sun – Havoc and Consequence

Setting fire to the sun

Eclipsed once more by the absence.
An illuminating vision expected in confident appearance.
The shape of ghosts.
The sound of nothing.
Pulled and plummeted by the gravity of grief which once was abandoned.
Like truth from a liar, it surprises then diminishes.
It’s the truth to know which bone to break, which leg to chew.
What pound of flesh must answer to.
That greater god, that watchful eye.
Orbiting Saturn as I look to loose this home.
This hurt.
Peal a psalm from my face, and see the holy terror.
That staring into loss, like staring at the sun.
Pointless yet devotional.
Beyond any understanding.
Out of habit, out of desperation.
Slash the skin, spill the solar system from within.
Somewhere, out there to find you.
Casting out tear-stained ropes.
To rescue the lost.

13/02/2024 by Mark Ryan Categories: holy, space, sunTags: god, grief, holy, hurt, looking, loss, poem, Poetry, rescue, satrun, saved, solar, space, sun, system, writing 5 Comments

Swim

Such kindness has undone me.
Split the seams and spilled my soul.
Out, drifting in the open water.
Like flowers floating on a pond.
With a liquid sky it smothers.
Clinging to petaled feelings of life.
Change coming, in tidal processions.
Little white horses pummelingly abound.
Nothing lies below, but everything.
Hidden and waiting, like a pearl in a clam.
The silence now like my sadness.
Solitary and only for me.
The shores slips away.
Tangerine days fold into each other.
As each island of emotion passes.
I wave but never settle.
Never laying flags on anything that isn’t mine.
And swim, onwards into blues, blue, and blu.
The destination is unknown, yet assured;
it’ll be back where I began.
Gilled and scaled, bleached and regrown.
Like a starfish.
As a shark.
A soul, returning to the ocean above, called home.

11/10/202311/10/2023 by Mark Ryan Categories: change, sea, sunTags: art, begin, change, fruit, islands, life, ocean, poem, Poetry, sea, soul, strength, sun, sunshine, swim 3 Comments

Distance corroded by time

Lost, feeling the way out.
Travelling through the veins of god.
Hearing that global heartbeat.
Washing away in the flow.
I want to swallow the moon tonight.
To feel the tidal shift in my stomach.
To spit out the bones of the past.
And the well-travelled memories.
I touch this earth and it feels like home.
Yet when my eyes blink open.
I am crushed by the weight of this world.
I belong here, but a million miles behind in time.
Waiting for the palm leaves and ferns to sprout in my veins.
I wish to return, yet also remain.
Eating forbidden fruit.
Running with the beasts.
Perhaps the change will come from inside.
Washing over me like conscience.
Seeing the divine in all that my eyes lay upon.
This is our home.
It is our only one.
Ninety-two million miles from the sun.

02/11/202219/05/2022 by Mark Ryan Categories: sun, time, travelTags: bones, city, earth, god, home, lost, memories, poem, Poetry, return, space, star, sun, time, timetravel, travel, veins 6 Comments

The Girl with the torn garden

It hurt to breathe in.
The cuts in her lungs, little origami slices.
Stung and hung like bloody stars against the grey sky.
To weep, was to be weak.
The voice echoed from a childhood memory.
Tangled in the box of her mind like Christmas decorations.
The machine whirled into robotic life.
Its own circadian rhythm forcing all to breathe in and out in unison.
Rings banished, symbols of love and connection threatened.
No god here.
Empty souls shuffled into pale suits.
And children forbidden to smile.
The anaesthetic now killing everything inside.
Feelings of escape being buried alive.
She came across a memory, shiny like the Christmas star.
Dusty too after much forgetting.
Falling from the oak tree, while the summer sun glistened it’s caramel.
A thump, and pain. That reaching for breath that struggled to come.
The world dancing, blurred into psychotropic haze.
Until she burst through the surface of pain, and gulped fresh air.
The gold was in the overcoming, and the gentle rub on her back.
Spreading like ivy.
From someone who had already gone.
Swallowing fresh razors she breathed in once more.
Hugging that memory.
Strength coursing through her bloodstream to her lion heart.
Meeting them again, or making them proud.
The fork before her was beautiful and beckoning.

14/09/202214/09/2022 by Mark Ryan Categories: garden, pain, sunTags: art, breathe, family, garden, gold, hope, hospital, lungs, poem, poems, Razor, rings, strength, sun, tree 7 Comments

A Universe to devour

Dreams ignite like a Chagall construction.
You and I, flying over rooftops.
Exploding in colour.
I lay you down and crawl into your skin.
Kissing you intimately, feeling my way.
Your body entices and your heart entraps.
Yet it is your soul I’m after.
The bruised, damaged, fraying thing.
Shaking and asking to have life breathed in.
Frantically unable to be cupped in my hands.
It runs from me like a feather on the breeze.
Escaping like a Bharatanatyam movement.
Colours and light, burning my sad lonely grey into nothing.
Love on your fingertips, sticky from the centre of me.
Though this may be transitory, I give in and go under.
Falling for you again as the waves crash over.
Disappearing in such wonder and the perfumed smoke of you.
Coughing up clouds of devotion, and descending like the setting sun.

02/07/202210/05/2022 by Mark Ryan Categories: love, sunTags: art, chagall, colour, dance, feathers, happy, kissing, light, lonely, love, poem, Poetry, sad, skin, soul, sun, sunset, universe Leave a comment

Jaws

Those words that flowered down in your skin.
Tickling like cancer.
A love that swelled like a harbour master’s fear.
At the sight of a storm.
You put this in me. I drank it in.
Siphoned off the flames like a bird of paradise.
Flying towards the sun.
Down into the roots of your stomach.
Innocence searching, now lost in moments just begun.
Borrowed, broken. Black and blue.
Rubbed off skin, down to the hurt and bone.
Hold me in your jaws, feel the juicy love between.
Swallow me.
Tastes like goodness.
Tastes like emptiness.
For in the morning, I am gone.

24/11/202121/11/2021 by Mark Ryan Categories: storm, sun, timeTags: art, birs, flowers, jaws, moments, poem, Poetry, sex, storm, sun, swallow, taste, teeth, time 4 Comments

Diverted by a distance light

Dreaming hopeful and sifting sand.
A hollowed doubt in a burning hand.
As eyes peel back and strip the moon.
This silent feeling is gone too soon.
We count the days that fall like birds.
With tarred up feathers and swallowed words.
Two throbbing hearts break forth and run.
Leaving shadows and souls in that dying sun.

Taken from Everyday Miracles – out now

26/09/202126/09/2021 by Mark Ryan Categories: light, love, sunTags: art, hearts, light, love, moon, poem, Poetry, rhyme, sun 2 Comments

Comes back to then (redux)

Break the dawn

To kiss you into the night.
Would be more than I could pray for.
Lost in a world where you are my religion.
The transmigration I envisioned.
Waiting for that flash of crimson slitting the night sky.
Instead I made you cry.
As the ripe fruit of dawn broke over our lives.
I reached for it, I reached for you.
Finding only empty space.
And spent light.

19/03/202119/03/2021 by Mark Ryan Categories: moon, prayer, sunTags: art, day, fruit, kiss, light, love, moon, night, poem, Poetry, prayer, relationships, religion, sun, violent 7 Comments

Category: sun