Turbulent cosmic swells

Caught and spun, little one.
With moon dust charcoal delirium.
Pulled down, in gravity’s smile.
Replaced with apathetic juveniles.
Scream out, and shut down.
They still laugh, at the tears of a clown.
For you it rains, transitional pain.
A disappearing all over again.
But what if you survived it?
And what if you changed?
What if your revived it?
Cosmically rearranged.
Skywards hopeful, shooting free.
In sweet delicious wild lunacy.
Fragile youth fades in the blink of earth’s eyes.
But your stars remain, in your own private sky.

25/06/202209/05/2022 by Mark Ryan Categories: age, stars, timeTags: age, aging, art, clown, dust, earth, freedom, galaxy, gravity, moon, poem, Poetry, rhyming, smile, space, stars 6 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

Soar & subside

Falling down the waterfall, shaken out of grace.
Sliding, spiraling and collapsing. Leaving nothing but a trace.
Tumbling down speedily, in disgust from your eyes.
Crawling out of this bitter, purgening demise.
Escaping into nothingness, fleeing into dreams.
Tasting the fruit of freedom. Splitting from the seams.
Moving now a certain way, to expand these wings.
Unfurling fraying feathers, precious aerodynamic things.
Falling once again, from ledges beyond time.
Saying goodbye to shadows, and the ghosts that haunt this mind.
Realisation of collapse, braking bark from the knowledge tree.
Not a sad solitary boat of sand, on your egotistical sea.
I fully bow out, take my leave now and resign.
Plunging into tomorrow knowing, I must fall to begin the climb.

08/01/202207/01/2022 by Mark Ryan Categories: escape, fight, freedomTags: art, birds, boat, chane, dreams, escape, feathers, flying, freedom, hurt, lonely, poem, Poetry, rhyming, sad, soar, time 6 Comments

Buds and bones

If this is the last and the final time.
Then button my eyes and draw the line.
And keep me hidden beneath the ground.
Where earthly secrets and worms are found.
For if you are not the beat of my heart.
Then into death my journey must start.
And silence my mind as it heaves to you.
Kill this love which you’ve broken in two.

28/12/202123/12/2021 by Mark Ryan Categories: bones, death, flowersTags: art, bones, buried, death, eyes, ground, heart, heartache, hurt, journey, poem, Poetry, rhyming, skeleton 8 Comments

Lurk

Malcontent to stop me dreaming.
A bitter play that keeps revealing.
Scenes upon a static stage.
The macabre heart for this new age.
For doubt replaces it’s bloody setting.
A pumping organ that keeps forgetting.
That you lurk inside this hazy past.
A haunting ghost that always lasts.
And wades on through our murky trauma.
Pining for a love that former,
took the place you now reside.
And kills this love that I tried to hide.

31/03/2021 by Mark Ryan Categories: creepy, dreams, ghostTags: art, blood, creepy, heart, jealous, killing, love, play, poem, poetry, red, rhyme, rhyming, stage, theatre, trauma 3 Comments

Fractured

Sweet pathetic eyes.
That shook away the fear.
In an empty heart, of a sad veneer.
Eyes, like broken mirrors.
Which steal the fluorescents.
And dulls my world of its needful essence.
I cannot repair, those sad eyes which stare.

27/06/202027/06/2020 by Mark Ryan Categories: eyes, hurt, light, PoetryTags: art, colour, eyes, fear, hurt, light, mirrors, pain, poem, Poetry, rhyme, rhyming 11 Comments

Pyre

The flames of life can lick and scold.
Turn the flesh from young to old.
But love is an equally dangerous fire.
A self-sacrificing, deadly pyre.

04/03/2020 by Mark Ryan Categories: fire, flames, love, PoetryTags: art, burn, death, fire, flames, hurt, love, poem, Poetry, rhyming 5 Comments

The Wind

The wind that howls, is the one that kills.
Blowing through these bones, coming down the hills.
Picking up like the devil’s breath.
It runs amok and hurries my death.
For though I’m not fragile as a slanted tree.
Or small, or weak and feathery.
The wind that howls is beyond my control.
It fans your flames that are burning my soul.

29/09/201929/09/2019 by Mark Ryan Categories: Devil, Poetry, soul, stormTags: art, bones, burn, burning, death, deil, fire, furt, kill, poem, Poetry, rhyming, soul, storm, tree, wind 4 Comments