girl – Havoc and Consequence

Removed: Post lunar blue

She lived up there, where no-one went.
A sparkled silent sky just for her.
And her dreams and diamonds, all well spent.
As she walked through her world in a blur.
For it was on the moon her soul resided.
In lunar craters she crept and hided.
Watching the world from the safety of space.
Removed and distant, from the human race.
And her heart was safe and full of silence.
As the solar winds blew through her soul.
She forgot the tether from us through her highness.
And all the destruction and collapse down below.

16/07/202211/05/2022 by Mark Ryan Categories: earth, moon, starsTags: art, blue, collpase, colour, diamondds, earth, flight, girl, luna, moon, poem, Poetry, sky, solar, space, surreal 9 Comments

Arrêter de tomber

Lies, they kept her from heaven.
A raging ghost of self-contempt.
Is it fake when inside there is truth?
For in the dark, all can see her tears.
Slipping into the cracks of hell.
Crying out to change.
/
Fall
Into
Heaven/Hell

11/05/202201/05/2022 by Mark Ryan Categories: heaven, hell, holyTags: art, change, creative, despair, devil, fake, ghosts, girl, heaven, hell, lost, medusa, poem, Poetry, sad, sadness, tears, truth Leave a comment

Who let in the rain?

Underneath that crystal water.
Of crushed stars and dreams.
Dwelling like a memory that won’t die.
Lies a soul.
Frayed and tattered.
Filled with thoughts of eucalyptus leaves and saffron.
Tide up in heartstrings and self-made knots.
Tackling the torrents soundlessly.
To drown silently in a rising tide.
This was their gift to you.
Keeping the truth and the pain out of your eyes.
Packing soot and coal into the sockets.
Trembling inside and yet still.
Like a sewn up teddy bear.
All glass eyed reflective.
Placid.
Who let that rain in, to wash the hope away?
Deluged in dopamine and on the brink of decay.
Each drop inched closer.
Under the door and down their spine.
Exploding the sky with a grey that blocked out heaven.
God made the rain, the floods and the tide.
To wash away the sinners, the soulless and already sunken.
Yet she was always destined to float.
Catching stars in pockets and wiping the salvation across our mouths.
But the rain came in.
Straw ladened and camel shaking.
Soaked in misery and shame.
And now she is lost under the surface.
Ripped away in the undertow.
Growing gills and thicker skin.
Crashing on someone else’s shore.

16/04/202220/03/2022 by Mark Ryan Categories: depression, sad, waterTags: death, drown, drugs, girl, heaven, misery, mouth, ocean, poem, Poetry, rain, sea, sky, stars, teddy, water, weather Leave a comment

Quiescent (because of you)

QUIESCENT

She tried to save him on that day.
That day, when the coffee stained sky folded.
She reached out in her own way.
Only for her hands to turn to stone.
And her mind to dust.
A cruel trick of fate positioned her.
To watch his demise from such a vantage point of safety.
Silenced in an eternal knowing.
While a tempest raged in her eyes and mind.
So she threw it all back in time.
Crouched under her bed until the voices left her.
With bangs on the door and within her heart.
Which now thundered to a singular beat.
Then the vines crept up around her veins,
and she erased her broken kingdom.
At least she tried to.
Then disappeared into the rains that then came.
Leaving no trail in her wake, only questions.
And the angels covered her in mercy.
As she chased the dragons by the flooded lagoon.

The Ballad of Nancy Stokes

Clouds rolled in, all over the small town.
The air alive with the smell of chip shop grease and cheap aftershave.
Saturday night, alive and loud.
But not Nancy.
At least not by the end.
Down in the canal.
Left to be found by old Mrs Clarence, off to the shops on a Sunday morning.
Her small dog Terry, sniffing at the banks where poor Nancy rested.
Her head covered in an old carrier bag.
But that night before, she’d dressed up to the nines.
No Tesco tiara threatened her styled hair.
Scraped back with moose and anticipation.
For the dancefloor awaited, and the eyes were wet.
Leary sockets soaked in her moves.
The jostles and gyrations of decade old motions learned to entice.
To ensnare.
Those oiled men, with receding hair.
The smell of socialisation and modernity.
Nancy left her friends, who’d found Jesus in the bottom of a vodka bottle.
And in the stall of the toilets which stank of desperation and piss.
Where sticky kebab hands soiled their jeans and youth.
Where Nancy went, nobody knows.
But they left her some of her clothes at least.
Soaking in the green waters of the canal.
The old Robinson factory looming over her grave.
Passer-by’s flicking cigarette ends into the water, sizzling near her empty soul.
Not knowing she was there.
In the sludgy brown surface.
Where Mrs Clarence found her.
Nancy Stokes. The 40-year-old girl who loved to dance.
But never learned to swim.

03/10/202103/10/2021 by Mark Ryan Categories: abuse, dance, deathTags: ballad, canal, chips, creepy, dancing, dog, drinking, girl, men, murder, poem, Poetry, sad, sex, vodka 4 Comments

Le Petit problème

I do not need this, she said.
Shaking the thoughts and dark from her head.
I need so much more.
The need to want you, is greater than before.
And the flicker, and the twitter of the voices in her skull.
Kept her moving, her heart bruising.
Keeps her soul crawling on the floor.

21/07/202112/07/2021 by Mark Ryan Categories: darkness, skull, soulTags: art, b&w, bruise, dark, girl, love, poem, Poetry, rhyme, skull, soul, voices, woman 5 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.

Taken from ‘Nothing But I am‘

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

Tag: girl