Lewis Turco





June 6, 1945 - November 28, 2010


        When I was young, and he was younger still,

He sat beside me and I told him tales

Of Gammy and Uncle Moo. His cousins, too,

Were there, all near an age. And now hes gone

At three score years and five. But here am I,

Still sitting on that couch and yarning tales,

Singing songs that make but little sense.


        Ones reason stumbles and the future fails

To hold itself together. There is no plan

That comes to mind: there is no scheme or will

Imposed upon the chaos of the world,

And who can understand why anything

At all exists why is the Universe

Expanding into Nothingness? Why sing

About Existence when Order is a sham

That cannot be imposed upon ones life,

Much less this singularity in space

Surrounding us?

                              My nephew John is gone

Because a vessel in his brain burst forth

Today in a symphony of blood.


Dear John. Your uncle says farewell to you

And wishes we still sat upon our couch

Where I could spin a better tale than this.

                Copyright 2011 Lewis Turco

Lewis Turco's latest book of poems, by his anagram "altar (sic) ego Wesli Court," is THE GATHERING OF THE ELDERS AND OTHER POEMS, published this fall by Star Cloud Press of Scottsdale, Arizona. The fourth edition of his THE BOOK OF FORMS: A HANDBOOK OF POETICS will be published by University Press of New England next fall. It will include "Odd and Invented Forms."



Photo by Jim Russel