017

Patrick Turner-Lee Copyright

Reality Shows

Reality Shows

Heavy heart drawing lines 

Times and floating balloons 

Full of dust

Feeling giddy 

Barriers, escorted in chains

Insist on cow towing 

Making broken teams

Spun out cars; filling beds with bleeding tears

Fears crumble in pillows filled with friends

Never crushed just stirred with a slice

Served on a plate with steam

Just to say it wasn’t for trying

Denying my part 

Forgetting the apprehension

The growing tension and disbelief 

In myself and others

A bad reputation

Crashing hopes

Bad dreams

February 21st 2019

Patrick Turner-Lee Copyright

Practical Attack – An Xmas Party

Practical Attack – An Xmas Party

Frozen incense, standing at angles

Tangles of belied illusions, confusions utter exclusion

From perilous shores the stones rattling in jars

Metal bars chilled in bitter windswept seasons

Feeding on built-up lies 

Ties to the past; falling in shards of glass

Piercing the heart

Just a part of the pain: 

Popping pills to keep your head above water

Know we didn’t ought to

Strength in saying the clothes they wore are beastly

Cheap to me, trousers with tears running down the cheeks

Steeped in broken dreams

Patched up with crazy paving stones

All alone: enough to drive anyone to drink

A party left for a paper cloth covered in chunks of warm pineapple

As the juice runs between the cracks in the floor

To much more and the end will be the finish of the general feeling.

Stealing away for a late-night snack

Attack the germs of doubt

Why the hell did I bother to go out.

December 19th 2017

Patrick Turner-Lee Copyright

Dry Skies

Dry Skies

Blades running deep cut in hillsides

Curving visceral combinations of time

Checking in unison with passion.


Ears of corn

Born to remember 

Because it is simple; you can.

Flashlight in the eyes of a running rabbit

Reflecting on the lost moments

The passing thoughts.

Drifting out to sea

On a carefully crafted paper raft.

Water lapping around dampening spirits

Chilling wind biting at frozen dreams

Crushed tins rattling in a jar

Brushing cauldrons of oil rags burning

Competing with clouds and rainfall

How we wish the spell had been broken.

Getting to go in crushed velvet sequins

Leaving the suit for the moment

That’s what the tinder box is saying

A message of regret

That life needs tending

The story is set

February 14th 2018

Patrick Turner-Lee Copyright