
Kenne David Turner Grilling On His Birthday, January 1st — Image by kenne
Kenne David Turner Grilling On His Birthday, January 1st — Image by kenne
Foggy Morning Birthday On Tanuri Ridge — Image by kenne
— An age modification from Poem On His Birthday by Dylan Thomas
Petal Wings — Photo-Artistry by kenne
American Snout Butterfly — Image by kenne
—Dylan Thomas
Gray Heron (Benson Sculpture Garden) — Photo-Artistry by kenne
And I rose
In a rainy autumn
And walked abroad in shower of all my days
High tide and the heron dived when I took the road
Over the border
And the gates
Of the town closed as the town awoke.
―
Image by kenne
— Dylan Thomas
Duck Standing On Water In October — Image by kenne
My birthday began with the water- Birds and the birds of the winged trees flying my name Above the farms and the white horses And I rose In a rainy autumn And walked abroad in shower of all my days High tide and the heron dived when I took the road Over the border And the gates Of the town closed as the town awoke. A springful of larks in a rolling Cloud and the roadside bushes brimming with whistling Blackbirds and the sun of October Summery On the hill's shoulder, Here were fond climates and sweet singers suddenly Come in the morning where I wandered and listened To the rain wringing Wind blow cold In the wood faraway under me. -- from Poem In October by Dylan Thomas
Variegated Fritillary Butterfly — Photo-Artistry by kenne
A Tucson Sunset — Photo-Artistry by kenne
Do not go gentle into the night
Rage, rage against the dying of the light
— Dylan Thomas
Tom and Kenne Turner (Tom would have been 77 today.)
POEM ON HIS BIRTHDAY
We are hairy men
who may be thought of a “Twits,”
but I dare say, are not.
Why might you ask?
If you look closely, you will not see
tasty morsels in our beards,
while Twits upon close review
will have tiny little specks
of dried-up scrambled eggs.
So says Roald Dahl,
and he should know
of all the disgusting things
found in the beard of a twit,
but no need to hold your noses.
So, what is it these hairy men
are trying to hide?
Is it an ugly face, you ask?
No, not really,
for we are two guys
possessing good thoughts,
which shone out of our faces
like sunbeams,
so we will always look lovely.
Again, Roald Dahl should know:
‘If a person has ugly thoughts,
it begins to show on the face.
And when that person
has ugly thoughts every day,
every week, every year,
the face gets uglier and uglier
until it gets so ugly
you can hardly bear to look at it.’
Even so, on this sand grain day
in the bent bay’s grave
I celebrate and spurn
what would have been
brother Tom’s driftwood
seventy-seventh wind turned age,
shall seventy-seven bells sing struck.
— kenne
(Some lines in this poem are from Dylan Thomas’ poem, Poem On His Birthday. My brother loved quoting lines from Dylan Thomas’ poems.)
(Click on any of the tiled images for larger in a slide format.)
Thomas Robert Turner, May 23, 1942 – November 13, 2014
I love you, Bobby!
Click On Tom’s Celebration pdf
Richard Burton Reading, And Death Shall Have No Dominion
Mushrooms On A Log — Computer Art by kenne
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
— from “Do not go gentle into that good night” by Dylan Thomas
Two-tailed Swallowtail Butterfly Grunge Art by kenne
— Dylan Thomas
Tom and Kenne Turner (October 2009)– Image by Joy
We are hairy men
who may be thought of a “Twit,”
but I dare say, are not.
Why you might ask?
If you look closely, you will not see
tasty morsels in our beards,
while Twits upon close review
will have tiny little specks
of dried-up scrambled eggs.
So says Roald Dahl,
and he should know
of all the disgusting things
found in the beard of a twit,
but, no need to hold your noses.
So, what is it these hairy men
are trying to hide?
Is it an ugly face, you ask?
No, not really,
for we are two guys
possessing good thoughts,
which shone out of our faces
like sunbeams,
so we will always look lovely.
Again, Roald Dahl, should know:
‘If a person has ugly thoughts,
it begins to show on the face.
And when that person
has ugly thoughts every day,
every week, every year,
the face gets uglier and uglier
until it gets so ugly
you can hardly bear to look at it.’
Even so, on this sand grain day
in the bent bay’s grave
I celebrate and spurn
my driftwood seventy-sixth
wind turned age.
Yet, I remain steadfast
in Shakespeare’s fifth stage
in The Seven Stages of Man,
still acquiring wisdom,
enjoying the finer things in life
and remain very attentive of my appearance,
trying to live life to its fullest,
preparing for the final stages of life.
Shall seventy-six bells sing struck.
kenne
I can’t let this pass without again sharing Dylan Thomas’ Poem On His Birthday.