Must Be Survival

The past hangs in the air.
Dusty and dangerous.
Tantalising, yet splinter filled.
Bat it like a ball away.
Call it like a cat to stay.
To comfort.
Within the pages lies the secret.
To learn from the end, what the beginning never told.
I wear it now like armour, like decoration.
Little medals of pain and trauma.
Shining in the tomorrow sun.
The scars healed.
Sewn up by tears and terrible nights.
Mended through my own defiance.
Hail Mary, full of grace.
Oh Father, those were my sins.
But that was then, and flesh was paid.
I grew back bones and inclination.
My mind devoured the chance to change.
Now, golden and precious this day; this hour.
Every minute blooms like imperfect flowers.
For nothing matters now but to love and push on.
Because of you.
Because of me.

24/11/2023 by Mark Ryan Categories: flower, strength, tomorrowTags: art, beauty, flower, flowers, growth, love, pain, poem, Poetry, skin, strength, sun, survival, tomorrow 12 Comments

Glaciers beyond my eyes

Altered states which cling to the walls of my soul.
An inside bark, encasing the underneath.
Cut, and see the rings of my life.
Of this existence.
Petrified and stained by the echoes of ghosts.
These eyes witness the great collapse.
The rebuilding and celebration of all things before.
And after.
A deconstruction of a self that hums in stasis.
Fumbling words to questions no one really asks.
Lips painted and parted.
Moving through headache greys and champagne elation.
Burying a love.
Suffocating a happiness, trapping the beauty and moments.
Now these eyes shift with my vibrating soul.
Moving under their own weight in order to stay in place.
Constantly evolving and expanding.
Yet motionless to others.
Cold to touch.
But beautiful in its inaccessibility.

11/07/2023 by Mark Ryan Categories: happy, ice, lifeTags: art, beauty, bury, cold, coldness, death, eyes, glacier, happiness, ice, love, mind, poem, Poetry 6 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 8 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

Days of correction

We wait for you, as the heavens fall.
As the skin begins to be pulled from our bones.
The sea foam swallows.
Thunder follows.
And all around the sparks flicker.
We wait for you to catch up.
The lead in your blood to bleed out.
A correction, an alteration.
A mind frame recalibration.
I wait for you, till the end of time.
Modifying what was placed inside your DNA.
The world is ending, and time hangs like a necklace.
Heavy and beautiful around your neck.
You need to move faster.
Evolve and leave the husk of darkness resigned,
to a space only the ghosts will welcome.
We are in the age of correction.
A simple state of detection.
Of knowing what to take, and what to leave behind.

24/08/202215/05/2022 by Mark Ryan Categories: angels, change, timeTags: angel, beauty, bones, change, correction, dna, hope, light, motivation, necklace, poem, Poetry, sparks, time Leave a comment

Pieces

Pieces float in the blood.
A crimson river, drawing up to space.
Flowers smashed into oblivion.
Only to remain.
As particles of dust.
Floating inside you.
Dusting your eyelids and tainting your tongue.
Lilies and lilacs lifting into a dream.
Lifting in the pulse and throb of the heart.
Blooming in particles while they orbit your organ.
That heaves and struggles to understand.
The demise of such beauty.

29/06/202210/05/2022 by Mark Ryan Categories: beauty, blood, flowersTags: art, beauty, blood, broken, dust, flower, flowers, poems, poery, river, space, tongue 6 Comments

On cosmic sand

Varied in hues, blurring to a view of angelic replication.
Divinity leaking from your bones.
I find you there, holding on to the edge of redemption.
Picking pearls up from our past.
The beach weighs heavy, cresting out from our circumstance.
I had to travel to find you.
You had to forget to believe.
In this peaceful rush of sweet sea air.
Mottling the very face of time.
I have returned, to that place where forever was promised.
Now, as sparks in the sand threaten joy.
The colour of contentment washes over you.
Knowing that the next step will demand such strength.
And in the arms of each other.
We are rock steady and prepared.

21/05/202207/05/2022 by Mark Ryan Categories: beach, love, spaceTags: angel, at, beach, beauty, colours, divine, forever, love, poem, Poetry, rock, steady, time 16 Comments

Origami razor blades

We lost some strength we can’t replace.
The soul was bared, in places unprepared.
Fate slipped across our wrists.
Eternity flashed across our eyes.
But no demise.
Those feelings won’t ever fade.
Memories now scorched into us.
Illuminating our real selves.
I saw what I wanted to change.
And where to now?
What siren call, or ocean tide beckons.
Nothing here wants to remain.
Yet we cannot leave just yet.
Until the broken is repaired.
And the sacred is shared.
We must climb in place.
Plastering the walls with pretty views.
Painting our souls spiritual hues.
Ones that glow a beauty from within.
Showing us fragile and divine.
Folded out of angelic paper wings.
A product once more of god’s design.

07/05/202227/03/2022 by Mark Ryan Categories: angels, spiritual, suicideTags: angel, beauty, change, design, divine, eternity, god, lost, ocean, paper, poem, Poetry, pretty, siren, wings 5 Comments

Sinners in church

All I feel, is the blood underneath.
The red torrent that flows the same.
In a look that turns away.
Reaffirms the shame.
Can we be sinners if inside all is pure?
Skin and bone, flesh from him.
Bread that sticks in my throat.
We are sinners in the house of mother earth.
We are angels beneath the floors of hell.
These tears that fell when the walls collapsed.
As the shadows were expelled.
Are the isotopes of God.
Realigning in our cells.
So this sin, I am thankful for.
A difference from the past, pulled from Neolithic teeth.
We are sinners and miscreants.
All the same under the eyes of the blind divine.
Which in turn, makes us holy.

17/01/2022 by Mark Ryan Categories: church, sin, spiritualTags: art, beauty, blood, bone, churches, divine, earth, evil, good, holy, house, mother-earth, poem, Poetry, pure, saint, sin, sinner, skin, stained glass 4 Comments

Everything (in time)

The earth subsides.
Transient thoughts of escape.
Dissipate.
Pick the petals from my mouth.
As the mourners avert their eyes.
Death, was no surprise.
Yet this extension, a spark inside.
Flutters like a butterfly trapped.
The decades wash over me now in waves.
Heady and fragrant.
Crashing coral like beauty through my soul.
Leaving stains like memories in my eyes.
How long was I there, what was left?
Do these bones show rings if sliced in two.
I feel born anew.
Trembling and naked like the first day.
Yet now, covered in the embryonic fluid of knowing.
That tomorrow is just the beginning.

05/01/202205/01/2022 by Mark Ryan Categories: butterfly, life, lightTags: art, beauty, birth, bones, born, butterfly, coral, death, eyes, light, mourners, ocean, poem, Poetry, spark, time, tomorrow, waves 8 Comments

Different degrees of devote destruction

These trailing stars that shatter through our existence.
Leave chaos and beauty in their wake.
Transcended diamonds embedded in our skin.
Fires burning deep within.
What golden light are we trapped beneath.
Such hazel eyes of god.
My soul is a blackness wrapped around your galaxy.
As you pass through like a luminous shooting star.
Leaving varying traces of your continuance.
Vibrating this space with only departure and grace.
Caring not for the planets that fall.

24/12/202123/12/2021 by Mark Ryan Categories: soul, space, starsTags: beauty, chaos, destruction, diamonds, eyes, galaxy, god, hazel, love, planets, poem, Poetry, space, stars 4 Comments

Sparkle

In the trees, no; in the sky.
The veins are hiding it.
The light shining like the eyes of God.
It’s there all the time, do you never see it?
No, but I feel it.
Washing in my bloodstream, collecting like wax.
Divine.
Sublime.
Yet I see it now, the great orb above.
We came from it, that far off place.
Its essence coats our skin like angel dust.
A pleasant peppering, are you sure it’s those shores we stole from?
Can you not tell, does the rock in your pocket not breathe like that mountain?
Torn from the mass, yet special in it’s size.
It’s like a pebble in my mind.
Like an egg, beautiful and full of life.
It shines too, like gold.
That is the light, that is what we are.
Then why is it sometimes dark?
Dark you say?
Yes, black sometimes like oil.
That would be your own fears, covering what needs to be free.
Then let it be.
Yes, let it will be.

22/12/202122/12/2021 by Mark Ryan Categories: divine, god, lightTags: art, beauty, bright, dark, divine, eyes, god, happy, light, moon, oil, poem, Poetry, sad, space, sparkle 5 Comments

Softer like that sigh

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SOFT LIKE A SIGH
Sleep speckles these eyes.
Leaving dreams like fingerprints on my eyelids.
I break that vision of you down, prismed and scattered.
Tasting like crystal.
When the fragrant sound of your voice touched me.
I unfurled like a bud awakening to the morning song.
The sheet of love hangs across my heart, pounding like the rain.
You step inside, feeling the walls to my lungs while you breathe new life in.
Breath like ocean spray and the hint of gladioli.
I mark this dream, for it’s the only place I can find you.
The only place I trust you to be there.
Collected and kept like a shell on a mantlepiece.
Placed for my own enjoyment, and a sign of a well-travelled bones.
Yet the possession bothers you not, for you rise like the moon in daytime.
Defiant against the sun.
Casting long reaching shadows that follow me throughout my day.
Cooling my skin where I touch upon them.
Touching part of your soul, those bits you let escape.
It must be a waking dream that haunts and carries me.
Keeping me contacted and close.
Cuddled against the consternation of being alive.
Being of being, with you so far away.

MORE VIDEO ART HERE

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27/11/202128/10/2021 by Mark Ryan Categories: beauty, dance, loveTags: art, beauty, bones, care, dance, flowers, kiss, kissing, love, pink, sigh, spoken, tough 2 Comments

Unravel

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UNRAVEL

Pull here she said.
A little chord, so deep.
So red.
And unravelled the great divide.
Pulling down the curtains, the illusions.
What was before, now gone. Faded into time.
She smiled, with a small frustration remaining in her eyes.
Of why it took so long.
All around the walls of the world fell.
No sound but the wind of change blowing through these bones.
Hollowed and weak from the weight of such a world upon them for so long.
Bare she had found us, no clothes, shawl or patience left.
Yet she gave us her hand, and asked us to pull the chord.
That little red twine of hope that dangled from another universe.
She was, after all, another version of ourselves.
Similar yet so different.
Her smiles were genuine.
Generic by such judgement that we cast into the voids of space.
And now she said, make haste.
And burn what lies upon the floor of the galaxy.
Tomorrow beckons, the dust must remain.
So we tugged at the chord, and held our breath.
Through veils, hoods, and blindfolds.
Refusing, at times, to know any different.
And then the souls gave way, falling free to something beautiful.
A painted landscape tied up in selflessness.
Her gift to us, wet with the dew of time.
Wrapped up and contained on our fingertips.
All we needed to do, was unravel and believe.
For to see is to believe.
And our eyes will not betray us again.

MORE VIDEO ART HERE

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10/07/202109/07/2021 by Mark Ryan Categories: love, space, timeTags: art, beauty, frustration, galaxy, heart, life, love, poem, Poetry, self, smile, space, threads, void 11 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

Take a bow

Nothing to fear, but the beauty unleashed.
As those velvet eyes unfurl for the world to shiver.
This collapse of an age, of a time now expired.
Blown into the dust of yesterday.
How heavy it must sit. The weight of youth.
Trapped in a moment, encased in expectations.
Those lips, sudden to crack like an earthquake.
The tuneful words scratch, like a raven’s song.
Beneath this magnitude, sits the one I love.
Grasping silently for escape.
I promise to take you away.
From it all.
From here.

12/05/202112/05/2021 by Mark Ryan Categories: age, beauty, kissTags: age, beauty, escape, kiss, lips, love, poem, Poetry, travel, wander, young, youth 6 Comments

Beauty trapped

Bind my heart, break my bones.
Sneak in when the lights are off.
When my guard is down.
Snap my soul and slip inside.
Overwhelm and consume me like heroin.
The addict in me pulls you near.
Breathe me in, suck me out.
Spun up in your mind like a crystal chandelier.
Precarious precious beauty.
Your hands on my innocence.
Pulling me down, knocking me over.
Teaching me how to fly.

20/04/202117/04/2021 by Mark Ryan Categories: beauty, sex, trappedTags: addict, beauty, bird, crystal, drugs, fly, glass, heart, heroin, kiss, love, poem, Poetry, precious, sex, treasure 4 Comments

The Deep (Nothing but I am)

Wednesday,

I finally sorted out those boxes today, the ones from the move. I wasn’t sure if I would be staying here long, the laziness in me took control and had left them for ages. I want to make things more ordered now, unpack my life and gain some structure. I went through the boxes, and I can see why I had left them. Photos and knick-knacks, memories and pain rolled around some of the smaller boxes inside. I had forgotten I had bundled most of it up together.

But it wasn’t all disruptive to my soul. I found the seahorse mum had brought me back from her trip to the Caribbean. There was a starfish too, but I always liked the seahorse best. It reminds me of her now when I look at it, but in a hopeful way. She may be far away, but this little item refreshes the world as a reminder she was with me, she lived and thought enough of me to bring me something she knew I would love. I miss you mum, I will see you again soon though….I’ll make the effort.

THE DEEP

Swim, with a mouthful of stars.
And kiss these lips underwater.
Pick a pearl that cloisters inside my mind.
Clutch it deep with your bones.
Washing over your heart.
Lining your veins in mother of pearl beauty.
Inside, all still wet and curious.
Like the seahorses that swim here in the shallows.
Your thoughts call to me like the sea inside a shell.
Echoing a world which wavers on the edge of temptation.
Suck the salt from my skin which slips over you.
Crush me in rapid waves of emotion.
As my fingers move to a new tide.
Parading across your body, wallowing in your deep.

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Taken from ‘Nothing But I am‘

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07/01/2021 by Mark Ryan Categories: ocean, seas, starsTags: art, beauty, deep, diary, fiction, girl, mother, moving, novel, ocean, pearl, poem, Poetry, sea, water, woman Leave a comment

Salvation forest

This is what keeps me alive.
You drying on my skin.
Lobsters of the deep, snap memories for us to share.
For me to fish for.
Your tongue, a mind of its own.
I hope you don’t mind, that I describe you in such words.
But this is what I need.
A photosynthesis of love from sadness.
Breathing deep in me, swelling my soul.
Your Picasso honey, sweet blues of strung moments to fix.
A thorn in my side and iron lung around my heart.
Feeling you on my fingertips, presenting such possibilities.
A kiss will only do, to stain this skin.
Crawl into the space of your mind.
Where heart and head battle like warring gods.
Climbing mount Olympus.
Wax sticking, fear splitting into sweet tangible delight.
Strong roots that burst up toward the sky.
Like ghosts escaping a tomb.
Strange fruit that I hunger for, my teeth to bite upon.
Finding your heart at the centre,
I will kiss into recovery.
Restoring your pulse and transfusing our strength.
Into something eternal.
Breathe in this forest of salvation.
Return home.

19/01/202019/01/2020 by Mark Ryan Categories: forest, health, love, PoetryTags: art, beauty, fruit, gods, healing, heart, love, lungs, olympus, picasso, poem, Poetry, pulse, recovery, skin, soul 11 Comments