THE BIRDS OF SUMMER NEVER FLY

Humming like humidity, an urgency to remain.
Strong, like the grain imbedded in my heart.
Seeming to travel, like tiny rivers outwardly.
This aura heaves a sigh.
A steady complacent reply.
To being here, with you.
Easy to be lost in daydreaming.
Washed by the winds that shake nothing, only memories.
The dust in clogged areas of my mind.
God had other plans before.
His little tremors which shook my old world.
Making cracks, scaring the birds.
Now each day stretches in tangerine tenderness.
Dappled by sunshine and summer rains.
Soaking my feathers, lightening my eyes and heart.
To remain, if only for a while, steadies my soul.
Allowing the happiness to travel through the streams within.
Strengthening and undoing in waves all at once.
Migrating to nowhere but now and forever.

01/12/2023 by Mark Ryan Categories: birds, happy, summerTags: art, birds, flight, flying, god, happiness, happy, heart, joy, love, migrating, poem, Poetry, soul, summer 2 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

Horribly perfect

Tasting the warm breath.
Tickling the skin beneath.
God kissing you into death.
Taken, over thirty times the moon dying.
Thirty-one suns burning into your eyes.

I’ll be your winter.
Chilling the bones that crumble and collapse.
And I’ll always be yours.
Silently, as the bird inside stops beating.
Suddenly, only feathers and space.

29/11/202229/11/2022 by Mark Ryan Categories: birds, death, godTags: bird, death, decay, dying, feathers, god, moon, poem, Poetry, silence, sun 8 Comments

Little wounded wing

Little wounded wing.
You never knew how dangerous it could be.
Flying through life as you were.
Hoping others, like you, wanted to sing.

Little spark of light.
No one told you how maddening it would be.
Existing how you are, so special.
The rules never showed you how to fight.

Life it took a hold and stained.
Into your feathers and soul it pained,
you to see how this world really was, behind the lies.
Through maligned and deceitful eyes.
After wandering your many trails, deserving of fairness and love.
The world is dark and mattered.
Cruel and harsh and tattered.
To a creature who sees the good in everyone from above.

Little broken heart.
We all told you how not to cry.
No one cares for water spent.
The gulf between us now so far apart.

Hey little dying bird.
You told yourself in the end.
The only thing that was missing, was love.
And love was the only thing they no longer heard.

19/11/202222/05/2022 by Mark Ryan Categories: birds, change, deathTags: bird, birds, change, crying, dark, death, despair, feathers, hope, life, poem, Poetry, tough, wings 4 Comments

Sensitive souvenir

Through painted eyes I see your heart.
Overflowing, submerged in milk and honey.
In that kiss, I feel the tenderness.
Which my soul has yearned for.
But like a pebble in my shoe.
A reminder remains.
That stain on my heart will never fade.
And those mistakes I will keep in the back of mind.

28/09/202217/05/2022 by Mark Ryan Categories: beauty, birds, eyesTags: art, beauty, bird, eyes, forgiveness, heart, kiss, love, poem, Poetry, soul, swan, tender 2 Comments

Watching

Place the blame, again and again.
Languished yet molten.
Repeated reframes.
You melt the words into my soul.
A watching raven.
Fleeing the cold.
Of your frozen heart, lodged in time.
Refusing to die.
Refuted such crimes.
This is your Valhalla, your watchful mount.
Where I’m nailed to a cross.
Impossible to surmount.
Like those black raven eyes, you carve into my heart.
Waiting to walk my apocalypse.
Waiting for the dark.
But let the ink, snuff out all the hope.
Tend to my gallows.
With turpentine and rope.
For in the dark I’ll move, as all cats look the same.
And spark up a supernova.
Of our love, flared out in your name.
The dark will intensely turn from black into white.
Your soul will be cleansed.
By diamonds and this might.
Then only God will watch, as we crumble into the sky.
Into a blanket of feathers.
An eternal bed for you and I.

07/08/202207/08/2022 by Mark Ryan Categories: birds, death, skyTags: art, birds, death, eyes, gallows, god, heart, jesus, poem, Poetry, raven, rhyme, rope, sky, soul, watching 3 Comments

Black box

Reaching for you as earth says its goodbye.
What is this thing that takes flight.
Soaring through uncharted and terror drenched clouds.
As I look for monsters out the window.
If this plane were to fall from the sky.
Tear into the ground.
This thing wrapped in meaning.
Would it leave a hole in my heart?
Would it turn me to dust?
A fallen bird needing to fly, this thing called love.

03/08/202213/05/2022 by Mark Ryan Categories: birds, flying, hurtTags: bird, clouds, flight, flying, heart, hurt, love, monsters, plane, poem, Poetry, skies, surreal, terror 6 Comments

Love come rescue

Survived, 4am; too tired to see the world for what it was.
Slipping into the cracks and shadows that fill my eyes.
Too numb to notice that I couldn’t notice you.
Standing with arms outstretched like wings.
The bird that always had strength to fly.
That slipped into the open wounds and found our hearts.
It patches us up now, flitting inside our skin.
Pulling feathers over broken bones.
It does not notice the cartilage cage it builds up around itself.
A prison to its good intentions.
It too now needs help, to lift up and soar again.
Love, please come rescue us.
Make us fit to fly and leave this place.
With only fallen feathers to show we were here at all.

30/03/202201/03/2022 by Mark Ryan Categories: birds, love, rescueTags: art, birds, bones, cage, drunk, eyes, free, help, love, poem, Poetry, rescue, shadows, skin 7 Comments

A Quiet refrain

The rain of time.
A slow drip into my skull.
Quietens the restless bird of my mind.
Flattening the wings.
Clipping and waxing.
Nursing by angelic hands.
Which slows the hum and the pulse.
Ceasing it to fly.

20/03/202219/02/2022 by Mark Ryan Categories: angels, birds, peaceTags: art, birds, heart, mind, mood, poem, Poetry, rain, seasons, skull, soul, time, weather Leave a comment

Hunter

Into your eyes my fate remains.
Locked into that shifting ice.
Beautiful time trapped in glass.
Catching the light in amber eyes.
Hunted while you wait.
A bird in your paw.
Blood on your tongue.
The bones already in your stomach.
As the snow covers your tracks, the love leaked out, marking where we once were. Leaving the trail for others to know our fate, and to never come this way where the wolves are at play.

 

 

30/12/202130/12/2021 by Mark Ryan Categories: birds, love, wolvesTags: art, bird, blood, feathers, hunted, hunter, love, nature, poem, Poetry, snow, wolf, wolves 23 Comments

An art of unknowing

Do not sleep.
Just dream.
Call my name, and count to fifty.
Slip into that small space between the bookshelf and god.
Go, and leave all that stuff upon me.
A poetry of indecision.
Boxed unimagined dreams.
Like my name scratched into the refrigerator.
A frigid corrosion of souls.
I took you inside me, as I took your name.
You banged my inner wall of doubt away.
Yet a partition grew, out of rocks and hewn history.
Mistrust and apathy.
Everything you offered, it all touched me so deep.
Knowing what I really needed.
Snatching it away like a jackdaw.
Now you leave me settling for any interruption.
Spinning on turning tables.
Knocking on answers.
Waiting to understand.

05/12/2021 by Mark Ryan Categories: birds, god, loveTags: answers, art, birds, book, dreams, god, love, poem, Poetry, stolen, uncertainty, unknown 4 Comments

Taking you apart again

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TAKE YOU APART

To pull open your world, and sneak inside.
Tearing out your heart, giving you mine.
Feeling each rise and fall of your chest.
Would lay me out like gold.
Each breath conquers me.
As you lick your lips.
Suggesting that is where we build our home.
On the tip of something beautiful.
We’ve cried out our past.
Knocked down each remnant of uncertainty.
Covering our delicate present in feathers and down.
For this is where we shall collapse.
And watch true love collide.
Collecting it up in a bucket of flesh and stars.

MORE VIDEO ART HERE

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06/11/202108/11/2021 by Mark Ryan Categories: birds, space, starsTags: art, birds, collide, destroy, gold, home, love, nest, poem, Poetry, space, stars 3 Comments

Little wounded wing

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LITTLE WOUNDED WING

Little wounded wing.
You never knew how dangerous it could be.
Flying through life as you were.
Hoping others, like you, wanted to sing.

Little spark of light.
No one told you how maddening it would be.
Existing how you are, so special.
The rules never showed you how to fight.

Life it took a hold and stained.
Into your feathers and soul it pained,
you to see what this world really was behind the lies.
Through maligned and deceitful eyes.
After wandering your many trails, deserving of fairness and love.
The world is dark and mattered.
Cruel and harsh and tattered.
To a creature who sees the good in everyone from above

Little broken heart.
We all told you how not to cry.
No one cares for water spent.
The gulf between us now so far apart.

Hey little dying bird.
You told yourself in the end.
The only thing that was missing, was love.
And love was the only thing they no longer heard.

MORE VIDEO ART HERE

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25/09/202111/08/2021 by Mark Ryan Categories: birds, change, deathTags: bird, birds, change, crying, dark, death, despair, feathers, hope, life, poem, Poetry, tough, wings 12 Comments

Beauty lost at the heron house (Redux)

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BEAUTY LOST AT THE HERON HOUSE

The world collapsed in thirty seconds there.
A beauty aged in a moment while the rose petals died.
Who faded into the future, without the knowledge of the past?
We all did.
We came once to that spot, to watch the herons dance.
To see how they cast their wing’s against a backdrop of stars.
Through tears we watched them fly, soaring along our fingertips.
But we did not know, or care to wonder;
if they’d ever return.
And the days folded into years while the crows walked across our faces.
Milking our eyes to the blurred canvas before us.
Sight dancing into all but silhouettes.
What was destroyed there, at the Heron house?
Was it love? Was it power to hold in the wells of your hand?
Surely love never dies. Love always saves the day.
But beauty was lost forever there.
When it was valued more than gold, in hearts that feared to fly

MORE VIDEO ART HERE

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08/07/202108/07/2021 by Mark Ryan Categories: beauty, birds, timeTags: art, beauty, birds, flight, geisha, gold, hearts, herons, house, lost, poem, Poetry, time, youth 7 Comments

A Slow disease

This is the image of dying bird.
The one you hold in your heart.
Born to fly but kept caged and fed.
Not knowing anymore if it’s already dead.

05/03/202105/03/2021 by Mark Ryan Categories: birds, death, diseaseTags: art, birds, cage, death, end, feeding, heart, image, poem, Poetry 3 Comments

Come home

A sky threatening to swallow us whole.
Disappear into blue.
Lost in me and you, and the pulls of the earth.
You wandered too far into the outback.
Too far from my feathered touch.
Now the oceans recede.
And the heavens close.
The stardust of hope may sprinkle these sheets.
Matched by tears of absence.
Yet inside a birdlike song sings.
Come home.
Come home.

06/01/202106/01/2021 by Mark Ryan Categories: birds, distance, heavenTags: art, australia, birds, distance, heavesn, home, loss, music, poem, Poetry, sky, song, space, stars, tears, travel 6 Comments

Beneath

Beneath the truth, that sets you free.
Lies a fragile world of intimacy.
That falls and climbs like a startled bird.
It’s talked about, but never heard.
For at its heart, is a hidden gold.
Where secrets die, and the truth is told.
And where that bird of love can fly.
A connection of trust that lives and thrives.

03/02/2019 by Mark Ryan Categories: birds, love, Poetry, truthTags: art, bird, birds, flight, fly, gold, intimacy, love, poem, poetry, rhyme, truth 14 Comments