matthew ronan

matthew ronan 7d

10a fm

people look so silly under the spell
of friday's grooving radio hum:
they trip and fall over miles of tiles
when gin tins leave their shoes untied;
its showtime under the ambergreen lights!

seven o'clock and motor breath
turns to head-seeking missiles, i duck
under a stop where frostbite seeks
to hide its fingers in my socks
"i'm not ready to end!"

"it hasn't yet begun!"
seven twenty and here's my bus!
a giant metal knight with wiper swords
and a two-door parting shield
... i check if my feet have healed

engines ruminate over their revolutions
and rumble and grumble on deaf ears
cautionary tales of last week's anteeks...
but not all roads lead to rome, fortunately,
some lead to queen's square

...my toes are warm now

matthew ronan Dec 9

the moon my dame

(J) the moon forgets the day she was hung
up in the sky with comet chains; rung
like fingers, rings and bells among
...
every sultry blackscreen of purple-hot tar;
bathe the sins of each marble-hot star
[like cosmic change spread 'cross a bar] (1)
,
so screaming ¿redwhite? rockets dine in shame
of their solar jurisdiction! their lunar game
ignites the dame's afterburning blame

more utter silliness !

(1) guy scutellaro - the wishing well

matthew ronan Dec 9

#7

a sharp-dressed woman
spilt the stars across the sky
(her dress had pockets)

matthew ronan Oct 28

the cosmically unacceptable cerebral sci-fi spaceman *****

as the drumline spiels his deal,
his baseless accusations ring
the bell behind your eyes! sing!
mimic his air! your cacophonous snare
shouts like an °astronaut° on a •space-walk•

promise! never let the cold take hold
of your reptile brain; you're half unsaid!
why must you let the louder half spread
his legs in ecstasy? you deal in chastity!
who are you? some [ sci-fi ***** ]?

you can't be saved from your retroflex grave,
so dare to live where no rhyme scheme toes
the line of ~ cosmically acceptable ~ prose,
see? nothing matters!  - this jawless chatter
asks "who are you? some cerebral *****?"

"an ugly *****!!!" you might retort
but self-awareness does not absolve
the sins of online vanity; dissolvvve
me, untrue - drown in pixels green and blue
or wake up
                     in the nothingness
                                                      of the space-walk

what a load of nonsense ey !!!

matthew ronan Oct 18

time, wearing boots like mine

it's funny to imagine time as walking;
would he wear little boots? au naturale, perhaps?
would he get tired? bored? would he relapse
to the classic passtime of beat-step stalking
the second hand round the clock face?
think! a formless concept in real space...

so then, why would this "distance" matter?
i could wave my hand - open a portal
up between moments; our newly immortal
honeymoon periods served on a platter
well - why not? it's a trick; the reverse
of our father's relativity to our universe

a plath-esque attempt* at a flirty confession

*(one could only dream)

matthew ronan Oct 5

#5

birds feast on daybreak
worms; threads of song borne from dirt
salvaged as dusk wind

matthew ronan Oct 5

#4

seconds drag; their limbs
line the hallways while we sleep:
yesterday's awake