The Sound of sirens

The world is round, the world is round.
Grip a hold, secure yourself.
Flowers bloom in these bones.
A bedding of chalk and soul.
Humming on this planet.
Ringing in the ears.
A silence of absence.
You, no longer in the atmosphere.
Broken, that miracle was not enough.
Heaving as we go, waiting for the buildings to crumble.
For the moon to fall.
Surely, this is the apocalypse.
This noise, this pain.
Must be the end of the world?
Cut out the plants from my skin.
The decay from my eyes.
That taste of death from a last kiss.
And set alight to this terrain.
Where sirens only indicate another wave of chaos.
As I crawl through my current calamity.

12/03/2023 by Mark Ryan Categories: death, fire, flowersTags: art, atmosphere, chaos, crawl, death, decay, end, flames, flowers, loss, plants, poem, Poetry, sadness, world Leave a comment

Dusty comets

Lost compass, sliding off a map.
The ends of the world, as the world ends.
Jettisoning everything of surplus.
Keeping only what is sacred.
What is precious.
I leave a trail, across the sky like a distant dream.
Exploded into nothing, vanished as the night rolls over.
Yet locked in the DNA that rains down.
Are memories and fragments of this soul.
Particles of god and echoes of love.
Like you I am no longer.
And without you, I am nothing once more.

05/03/2023 by Mark Ryan Categories: soul, space, starsTags: art, comets, death, decay, end, fire, love, night, poem, Poetry, soul, space 13 Comments

Hyperventilate

The twitch of an eyelid.
I could hear it in your veins.
Powdered desperation to exonerate.
To manifest.
Disintegrate.
Lacquer up the wings to make the exit harder.
Push on towards the climb.
I hold your hand and whisper.
The only way out, is through.
Breathing stutters, shifts and surges.
Gaining momentum for ascending the gates of heaven.
Crashing through walls put in place by god.
Take the air in my lungs and strength in my blood.
The words that swirl in my stomach.
Burn them all for fuel, and escape.
Don’t look back and don’t forget us.
Shake off the coils of concern.
This is an expected state of hyperventilation.
Dislodged dyspnea.
A panic and a consequence to this sudden departure.
Rush.Fear.Dread.
A reduced state of being, seeing you leave.

28/02/2023 by Mark Ryan Categories: angels, death, departureTags: angels, art, body, breathing, death, departure, drugs, escape, forget, hurt, lungs, memory, pain, poem, Poetry 6 Comments

Falling back down to earth

Opening eyes that weigh like destiny.
The light snaking across my pupils.
Dilated and deliberate.
Here again, in the now.
Shaking the dream which clings like reality.
A sudden realisation that it is.
Where have you gone?
Ghost-covered and longing.
Needing you more than ever.
I cup your spirit into my arms.
Breathing empty air and memories that I pluck from yesterday.
Maybe longer back, when the drugs hadn’t taken hold.
You, smiling at everything.
Lost in nothing, yet all so important.
We peel you back onto our lives.
Hoping you transfer.
Coat and remain, like precious DNA.
Hoping, against hope, that you can stay.

24/02/2023 by Mark Ryan Categories: angels, death, dnaTags: angel, art, death, dna, drugs, earth, grief, hope, loss, love, poem, Poetry, remain 10 Comments

Oblivion

Everything arranged, just fades away.
Washed by a black sea.
The shiver into nothingness.
While eyes above watch.
Grief picks its place.
Planting rotten flowers that scratch the eyes.
I Move away from everything I knew.
Death coming in with the tide.
Staining my ankles and heart.
Taking what is most precious out with its salty inhale.
Sorrow settles in.
Showing up, now hope has lost its way.

21/02/2023 by Mark Ryan Categories: death, sadness, seaTags: black, death, grief, grieg, grieving, ocean, poem, Poetry, sad, sadness, sea, sorrow, tide 15 Comments

Diminish

So eloquent and troubled.
How deep the pool must sink.
The surface never rippled.
Never stuttered.
You never blinked.
And in our hearts we took to you.
Like water from the wine.
As thirsty disciples we followed.
Dedicated.
Yet out of time.
Now as you crumble into nothing.
As the mask begins to fall.
We hold you even higher.
And hang your heart up on the wall.

08/02/202304/02/2023 by Mark Ryan Categories: angels, eyes, waterTags: angels, diminish, disciple, eyes, fade, heart, poem, Poetry, pools 2 Comments

Shadows on your eyelids

Scraping away the amnesia.
The skim of a time longed to be forgotten.
Yet not a distant past, but a painful present.
Gifting nothing but sorrow.
The lights have begun to fade.
Twinkling and dimming as if being submerged.
The chalky depths capture you now.
Tiptoeing you towards your apocalypse.
Towards our regret and loss.
If only we could drown the weight around you.
That poor thing that sinks in teeth as fragile as salvation.
Weak as the gap between us now.
Yet these acts of love pepper the sky.
Like dying stars that fill your eyes.
Shuttering and flashing,
Remembering a time when you were winning.
Tomorrow looms now like the Nullarbor.
Endless and lonely, threatening such unknown.
It sets into your bones and destroys your reason.
A tsunami to wash away dust and life.
The hand now clasps for hope and healing.
Pulling away just empty feathers.

05/02/202305/02/2023 by Mark Ryan Categories: death, grief, hopeTags: art, death, desert, fragile, grief, hope, loss, medication, nullabor, pain, poem, Poetry, present, time, tomorrow, winning 19 Comments

F(L)inch

The air is alive, black on blue.
A multitude of ravens, seizing the world.
Magpie eyes on anything that shimmers.
You unfurl and follow. Placing the ties that bind.
Half asleep, half blind to predicament.
But something murmurs. Something calls.
An unfinished business that followed from before.
Each step, eyes down.
Stepping out from a dream, feeling the floor.
A product of now, naked and true.
Let the feathers unfold, and roll into a climb.
Un-flinch. SkyWest. Un-crooked.
Drop the grey.
The waiting in line.
And sing, distant and near.
A song so many wish to know sincere.
Eyes closed, breathing in the new air.
And let your colours paint the sky.
Wiping across a new dawn.
And darkening their sheltered lives.

 

01/02/202305/02/2023 by Mark Ryan Categories: birds, freedom, skyTags: art, away, birds, escape, finch, flying, freedom, poem, Poetry, sky, wings 4 Comments

Beauty

Now it holds me, now it speaks.
Crumbling the skin away to see what’s underneath.
Cupid kill me, cupid teach.
Beyond the heavens, with the devil at my feet.
I want to heal you, I want to kiss.
To consume the time that threatens abyss.
For in this moment your beauty lies.
Inside my heart, my hands and eyes.

29/01/202313/01/2023 by Mark Ryan Categories: beauty, kiss, loveTags: abyss, art, healing, heaven, kissingkiss, love, poem, Poetry 2 Comments

Hope under skin

What process is this?
Little daggers of ice, piercing a beating heart.
Oh mother Mary won’t you help.
Sweep away the pain and apocalypse.
Drive out the devil and chalky residue of consequence.
Time collects now, not in a bottle.
But in the carboard bowls, slightly full.
Mostly struggling.
Preparing for the collapse.
We pray it all away, but still it flows.
Coming in with the tide and with trauma.
Maybe we need holy water.
To wash.
To burn.
Stinging the sins and the scene away.
Raising our Lazarus once more.

26/01/202325/01/2023 by Mark Ryan Categories: health, miracle, religionTags: art, health, healthcare, heart, holy, Lazarus, mary, miracle, mother, poem, Poetry, religion, water Leave a comment

Oasis swims

To walk the sands of time, to find the doorway to heaven.
Leaves me breathless.
You put your hands on this skin, and I succumb.
Unabated astral movements behind my eyes.
To know you from somewhere, is to feel you under my skin.
As my blood crashes down the sand dunes on the walls of my heart.
I left you, and found you there.
Waiting for me where the moon sinks.
Threatening never to return.
With honey wine still on your kiss, I will not function.
I slip into another consciousness.
Walking in a dream that quivers on god’s fingers.
Kiss me from dying, and wake me once more.
Let me disappear into your arms that comfort me.
Like a blanket against desert cold.
And I will wash these tears away in the pools of your eyes.
That offer such sweet safety swims.
To the desert floor.

25/01/202325/01/2023 by Mark Ryan Categories: desert, eyes, kissTags: art, cold, comfort, desert, eyes, heart, kiss, oasis, poem, Poetry, swim, treasure, winds 6 Comments

Internal/central

This illuminating version.
Drifting.
Loving, only when the time is right.
When it’s uncalled for.
Who knew?
Who cared?
A scorched soul while the film played on.
And all roads led to the same.
Your heart curdled up tight.
Wearing out my mind.
Melting the plastic of the world we once inhabited.
Central now.
Gaining control of a need that was needed.
Crazy, only to know we were always driving.
Using our knees to steer.
Hoping to crash and burn.
In a beautiful all consuming fire.
So central to our survival.

22/01/202311/01/2023 by Mark Ryan Categories: fire, life, loveTags: art, crash, crazy, fire, llove, love, poem, you Leave a comment

Your reconstruction of self

Through heavy storms this heart doth beat.
Battle born and weary.
Feathers frayed liked angelic irony.
Patched and nearly severed.
Where do you go to be reborn?
While wolves lick between your teeth.
And though pregnant hopes swell and ebb.
Through cobweb sticky emotions
Through distance in your eyes.
The cries of sincere doubt corrode quickly in your salty waves.
Smashed into pieces upon your unwelcoming rocky shore.
Yet something crawls out of the ocean.
Something that slayed the terrors of the deep.
To reach up and scale that towering mountain.
That you placed there to warn those out to sea.
Of how close to god you now sit and suffer.
How away from us you wish to be.

18/01/202311/01/2023 by Mark Ryan Categories: change, sea, tearsTags: change, emotions, fight, flight, monster, ocean, poem, Poetry, sea, self, tears, waves Leave a comment

Tender

Like the night.
Soft velvet expanse.
Reaching through time.
Through misty eyes which open wide.
They devour me.
In a kiss that kills me.
Over and over.
Yet tenderly I swim down.
Passing jagged words you keep inside.
Released, only to the moon.
As you howl them into nothingness.
For tender is your way.
Sweet bruises of affection which stay,
within us forever.
As we nestle into the tender wings of love.
Slipping into time.

15/01/202310/01/2023 by Mark Ryan Categories: animals, kiss, loveTags: animals, feathers, kiss, kissing, love, poem, Poetry, space, swan, tender 9 Comments

Govern

You wrapped me up in stars.
When I wanted to slip into the dark.
To dissolve into an abyss.
You smack me with diamonds.
Making sure they cut and imbed.
A constant constellation to light my path.
You pour gold into my veins.
When I wish to drift away.
And teether me to this material realm.
Showing my what beauty I surround.

13/01/2023 by Mark Ryan Categories: beauty, diamonds, relationshipTags: abyss, beauty, black, diamonds, drift, gold, govern, poem, Poetry, sacred, saved, stars 5 Comments

Your pilgrimage

I love your silver dressed dreams.
Those darlings, they call us all to look.
To peek and prod in an unforgiving time.
Hook your hate around my hand.
Thrown in the bag to drown.
Kittens, pebbles in your pocket.
You call this your pilgrimage.
A racing stumble through our great beyond.
But that was where I found you.
Heaped and tired, all covered in stars.
Can you walk the line?
Can you take some time to change?
Wrap this love around you heart, swallow and then re-arrange.
Your pilgrimage.
You deep mistake.
Your breaking through, my privilege.

11/01/202307/01/2023 by Mark Ryan Categories: drown, love, starsTags: cats, change, drugs, journey, kittens, life, Pilgrimage, poem, Poetry, stars 6 Comments

Forever might never come

Somewhere someone is dying.
A last word stuttering from lips.
Visions imprint on eyelids.
Forever.
The tins of the past stack up.
Filling space in your mind as they rust.
Tumbling from the attic like heavy Christmas decorations.
Some shiny, others cut where the edges hurt still.
Somewhere a soul is born.
Breathing it’s first breath as a mother shivers.
All this while the earths spins in continuum.
Caring not for the specs aboard.
Now, that is all that matters.
The imprints of gold beneath your feet.
As you make your own journey.
A destination in mind.
A port of departure behind.
But now, as the wind blows through you like a ghost.
And your skin turns towards the sun like a plant.
Now is what truly matters.
Who knows when the world will stop spinning.
Or when we cartwheel off into space and nothingness.

10/01/202310/01/2023 by Mark Ryan Categories: age, future, travelTags: birth, death, earth, future, gold, journey, now, past, poem, Poetry, space, time, travel 4 Comments

Revelation

Show the world who you are.
Dripped in honey and absinthe.
Hovering by a flame.
All parts, never the same.
As they try to push you under a reason.
A statement, a label, or part treason.
When you smash the brackets of age that constricts.
And you pull down the gods for a closer look.
They’ll see you reflect in their eyes.
Please, memorise their apology.
And wave as they pass you by.

08/01/202308/01/2023 by Mark Ryan Categories: age, apology, godsTags: age, ageless, apology, defiant, flames, gods, labels, poem, Poetry, society 5 Comments

Docked in dry sand

How can we be close to God?
When the anger flows.
Corroding inside out.
Does God bleed like me, with a fire in the veins?
Turning the petals of penitence to ash.
The devil can just read my mind.
Slipping underneath in the night like a snake under the doorway.
Yet I know I left the door ajar.
And a candle lit, to light the way.
We have wings, yet we walk through the desert of the day.
Complaining over each grain of sand we find.
And the pebbles of people in our shoe.
Hardening our skin to a lesser sin.
A dehydrated delirium takes me.
And these wings grow frail and dry.
And even though we try, we may never sail the ocean skies again.

07/01/202307/01/2023 by Mark Ryan Categories: desert, Devil, god, PoetryTags: angels, desert, devil, fire, flight, flying, god, poem, Poetry, sand, snake, veins 22 Comments

Extirpate

Shivering into this new world.
Of a day broken over me like the sunshine egg yolk of realisation.
That an absence now fills this room.
A void as cold as winter, that settles into these bones.
Reborn into a version of such violence and void that my head aches into grey.
And my heart, slips away; into adjustment.
You folded us into memory.
A slight of hand that speaks with a voice of your reasoning.
Echoing now in my ears.
And my tears will turn to chalk.
While the plants die all around me.
A fate that flutters on my lips, like butterflies trapped in conservatories.
Glancing at the world around, but smashing again and again against the glass.
Yet still you toil and dig at the weeds of my entanglement.
That curled around you like a summer’s blanket.
And you sheer, and slice.
Digging hard at my roots.
Killing me a thousand times over.
Scratched, aged and wretched.
Praying I rot away and turn into time.

04/01/202304/01/2023 by Mark Ryan Categories: grief, hurt, winterTags: art, death, grief, loss, memory, pain, poem, Poetry, scream, skull, suffering, summer, trapped, winter 2 Comments

Subconsciously motivated to euphoria

Tell me more about this place where the flowers grow.
Darkness, you say, is but a dream spun in fractured states.
That has little place there.
These flowers, they sparkle like crystals under sunlit ponds.
Inviting us to dive for mislabeled treasure.
There was but a crack on my mind.
Nothing really, but would it matter?
If that fracture, grew worse and worse.
Not there you say, that place it heals.
Swaddling all in divine clouds of relief.
Keeping the broken pieces of the shell in place.
And the mind where it belongs.
What use of the heart then?
The heart it seems is praised.
Raised up high like a crown.
The land vibrates under soft understanding.
While love sews tapestries of tales, and memories together.
They are there too, you know they are waiting.
How could an angel not sit at the throne.
Heaven?
No, not yet. The safer place inside your soul.
Where you barely tred.
I don’t want to stain it all with coatings of yesterday.
These things will be washed away, only lessons remain.
Who can go?
All are welcome.
When can I leave?
You’ve already left.

31/12/202228/05/2022 by Mark Ryan Categories: angels, flowers, happyTags: angels, art, flowers, happy, heaven, joy, light, love, mind, poem, Poetry, safe, soulmate, sunshine, travel, wellness 6 Comments

A Dreadful something

Bridging across the expanse.
Brain before heart.
A dreadful something lurking in between.
We stumble, crawl, carry onward.
A fear in every step.
A freedom threatening.
The forest we left kept the darkness.
The sea to the north promising a drowning.
Loneliness our only company.
Hope our only guide.
Go forth and spit in the eye of Satan.
And love him for the barriers and trials.
Pray and wipe the spit away.
Keep stripping away the veils.
For the darkness and despair will not claim.
And he needs the most love, all the same.

28/12/202228/05/2022 by Mark Ryan Categories: hope, satan, strengthTags: art, change, dark, darkness, devil, forest, hope, journey, monster, motivation, poem, Poetry, satan, sea, strength 4 Comments

Execution by evolution

Your ideologies hang by a tangled thread.
6,000 years of life they said.
Yet in the ground and in the tar.
Lies the truth (will out) like god’s memoir.
To bring about his own destruction.
For amber shows of life’s reduction.
And kills those narrow minded thoughts.
By adding to the six, a lot more noughts.

24/12/202226/05/2022 by Mark Ryan Categories: dinosaur, earth, jesusTags: art, comic, creationism, dinosaur, evolution, god, jesus, poem, Poetry, religion, ryhme, world 3 Comments

Turbulent visions of love

You rage within me. A silent storm.
A tempest with temptation to drag me through heaven.
Cutting my wrists on the divine.
I let go, disappearing into the eye of all your wonder.
Lost in your turmoil and torrential rains of change.

21/12/202226/05/2022 by Mark Ryan Categories: love, rain, stormTags: change, desire, divine, heaven, hurrican, lost, love, lust, poem, Poetry, storm, tempest, winds 4 Comments

Happiness obligation

A truthfulness we promised ourselves to be.
Thine soul entwined.
Cracked butterfly wings of gold.
Yet the oil got their first.
But we can shake the Texas tea from our mouths.
And sore higher into the moon shaped sky.
This crowning.
A deep reverence for the promise we made.
That were whispered into our ears when we came.
Sweet words like honey into milk.
We can avoid the fault lines that threaten like an injured bird.
Dragging our horizons down.
Pull up your crown, and remember the happiness we sung.
Wrote poems and lyrics to in our heart of hearts.
Take the hand that hurts, and heal with a severed ego.
A beauty that we owe to ourselves.
An apology just for you.
A remembering of the happiness we deserve.

18/12/202217/12/2022 by Mark Ryan Categories: butterfly, gold, happyTags: art, butterfly, earth, gold, happiness, happy, love, moon, night, poem, Poetry, treasure, wealth 4 Comments