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 1 Comment

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

Cremate

Break these bones into splinters.
Snap the spine and suck the sap.
Throw the pieces on the fire.
Douse it all with distain and detriment.
Do not handle me with gloves on.
Touch me deep.
Treat me like a firework, ready to alight.
Burning through like phosphors.
Strike the match on my skull.
Crinkle and crack such emotions within.
Burning down to my heart, sending my soul to embers.
Floating into your lungs to dwell forever within.

05/11/202228/05/2022 by Mark Ryan Categories: fire, flames, hurtTags: burn, cremate, disaster, emotions, fire, flames, love, poem, Poetry, skull, touch Leave a comment

Keep a light on

Those juggernauts cry to a halt.
Bearing the machines of our love, they slowly die.
Not a collide or a collapse.
I wanted to see it for myself.
To take pictures of that ruinous pageant.
The end came before the goodbye.
Lost in the arms of another.
Eyes forced shut by the glitter in the tears.
Your pain cascaded into mine.
Fading through the line, stretched over distance.
Crawling from the wreckage, I promise to keep a light.
Burning long into the night, and my own car on the road.
Blazing into the dark, offering you hope in the distance.
Where you hide all of our feelings.

20/08/202214/05/2022 by Mark Ryan Categories: fire, flames, hurtTags: art, burn, car, collide, crash, dark, distance, end, fear, fire, glitter, hurt, light, love, night, poem, Poetry, road, tears Leave a comment

Gonna get burned

You’re the one who comes between us.
Coughing out your IQ.
Slipping your hand behind the couch of the night.
Always slipping away.
Leaving me choking on spent haemoglobin.
My mind is wild and my eyes are wide.
But they scarcely see you.
The black bruise of loneliness settles all around.
Weightless and bare.
In the dark, it all looks the same.
Then you set this all on fire.
Warming your hands by the great destruction.
Casting on gasoline comments of indifference.
These words from you are vulgar.
Yet I thank you for your time.
Breathing them in and setting up homes for them inside of me.
Precious fragile fragments of attention.
Your racing heart surprises, it brings me back.
Brings me down.
Simmering into something else.
I come back to you again in little pieces.
Littering your soul.

10/08/202213/05/2022 by Mark Ryan Categories: fire, flames, heartacheTags: art, blood, bruise, burn, dark, death, drugs, fire, flames, heart, hurt, IQ, lonely, lonliness, love, night, Old, poem, Poetry, sky, spark 11 Comments

Lonely tree

In the forest, all alone.
My lonely tree feels cold as stone.
Surrounded everywhere by its branches.
That bend and twist to their own advantage.
They shake in the wind, and shiver in sadness.
Sunken in a disturbing madness.
Until one day you came into the woods.
Scared the animals and riding hood.
Yet the wolves they ran, and hid like rabbits.
Convoluted out of their own bad habits.
And into my glade you stepped so proudly.
And struck a match and yelled out loudly:
“Love is a flame that burns us under!”
And as quick as lightening, you lit me like thunder.
So my lonely tree, burned quick and sadly.
And I faded away, into death quite gladly.

27/07/202212/05/2022 by Mark Ryan Categories: death, fire, treeTags: animals, art, depression, fairytales, fire, flame, forest, hurting, lightening, lonely, poem, Poetry, riding hood, sad, thunder, tree, wolves, woods 4 Comments

An aftertaste of paradise

Missed the miracles, those saving graces.
Little wishes that burn and sting at the end.
For what could have saved us?
In the face of the insurmountable.
Of turned cheeks and empty pockets.
The eucalyptus chokes my lungs.
And demise weighs heavy on my soul.
Call it all what you want to.
Tack it up to the wall of my new prison.
I couldn’t belong, I didn’t believe.
The land beneath my feet felt the same as any other.
Yet the sky burned with dreams.
And the rains washed my history away.
All with you by my side.
Now a million miles later I ache for those memories.
To never fade, but to only remain unchanged.
The tangled touches of a life that was beginning to build.
Brick by brick, though the floor was made of sand.
A piece of that bliss is caught between my teeth.
Stubbornly it refuses to move.
A reckoning of intent to stay or go.
When these eyes close, it is love that coats all I see.
Housed in a land beyond the equator.
Rustling in the leaves of my disposed days.
Calling like the kookaburras tapping at my mind.
Crying out to visit once more.

17/03/202216/03/2022 by Mark Ryan Categories: disaster, dreams, fireTags: australia, bushfire, death, devastation, ending, fire, flames, heat, hot, love, memories, paradise, plans, poem, Poetry, trees 1 Comment

Occasional ruckus

Wrapped in the 21^st century.
Shattering all trauma.
Which built against little empires.
Punching blindly in this fight for life.
Yet asked not to kill.

Die a little.
Crying happiness.
Lying slowly.
Counting stars.

Face first on the concrete.
Unwrapping the other side.
A tidied dream of destroying how it was.
The questions move me to new terrain.
Setting fires to light my way.

03/09/202102/09/2021 by Mark Ryan Categories: change, fire, tomorrowTags: anger, change, dying, empire, fight, fire, life, lying, poem, Poetry, stars, survive, time, tomorrow, world 5 Comments

Pyre

The flames of life can lick and scold.
Turn the flesh from young to old.
But love is an equally dangerous fire.
A self-sacrificing, deadly pyre.

04/03/2020 by Mark Ryan Categories: fire, flames, love, PoetryTags: art, burn, death, fire, flames, hurt, love, poem, Poetry, rhyming 5 Comments

Exhaust(ed)

Incendiary thoughts split the matter.
Like an explosion on the moon.
Silently you dissect me.
You’re the knife, I’m the spoon.
Think well, and think quickly.
Such traits of a well-oiled liar.
Now my corpse attracts the flies.
Where’s smoke, there’s always fire.

15/04/2018 by Mark Ryan Categories: bonfire, fire, murder, PoetryTags: art, atoms, cut, explosion, fire, hurt, murder, poem, poetry, rhyme 3 Comments