Saturday, August 19, 2017

K. Andrew Turner

Part of my motivation in doing this project is getting an opportunity to showcase the work of authors who I’ve worked alongside with and admired.  Andrew Turner is a Southern California author and publisher who has established himself firmly in the writing scene.  He and I have collaborated in several readings and I’ve had the privilege of seeing the many facets of his incredibly touching, personal poetry develop.  His work is incredibly rich, at times wildly funny and whimsical, and also capable of deep heartbreak and introspection.  Exploring a wide range subjects, from romantic longing, to pop culture, to family life to lgbt issues Andrew’s writing is wonderfully bold and complex.  On a personal level, Andrew is a great friend to me and to the poetry community in general.  For this shoot we decided to highlight Andrew's love of fantasy and magic in literature, something that he feels shows up in the character of his own writing.  I am very happy to have him as the feature for the month of August.  You can read one of his poems below. 

K. Andrew Turner writes queer, literary, and speculative prose and poetry. He teaches and mentors writers near Los Angeles. In 2013, he founded East Jasmine Review—an electronic literary journal. He was a semifinalist for the 2016 Luminaire Award, and his chapbook “Gymlationship” is now available on Amazon. You can find more at his website: www.kandrewturner.com







Morning Magic
by K. Andrew Turner

Grimoires, secret and full of splendor,
old and dusty tomes forbidding.
Raised my wand above their pages,
chanted there a moment. Waited.
Watching, saw a gruesome figure
stumble ‘round until it spied me.

Red eyes dark and mesmerizing
struck my heart with fearsome
pounding, pounding battering ram.
“Let me enter, mortal man
let me devour soul and skin
taste the sweet and sav’ry flesh”
said it to me that winter morn.

Strong, I tore my eyes from it’s gaze and
let the wounds upon my soul fade away.
Light, cerulean clean cleaved the figure
Then, I knew my soul was rent. The
worst of me gone forever there, that cold
December.

Thus, was rid of part of me
Shut the tome, the grimoire dark and still,
shuffled off to join the day, now free of
Shadow, free of Night and free of life.

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