Lou the Lover


When I wrote this persona poem a while back, I did not do so out of veneration or sympathy for Lou. I did not write it to make a point of any sort. I just sat down one day and decided I wanted to write a persona poem that actually said something, with no intention of letting anyone hear it. When I read over it, I decided that I enjoyed the writing regardless of its subject, so I would post it.

Lou the Lover

The ballerina’s first spin

Caused a crack

To arise from the bubbles

Buried beneath the

Smooth of her joints,

Scraping against each other,

To the surface

For a breath of air

She heard it nice and quite

Clearly too

It was jagged and

Truthful too

But a silent alarm

Sounded beneath the tightly

Formed canvas on the drum

Of her skin

It reminded her

Of the imagined inhaling

Of her noise

That prefaced the suckling

of her tongue

Against a bloody tooth or two.

The noise made

When a man pushes a white stalactite

Into a cave of fleshy pink

It all came from her smile

Perfect and demure

Wide and stylized

Bleached clean to

Look almost squeaky

With its shiny sheen

And the way the news

Kept informing her

Of another rapist

The rapist traveled around town

Quite impressively, really

So that he might find and bind

A woman or man

Made no difference, really

And with his body

Slowly intuit a grind

A deep and slow twist

Of his hip

He liked the way smooth curves

Might try to resist the waves

As they advanced

In a crooked

And corrupted

Ebb and flow

Every day

These people walk by

Without an idea of danger

To linger in their eye

Every day

With a nudge and push

They assert

Themselves

In lines full

To brim just

For a taste

Of something sweet, maybe

A cupcake, a smoothie

A cookie bleeding

smudged chocolate

From the impact of the sun

Everything in this world

Is just so damn stable

And so maybe

He found it alright to flip a table

He wanted the earth to quake

And when he walked at night

Grabbed his prey right

When they shook beneath

All that girth

He piled on top of them:

Mirth

Just because

Like a concerto

Opening into the room

He could feel every force

Move and writhe

As though skin were dirt

And he was Gaia

Giving birth to worms

He never needed

To force his way into beds

He could cause enough

Heads to turn

That his heart should

Not need to burn

But what use was it

When they moaned mildly?

And even when he ran

A soft leathery hand

Across such a smoothly

Formed chest

He found he was

Empty like the rest

And those too

He gave them nothing

Unforgettable

Or entirely new

No matter what,

Afterwards,

They might mew

But when he seized

And they shoved

When he heard them

Muffle and shuffle

When he slid his hand across

The wide map of their

Soft body

To feel the dips, the valleys

The crested hills

He knew he made something,

Stirred a fire somewhere

Within them

He made them

So full of burning,

Fire for escape

Rage, hate, fear

Maybe even arousal

Love, for those weird

Ones that resisted less,

So he wondered

How they expected him

To loathe himself

No, the workers

In the factories

The buzzers

In the office spaces

Would loathe themselves

For their every repression

And harmful digression

But he shook things

And the worst harm he brought

Were a few minds

Shattered open like egg shells

Just more statistics

And in some way

He was better off than

The news anchors and high up

Law officers, because

At least he knew those numbers

He knew them sometimes

By the bite mark he left

When breaking the flesh of their shoulder

Or the laceration

That ran straight and

Smoother than a river

Marked by the crawl

Of his fingers

He knew those numbers

Better than every

Single statistician

And search engine

In town

Every time he

Escapaded to a new

Menagerie of derangery

He liked to spend himself

Hot and heavily

In the seeping and weeping

Artery of this piece of love

He clung himself to

Yes, he knew that

One day, they’d unzip

Those double helices of his

And the mystery would unravel

Like a chromosome

Cleaving itself in two

To create I and you

He did not mind though

They would uncover him

One day

In fact

He looked forward

To the moment

The door swung open

And they’d find him

In his chair

With a smile

Blood in a cool pile

Smoking steel in a firm grip

And a hole

So deep and so wide,

Were it he were alive,

He might just want to

Struggle inside

~Austin R Ryan

I Met Poetry


I found poetry

in form of a flighty fay

A light and pretty fairy

viewing the land

with eyes open and wary

 

I saw poetry

in the struggles

of seeking and being sought

heard it scrape echoes

out the bottom of a bottle of pills,

A cold wind trying hard to give me chills

The grimmest of the grimdark

An apocalyptic apothecary

A regular coal mine canary

bleating out beats beneath

feathers colored too crassly

and a bent beak

jaundiced just right

 

Poetry and I met

At a gallant gala

Where I saw it

Step to strict form

 

It spoke in fine tune

for the lover and loon

before it danced the

Sestina with idling Italians

and sung a blues sonnet

to rowdy revolutionaries

and pouting prophets

 

Poetry invited me

to a snappy café.

We talked in stilted

flow and rhythm

trying terribly to rhyme

 

I cornered poetry

(Just when it got big)

for an autograph.

It just threw me a mirror

and told me to write

a god damn book

 

Poetry and I

had a falling out,

when I wanted ideology

and it trended to the miscarriages

of so sharp a reality

 

I kneeled at Poetry’s deathbed

and heard it spout gibberish

Let it mouth references

to Shakespeare’s obscurities

Before its cold bulging veins

pumped bursting pluralities

that would prove too much

for a never healthy heart

 

Like Poetry,

I resolved to speak

until I would draw a fine line

and let words

From my mind and mouth

Like blood

From my body and health

 

~Austin R Ryan

Disruptions


Recently I’ve spent hours trying to egg my mind on into something great. I set it down and forgot about it for a few hours, and it hatched this. What an unforgiving bastard.

 

Disruptions

 

The cell phone Worms against the hard wood

Recreating the dull buzz of an electric razor.

 

My  systems notify me,

As music swims through my ear,

Of distant contact

 

It sounds like someone dropped

A penny in a pond, producing a ripple

 

Then I respond,

Fingers meet the buttons.

Each offering slight terse noise

To small swift strokes,

 

Reminiscent of a tap dancer

Pounding the floor

With some angry, visceral elegance

 

I probably lost long ago

Amidst the alarm each morning

Ringing like an earthquake.

 

~Austin R Ryan

We Used to Be Afraid of the Dark


 

The creeping shadows

Once loomed over a great and mysterious landscape

 

Massive mountains of stairways creaked out their woes

And the world itself exhaled a cold draft on the nape of your neck

 

An infinite abyss of the unknown

Clawed out of the closet

Preserved by a great defender, stuffed and sown

 

Now all that is near

Is the Yeast that rises

The sobering taste of fear

And the bitter, never-ending compromises

 

The only mystery left

Is buried deep into the human solar system

Un-decoded, lost in the cerebral fields.

Deep in the mines of the untold, unseen subconscious

Lying somewhere between the jurisdiction of man and deity

 

No one ever reads the introduction

Constantly waiting for the main production

Who knows who remembers life’s initial construction?

The young line up fervent and fine for society’s induction

The dreams are bottled up by reality! Such suction!

Shooting for the moon to learn you’re stuck with earthly dysfunction

 

Things big and small can be explained by most and all

The building arrogance only leads to speculation about the coming fall

It is weird to know

how underwhelming it is

to finally stand tall

It is odd to see fantasy fail

How bizarre, seeing dragons die off!

It all seemed to go without a whimper

Without even a cough

 

~Austin R Ryan

A Long and Dreary Song


Feel the blood pass through

A beautiful red hue

Cascading ‘cross capillaries

No care or carefulness of the rush

Just a bright red blush

An interlude left lush…

 

money can plot a plenty

power polishes many

But it’s never known

What these actions wrought

efforts of iron and bone

Round and round again

We go spinning

 

Listen as the beat descends

From the hyperbolic

Means to ends

It’s a rough tonic

A tough sonnet

Another torn bonnet

On display….

 

Every year’s a little wiser

Teaches us to be much more the miser

Can’t help but play along

In a cycle that’s done us wrong

 

Listen as the beat descends

From the catatonic

Means to ends

Poems and parlay,

Another place to stay…

 

Lacking any loud learning

Of the forces and the internal churning

But the honey of the feat

We produced no less, not always neat

Not always sweet

 

Listen as the beat descends

From the catastrophic

Means to ends

Used to be one who pretends

Now it just never ends

 

The thicker the quicker

Up the ladder of the picker

Fit and bold competing

With old and sold

Sullied from dirt and mold

What is done is what is told

 

Listen as the beat descends

From the maniacal

Means to ends

Success and fortune

Breed beautiful greed,

Soil to plant the seed

Of your future misdeed

 

President or peon

The ring remains bound

in strestchy red velvet

There is no one round to blame

Deep down there is only one name

The few measures of fleeting fame

A sea of the lost to claim

And there you sit, on the golden throne

A dedication to the skills, you hone

The plaque to that power

Yet gold gives way to platinum

Continual improvement the conundrum

Just how fast can we beat this drum?

How much longer will the finger strum?

 

Listen now,

Listen close as the end descends

From the means and the bends.

The beat is broken

The gods have spoken

Now rise to digest your token!

Listen for the sharp decay

Getting lost long, embedded in the fray

Listen for the quick upturn

The glorious-hellish burn

Hear the fallback

It slows and stiffens sloth like in step and slack

Then the residing smack

The resounding wack

Of a fading chorus

Long buried beneath

Blasting back to the beat

 

 

 

And then it goes:

Listen as the beat descends

From overly orchestral

Means to ends

 

Listen as the beat descends…

Listen as the beat descends…

Means to end

Means to end

Dear friends

Dear friends

 

Let the band play you out

Let the Chorus sing your song

 

~Austin R Ryan

Living in Greek Letters


 

Living in Greek Letters

 

Here’s a not so tall tale

A little college rendition

A fun story of prim perdition

 

You know the scene

But regardless I’ll set it

 

A little ways away

From the stringent old university

In some cramped home

The men dry hump

The women slowly

Dicks tracking asses

To a bulging bassline

More efficient than

Google’s trends and twitter’s tags

 

The awkward outliers

Circling the edges of empty rooms

With a solitary red cup

Held up

Like a shield

 

And then across the room you spy it

Something all too much the archetype

 

Though you might try and deny it

When you see the flock

Of the similar shirted stock

Bearing Greek letters

Like crosses of chivalry.

Your mind gets rather ready

To linger and stalk

Then mock, mock, mock

 

Most are you human, it’s true

And though that confidence they bear

Seems to come from thin air

It isn’t worth offering the glare

 

But then you see the one with the backwards hat

And those pretty shoes

With un-scuffed logos

Surrounded by a sea of white

And you smell that cologne

Strong enough to let you know

It don’t come cheap

 

Then you hear him chant:

Alpha Zeta Gamma Kappa Pi Delta

In the way a walrus

might make a war-cry

Trying to be sincere

But ready to dive behind

A force-field of faked irony

 

And in one big wash

You can feel the toss

Of waves of surreality

 

When did I transgress,

(Your mind may stress)

To a state of stereotypes?

An existence of archetypes?

 

Even with stereos that

Shroud the house in noise

You can hear his constant lack of poise

 

One moment he nods along to little questions

From a dressed up doll

Slobbering out something droll

 

And the next

He’s with his brothers

Dancing like a monkey to their music box

Of quests and talks

bathed in a tradition

that never balks

 

He jabs a pen in the side

Of a Natty light

Taking a messy swig

of a shotgun’s delight

 

And in one marvelous maneuver

Stares down the empty can

Before it collides

Into an emptier forehead

Atop a face grown bloody red

 

Then he’ll be off to bed

Some girl with a fragile ego to be fed

Making all the outliers

In the corners of the room

Emit one great internal groan

 

They wonder why

The universe takes strikes

Against the nice guy

In reality they never did try

To meet a girl eye to eye

Preferring to ruffle

The skirts of the edge of the room

And flirt with empty furniture

 

All the “normals” have left

And now our archetype

Spends another night fingering

The cold rims of a toilet

 

Behind any type is a man

Once born honest and

Bereft of any plan

Just one little

C.S. Lewis soul

Possessing a body

And not a morsel more

 

Delivered by doctors

Into the lap of luxury

He once kicked and screamed

Ungracefully swimming away

From the world he never needed to know

 

I’ve never been inclined

To admit how spiritually refined

I snootily sustain I am

But I would never set a man to linger

In the hellfire spun from his own finger

Just for a lowered standard

And some mess of manipulations

 

Yes I digress

That a rage rises

In the depths of my

Murky red heart

When I see a man so tart

 

Contrive and drive Lie after lie

About how heavyweighted he is

And how many mediocre women

He’s managed to sloppily kiss

And a part of me smiles bitterly

When with spades of self-broken ties

He digs himself a hole

And with a blowtorch of disrespect gone dire

He immolates his own fool self

 

But in this fine land

Where we give a rapist

5 years and a slap on the hand

In this little world

Where pockets of pedo’s

Parade their exploits

I guess I am not inclined

To see a douchebag’s riches

Turned to sand

Just because he was too myopic

To see the hand of fate pull back

Ready its reprimand

All the same, I heard the “whack”

 

And when it came

I must confess

Despite all the guilt I bear

For laughing at tragedies too fair

I smiled on and imagined nothing changed,

Perhaps even though on how justice reigned

then hazarded a guess, that your mind did the same

~Austin R Ryan

Reminisce


Reminisce

Getting lost in a peaceful bliss

Feeling the touch of ethereal slumber

A lightness not found on Earth

Heaviness without weight or girth

 

The world is in tatters

As if any of that matters

People will pay pretty pence to live like mad hatters

The longing to take a step off that ladder….

 

Shelving desires

To hit tire shaken pavement

Repressing fires

To burn it down and ask where it all went

 

Stability for the shaken

Solitude for the solemn

Sound for the speechless

Surrender for the soldiers

 

Who goes full throttle,

when you can capture the past in a bottle?

Fact to concede to the calm….

Fatigue to carve out the comatose…..

 

~Austin R Ryan

America My Love, 2nd Refrain


2nd Refrain

There once was a man of political intent

Who knew of all the figures

that came and went

He saw shadows shift

Underneath the prominent coffins

he did lift

 

He gave good advice

But never listened to his own

He spoke his words nice

And tempered a treating tone

 

But he was see through true and true

Though he spoke loyal

He walked royal

And all knew he wanted a throne

 

He tried to blend

But He became so standard

When afraid

of what it meant to be slandered

 

Never got too far

Except when he drove out in his car

 

Imagining people hailed his name

From all corridors and lands

He imagined so much fame

That even to him – it seemed most profane

 

He did have a way about him

That some were inclined to flout him

But he never could make means into ends

 

In public he put philosophy under sophistry

In private he made freedom his curiosity

He loved it like it were atrocity

So much so he hardly handled

restraints on velocity

 

One day

He departed from the fray

Abandoning his sway

to the matters of that fine may day

 

he mounted the metal horse

and went riding

But oddly enough…

he felt he was hiding

 

For once, his self

was what he was chiding

 

He passed from tree to tree

And wanted so badly to be free

From all the toll and all the fee

 

So started his quaint little speeding spree…

 

He slammed on the peddle to soar through sees of glinting metal

he went quicker and slicker, faster and rasher discarding thoughts for laughter

as he unbuckled the belt that bound, honking and heaving

like the barkings of a hungry hound

Until he swung and spun round and round and forsook

All the control from the roles he stole

 

For one sliver

of freedom

from the capitol Pull

 

When he slammed into the tree

he soared out so far

that he finally felt free…

 

With the contents of his head ajar

Eyes smeared red

against the black tar

He found finally

That he could see so far

 

Tales get twisted

As our art gets fisted

These times are strange

But I do admire the range

 

America’s threading

And bedding

New sorts of souls

And new brands of roles

~Austin R Ryan

America My Love


First Refrain

 

down and out in the cold by tenth street

are all the women in forced heat

they peddle their wares

through sweet scents in their hairs

 

While boys in the black

Talk some vile smack

And the middle aged couples

Run through their scruples

 

Some men run so far

As to get in their car

And drown family fanfare

In that scented hair

 

The sixties sang

The seventies swung

The eighties fought

The nineties simply sought

And the millennials swallowed all it was

That their forefathers bought

 

There once was a man from Nantucket

Who liked to draw dicks so long

his followers imagined they’d suck it

He drew for the throng

For so damn long

That eventually he up and said

“fuck it”

 

He went to the store, and found it a bore

He barged into the bar, but tasted tar

He jumped to the gym, but was too slim

He pounced to the pool, but found it too full

 

So he finally flew to the farm

And with what little luck left,

He found it had some charm

 

They found him one day

In newly bought property

With a ruptured colon

And a horse that went all in

 

They say there was an artist

Who counted herself the smartest

even though what she drew was the tartest

 

With a hefty herp

and a deep old derp

She went to deviantart

To draw out her heart

 

She gave it her all

She put out her best

But the commenters put her

right to the test

 

She banned and she blocked them

Her reactions never stopped them

Yet…

As insults came to dominate

She learned to love the hate

 

But by the time she swung open the gate

The trolls trotted off

And the white knights went soft

 

All that remained

Were the ratings

So so stained

and

so low…

Seemed they had

nowhere to go

 

Her personality was so in detention

That from friends or from family

She could not find attention

Even the internet forgot her contention

 

So With no eyes left watching

With no time for proper debauching

She walked with rope and knot tied taut

 

 

To a bridge in the middle of town

Bearing a deep little frown

And Wearing a dirty old gown

 

She choked back tears

And recalled the sweet, sweet jeers

As she suppressed all of her little fears

 

And imagined, that she jumped…

Right into the arms, of her peers…

 

The suspension bridge never felt so suspended

The story was rough

But the ratings were splendid!

 

I heard once of a boy

Who loved to make himself a toy

Of sick obsession

And derelict regression

 

You know he could be a charmer

Once he donned a gimp’s armor

Many would say whips and chains

only gave him growing pains

 

There once was a time

When shame coated like grime

But confidence can cure aversion

So off he went with his perversion…

 

Those that knew him – when he had shame

Were quite quick to forsake his name

Friends met him – with excuses so lame

Family threw him off – exactly the same

That was, until he got some fame

 

When he flew off to the races

When he fell into piles of money

His mom went back to calling him honey

And his friends started to find him quite funny

 

One day our hero awoke

Went out for a smoke

Found his wallet full of cash

And his phone always a flash

He was a different breed

That one

A dominant submissive indeed

America my love

You’ve outgrown your manger

And I am afraid you are only getting stranger

I feel you rebel from the world

With your adolescence unfurled

You stopped being so slim

And you can’t settle on a hymn

You keep me up every night

Just so I might stare at your blight

 

~Austin R Ryan