Seasons of a wandering heart (Out now)

Seasons change like memories. Swelling on a yearly cosmic tide. Never free from change, we move like blood coursing through a body, pumped by a heart under the pressures of life and circumstance.

Discover this photopoetry collection while you drift, snapshots in time across the seasons that wander into your eyeline. From Spring to Winter, course your path across the yearly interval and meet visitors such as love, pain, wonder and friendship.

Wander, and wonder with eyes and heart wide open.

This work is a collaborative collection with fellow artist and poet June Okochi

Book cover tree snow

NOUS SAVIONS TOUJOURS


Peel away this faded grey.
The looming nightmare that hovers on my lips.
Like a poisoned kiss.
These eyes will open, and will always remember.
Screaming gravities that moved through us.
You wanted to see it all for yourself.
The dawning, a reforming of what was left to offer.
A thing moulded deep in the stomach of god.
Once called love.
Now twinkling like a Christmas star above us.
Stripped and salvaged from its tattered abandonment.
Where we found it, flat on the ground.
Walked over and left for dead.
Keep it now, safe and captured.
Like a flightless bird on the verge of extinction.
Like summertime on an autumn afternoon.
It fell from grace, our love; but now moves into place.
Filling the gaps that understanding failed to fill.
No dream.
Just the darkness caving in.



SEASONS OF A WANDERING HEART

Dissolve

On my fingertips, dancing like a tiger.
The tip of my tongue, growling like a beast.
Naming you, shaming you and falling under.
My fingertips now tingle.
Blood and sweat dripping down like melting galaxies.
You fold away the past, and dissolve the future.
Streaking my colours into a frantic version of now.
Washing away the grey.
This good life you prophesize, I want to know all about it.
As I swirl round and round in the delusional dream.
Fizzing and floating on falling stars, while I wave goodbye to the lonely.
These cells break down and collapse.
This earth shakes underneath.
A ballet of our isotopes, that merge and fall with each of your heartbeats.
I cling to you, for fear of disappearing completely.
Of wanting to be lost in you.
This sweet gigantic resolve, the chaotic dissolve of mergence.
As you love me, for me.

Crawl beneath that folding wing

When it rained silver, I yearned to fly.
Broken winged and feathered down.
A mouth full of plume.
Patching this ache that weaves within.
Throwing your shadow over time.
Then force this need, on the backs of angels.
That terrible force threatening to take hold.
Once more, with feeling.
Begin this flutter with splintered souls.
Feeling it splutter into dust and memories.
These heaves of my heart.
I wonder now, and breathe then cry.
A falling star.
A fading sigh.

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.


click to watch
heron in the snow


More video art at markryan

Artificial sweeteners: Free eBooks (Poetry, Fiction)

To celebrate of the release of Dislocated: Short broken tales, enjoy some of my other titles for free. Full descriptions here.

Available at no cost from 11-13 September

mark ryan books

 


Be sure to check out ‘Dislocated‘ and also ‘Nothing but i am‘. New titles from 2020.

dislocated

Horror comes in many forms. It can creep at the door, surprise us in a truth or dwell within our very bones. To escape and flee is a natural instinct. But what if the horror never disappears?

Dislocated is a collection of 28 short stories which cover the need to escape, and the horror of remaining. Tales such as ‘Folkroot’, where something dark is lurking in the hotel pond. Or ‘Nemesis’, which takes us to another world where still a darkness dwells. This collection shows you the road to freedom, but warns you with a cold hand, that you may not travel alone.

nothing but i am

She left the earth how she wanted, walking into the ocean as the stars above sparkled in their preciousness. She hoped to join them, to transform into something that burned with a power a million miles away from here. Her departure may be one of sadness, but it was by her own choosing. It was her own way to transform.

‘Nothing but I am’ follows the life of Eleanor, as read through her journal in her final days on the planet. It washes over her hopes and dreams, loves and despairs at the hands of fate and the disturbance of states that begin to corrode her life. Her death imprints itself on a police officer trying to unpick meaning in her demise as she goes through her words and thoughts left in her journal.


Honey

The gulf between us vanishes.
The air hangs thick like an electric storm.
Your make me want to feel my way,
Thoughts inside me buzz.
Such busy busy bees.
My emotions undress and I bare my soul.
Come lick me, come kiss me.
One touch and I’m under.
The fetter of your skin, the warmth of your embrace.
The toffee turns on a silky feeling that has dwelled so deep.
You unearthed. Dug out.
Brought to the surface like a Titanic rising.
The discoverer in you.
Yet your eyes shine like a leviathan.
Threatening to pull me under.
Kiss me harder.
Suck the marrow from my bones.
Roll me in honey.
Crush each rib of fear inside like splintered cartilage.
Sack my Carthage with the force of the Roman Empire.
Banishing the darkness, if only for an hour.
Thrust away these thoughts of yesterday.
The touch of your hand, the touch of tomorrow.
Sparks turning true blue and fluorescent.
Me. You. Drowning in honey.

Surviving is the best revenge

Into the bath he jumped fully clothed.
The water boiled and curled his toes.
It shed his skin, his hair, his eyes.
But acid, not water burnt away both his thighs.
A ghastly end, but one incomplete.
For his bones remained from head to feet.
So out he jumped, forgetting his pride.
Down the plug the water went, with his thoughts of suicide.
And in the mirror glaring back.
Was his bleached white skeleton, from front to back.
He saw his skull, the sockets so deep.
Out of his mouth a little whimper did creep.
But not one to dither, or dwell in his state.
He ran down the stairs and out the front gate.
And he came to the house that had made him so morose.
And he slipped through the door as quiet as a ghost.
He crept up the stair, to where he knew he would find them.
And he brought out some rope and some tape so to bind them.
Both lovers were sleeping, intertwined while they dreamt.
Their hair and their clothes, all wild and unkempt.
So he tied them together, then he set fire to the bed.
He watched as the flames roared up to their heads.
But before they departed, before their own bones were charred.
He slipped off his fibular to play a tuneful bon voyage.

Go slowly

The second guessing, the never knowing;
Framing the mistakes we make.
Blessed with an ability to undo me.
Take me down, feel your way.
Leave nothing on this body to explore.
Don’t sit there motionless because you know the answer.
Discover.
Over and over again.
This skeleton underneath.
This heart that beats.
A sweat that runs for you.
Mind your step as you flee the room.
(Please wait while I undress).
[Re-dress.]
Address your intent.
We all want to play in traffic, but this is serious now.
Break me like a three year old would.
Love me like you were meant to.
Hold it all in your hands like i’ve come from the land of gold.
Such precious illusions as I hold my breath.

Sending myself flowers

From ‘Alchemy’


When the universe rests, and slumbers in my mind.
And all around me is still.
I take this chance to apologise.
For who I have become. For who I wanted to be.
An apology for me.
Within these cracks and slithers of my soul.
That remain unfettered to moral decay.
I brush the hurt away.
And send myself flowers.
Hoping to turn over those leaves, and find you there.

Till death do us part

From the beginning, it should have been known.
In throwing out reasoning and line jumping.
Of crossing over to yours.
Your place or mine?
Rub out the sky then.
Directing into a throb of tomorrow.
The taxi counting down, ready to lift off.
Into the dark with its counter running like tears.
The room consumed.
Bruising us both with its filthy obfuscated fingers.
The night pulled into the future.
Concreting us both into something.
After lust and trust is lost, all that is left is conversation.
That moment that folded away into insane separation.
I look to the scars that flicker in my mind.
The hollowed parts of our love.
Empty like the bones of intimacy.
I realise, after all this time.
I used to want to love you.
Now I only want you in death, parted.

A Place to burn

The walls tumbled, loudly into the ocean.
Crashing the coast further.
Only a power in goodbye remains.
Disturbing the ground beneath.
Does that tremor reach your heart.
Displace the cells or the spirit higher?
This collapse into hiding.
A running away, to provoke a pain.
Or to remedy a hurt.
Travels in whispers, and lands in stone.
Freedom welcomes an honest heart.
Breaking spells which have bound this space.
A broken heart consumes itself in delicious dreams.
That there may be something else to try.

Portending

I have tasted from golden cups.
As the city around me fell.
In coloured eyes I saw the sea and the sky beneath me swell.
I have lived and be damned.
For the lost dreams like sand.
Slip through my fingers like Sunday afternoons.
Yet this example of perseverance.
Sticks, despite interference, from the voices all around.
With my notions of happiness.
Of everything, and virtue; still to be found.

Raining underneath

Underneath. Down here where it’s calm.
Where the black beauty of the abyss touches my feet.
All is quiet.
All is still.
I’m entombed as if in a coffin.
Locked forever in my own space
Controlling the promise of my ever after.
And then you came.
Pelting my world.
Hurtling across like a comet in my stretching blue sky.
You bring the change, flowing through like a weather system.
Flourishing my eyes open like a new season.
Calling sub-oceanic flowers to bloom within me.
Aquatic forest pines that reach up to touch the surface.
To reach and touch your face.
My hands branch to catch the light you dazzle.
A sudden rush you instill within me like heroin bubbles in my blood.
Coming up too soon, bending my compression that has kept my heart safe.
Heading for the bends.
I’m a fish not born to fly with you.
High where the birds and angels soar.
Hidden in these depths for reasons.
For sins that keep me drowned.
Now it rains under water, puddling the pool of the sea that parts us.
And I drift in the stream of sorrow.
Knowing that the rain on the surface, is really your tears.

Black snow: Tales & poems in the snow drifts of life

(For Gina)

The snow rarely falls, and the coldness rarely touches the bones. Yet this is the wish of one who lives on the equator, longing for the white dusting. When it comes, it can be black or white. Light or dark. Little snowflakes created by circumstance. Too long has a black snow fallen, for once the real frozen landscape is coming.

Real snow is about to descend.

cover

OUT NOW

Second sight

Going towards the resolve, the 20/20 equaling higher.
A Fissure in my memory, wraps around the stillness.
I allow the world to hum and clatter around me.
All in its beautiful chaotic busyness.
Your X-rays burn through, avoiding the heart and preventing the cancer.
This realness drifts up towards heaven.
You cherish it all, pulling it close to smell the stench of love.
We are everything.
This blindness no longer fits me, like all of these clothes we shed.
Cast like tears in space.
Swimming in ignorance makes me long for bliss.
Thank god for you. Your bones and skin.
This place where your feet touch the ground is now sacred.
Where you breathe is where I take a picture.
You heart I steal as a souvenir.
Still like the frosted birds and the rocks we climbed upon.
The sand where we walk each year, burying time like a box of treasure.
Refracting in your presence, I see your glory in my second sight.
Your cat eyes shimmer, as I count your nine lives.
Trying to keep up.
As your eyes set sail for the horizon.
Anchoring us to the future.
Blinking away the memory of pain forever.

Reinvented, reflected & revived

Just a quick note about a change of scenery and new content.
My portfolio site has had an overhaul, and I hope you like the changes. Be sure to subscribe for future book promotions, news, events and general funities.
(Click the image below to fly off there)

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Save yourself/serve yourself

Now that we are so anaesthetised.
We settle for blankness.
Without any compromise.
You suck the soul from us every day.
Filling the void with countenance and suspicion.
Such a beautiful paradox, what a time to be alive.
So lazy by design.
You wear the masks of the familiar.
Cutting the ties that bind us to our future.
And who are we to utter, the silent stutter into separation.
Your IS desperation to keep us scared.
There is no oil here, only pits of anger.
Bubbling to the surface.
Such disturbance now at the house.
The roaring of a mouse, of a nation who were followers.
Now numbering the chorus that’s out of control.
Democracy hangs in the air, like the miasma of the 18th century.
Fogging London once more with a noxious distaste.
We all wear our own tin foil crowns.
Crunching the bones of despair.
The Fear of standing for something.
I am but one of many, lounging in my paralysis.
A self-inflicted state of disconnect.
Waiting for the numbness to arrive.

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.

Weapon of choice

It’s so hard, just to peel back the truth.
Like folding back the sky.
Propping up heaven while we renovate.
Dusting under the throne, sweeping under the rug.
How much is caught in your eye?
As the verbal rocks are thrown?
Hammering now in your head.
Leaving idealism to another time, another life.
Dropped in the ocean to be covered in coral.
We slaughter the fledgling feelings, new to hope.
Eager to walk in the sunlight holding hands.
We never understand, how to break the cycle.
Going round and round. Like a falling plane.
Spiralling, tumbling, freewheeling to the ground.
You pin the medal of victory to your chest.
Pricking the skin, letting the blood flow.
Straightening your soul, patting your ego on the back.
Mumbling incoherently the art of war.
Driving your tank over the art of love.

Gospel of no-one

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Your own personal bible, offering a glimpse into worlds you will never normally see. Words struck down, not by God, but by those souls who visited St. Sebastian’s church and who dissected their own sacred hearts for you.

Hidden under the base of a statue of Mother Mary, the current pastor of St. Sebastian’s church discovers a small tightly bound book, the contents of which explain the demise of the previous Father, Father Nikolas and the confessions of those who frequented the church throughout his time there. A journey through pain, doubt and forgiveness; the book opens the eyes and hearts and asks everyone for their own confessions.

‘The Gospel of no one’ is a hybrid novel mixing fiction and poetry, orbiting religious imagery and spirituality. Hope, mixed with the horror of being only human.

Just a reminder that The Gospel of no-one is out now in eBook and Paperback. If you’ve purchased it already, thank you; but don’t forget to review and tell a disciple. Comments or questions; please sound off below. Enjoy. For more books, check out the books section

Nobodykn74.jpg

Exhumed

Underneath and in the ground.
Buried deep without a sound.
Lies my body, its shell and bones.
Under layers of rocks and stones.
A tyrannosaur heart that roared at first.
But all too soon, swelled and burst.
You killed me once with a flaming comet.
Across my sky, your departing sonnet.
Our love, which first, defied distinction.
All too soon embraced extinction.
It could not survive the battles we raged.
Like warring beasts, housed in a cage.
You bit, and snapped and left my dying.
A fallen giant, cold and crying.
And so my flesh transformed to oil.
The precious black gold beneath the soil.
And you evolved and thus migrated.
Our DNA of love abated.

Graffitied heart

“If Graffiti changed anything it would be illegal”

A Little side project; a small little book of Rhymes and poems. Graffitied heart is out now in ebook and Paperback. Though it may seem pricey, the Paperback is fully illustrated and is in glorious colour. I hope you enjoy it.

‘A well-travelled heart sees it all, from street to street and wall to wall. 
Soaking in life’s wonderment, from euphoric highs to the deep laments.
This heart is stained, bruised and scarred. Still beating, just graffitied; and bursting to show you what it’s seen.
Graffitied Heart is a little book of rhymes and poems, going through the alphabet of existence. And as with all lives, they can be humorous, horrifying and heartening. A compendium of complexities for your enjoyment.’ 

For more info on other titles, click here.

OUT NOWGH

Out Now – The Gospel of No One

Just a reminder, The Gospel of No One is out now in ebook and paperback forms.

THE GOSPEL OF NO ONE

Be careful of those who open their diamond hands.
Chewing opium smoked souls and offering hearts.
These will be those closest to you.
Forgive them, we know not what we do.
Swimming in the sin of a century.
Crawling once more on the back of time.
A miseducation of things once told.
Scratched on tablets, ground down like baby teeth.
But the skies won’t fall.
And though walls grow tall we strengthen our desire.
To avoid smashing galaxies and fragile pieces of others.
Every time you try to be what they expect, the honey sting;
the disdainful look of Lucifer drops all that is tired.
We become more inspired.
And make way for the inevitable bliss.
In Zion.

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For more info on other titles, click here

As the city sleeps

Still waiting for the big revelation.
Be prepared for anything, but do you still believe?
Dreaming of big distractions and carbon copied lives.
Left with diamond headaches and pills to make you sleep.
Don’t sleep, dream. Let it in.
Kick start that desire that you are just as good as God.
Good as gold even. Counting zeros on a monthly slide.
They call you the king of commodity.
Hanging on the end of the line.
Hanging onto anything.
Smear the sugar on your lips and catch the bees.
Be prepared for the sting.
Close your eyes as your tongue lolls over.
Cityscapes and supernovas.
Mercury swinging in to shift the traffic.
Allowing you to arrive more easily.
Sleeping another day away.
Swimming in medicated decay.