Controlled dispersion

Amplify the conditions which shudder to a close.
Quiet, there’s a holocaust coming my way.
Promises tumble as angels fumble.
To find words that god will understand.
My soul a stone.
Cast into the world like an island.
Washed by the waters of circumstance.
Porous enough to allow the trust in.
Mixing in the blood like milk.
Time wasted and squeezed from acidic holy fruit.
Burning away my hope.
You pick into my mind, to sift through broken imagination.
To find my light. To find a key.
Maybe it would be easier to set aflame.
Burn out the pain.
And let it be.

22/04/2023 by Mark Ryan Categories: flames, fruit, holyTags: acid, angels, art, fire, flame, fruit, holocaust, holy, milk, poem, Poetry 7 Comments

Persistence in the unforgetting

Sunken deep like forgotten wrecks.
A hate that broods, contorts and flex.
This grudge is old and just like oil.
Black with time, and within me coils.
Staining my soul with its heartless rind.
Unforgotten despite the passage of time.
But time has come to break the bond.
That swirling hole, that stagnant pond.
I will no longer give food to the beast.
It is to the wolves I throw this feast.
A stinking blood drool of unwanted flesh.
Cut from my heart, and so refreshed.
Then wrapped in a tourniquet of letting go.
With hope that in that hole, some love will grow.

22/01/202220/01/2022 by Mark Ryan Categories: animals, oil, painTags: art, blood, feast, flowers, food, forgive, forgiveness, fruit, grduges, grow, growth, grudge, hate, oil, poem, Poetry, rhyming, tiges 5 Comments

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

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