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Ryan Gabrish Apr 2013
Less ‘ave a spot of fun, shall we?
Sumfin fun to do in ma spare time fo no particula reason,
An’ I like ta share it wif you.

Drop the T’s and pronounce yeh U’s like ew’s
Enunciation is key on heavy consonant words.
Forget practicality an be silly wif it.
Pretending fo a moment,
That there is a glob of peana butta,
On the ref of  yeh mouf.

****** ell and bullocks only take it so far,
Yew must remain natural wif towne
But, simply mumble mimzy’s
Followed by ratulsnakes ‘n’ wota fawllls.

Tha best practice comes wif accenting ull day.
An than ull tha kids will think its ace!
Dowent get aggro, jus ease into it.
An fa ***** sake its Herb not erb.
Ryan Gabrish Dec 2014
The struggle is only half the fall from the edge.
Perplexities are disciplined by the questions of everyday situations,
But you dictate the lust, the intellectual competence and the happiness:
All excreted from the fruit of life.
It's a whimsical dance kept to a rhythm of creative absurdity,
Blissfully expounding on the calming breeze.

The pleasing uncertainty invites the ember to burn
Until the brazen flames scorch the fear in a call to courage;
Our own normative theory.
The space is gone, pressed against the wall, steps would only plummet.
Faced on the edge, rubble chirping down the cliff,
Realization of the other half churns your thoughts upwards,
Tying together tightly in a choke.
It finally makes sense; already accomplished the top.
Handle half, climb higher and then.....
Jump again
Ryan Gabrish Mar 2013
I want to plant foothills by the stairs. Broad basins on the chipping white paint. Flaking from the ceiling in droplets. Watering the drought of steps of vacated conversation, inner tongues flicking pleasured thoughts. Touches sprawled on black sand paper are compressed by our synced footsteps. Intertwined by laced fingers and hungry thrusts. Backpedaling to the peak, it causes cautious urches. The snowy ridges still chipping off, lips sealed together puzzled by whom will break first. Or if the sprouting seed inside is blooming in the other……….I still can’t figure out when you walk down the steps.
Ryan Gabrish Apr 2013
I trudged threw the snow, carefully lifting my foot as to not let it enter my boots. As I walked, my boots made a loud crunch in the snow with a patterned noise like a soldier marching in a line. In my head that’s just what it became. A vast snowline with its depth of birches, white soccer poles and net’s leaning into the snow as if being consumed. There were two school buildings, one left of center of my position and the other far right. Spray paint dripped from the walls, twisted in greens and blacks, zigzagging across the building forming letters and gang symbols. That’s why I flocked to the woods, away from the calamity.
Serenity formed a giant circle lined with trees making great sweeping walls, closed off from the field only opening into a small brook. There is a church on the right and the only thing visible. The snow is untouched making a marble flooring across the wood. By the creek there is a bench with a thin layer of snow across it, untouched by the gently flowing river. It is a peaceful place, plenty of space to think and an uncanny ability to generate noises not normally heard. I sat listening, pondering, while filling that serenity with an array of smoke.
Ryan Gabrish Mar 2013
Love is patient, love is kind. Yet I’m stuck in this invisible box like a mime,
deciding whether or not I’m short on time or if this is stepping over the line.
The whole truth is everything about you makes my sun shine.
Even if it is hopeless, a short run and your never mine.

It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. But this **** inside of me needs to be said aloud. And honestly I am proud of you whom I have found.

It is not rude, it is not self-seeking. In my thoughts you are always creeping. There have been other nights where I did not feel like sleeping but with you I forget what I’m keeping and try so very hard even though the floor is wet, it is seeping; And yes, sadly yes, there is weeping.

It is not easily angered; it keeps no record of wrongs. I don’t not have a notebook in my head where I get angry and hate you; They are but only songs. With different tones and voices all of which make me wonder to you am I where it belongs?

Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. This you have shared, stronger than any vermouth and I am happy you have done so even if I am sad and no I don’t need proof. Saw the positive, and it’s stuck in a booth. 21 years young, but it still makes me want to pull out my tooth

It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Nothing more to add for this I have.
Love never fails. Sometimes it just gets covered in veils.
Ryan Gabrish Jun 2013
I once saw threw the stars pools of serendipitous thoughts.
Melding feelings over-constructively by manifesting stains.
It's too wet,
Leaking unimportance. They aren't colored enough; silly to forget the dyes.
Standing too long, there's a need to stretch.
Stretch back lights, free twinkling corosions away.
I was looking too hard.
Ryan Gabrish Dec 2014
She opens the door swiftly, catching my slouching body at a startle.
Carefully clawing the couch, I do my best to be subtle.
She stands by the door in a simple fashion;
with soft hands gently rested at her waist.
I am haunted with thoughts of clenching them with mine.

Small talk and jokes roll of her tongue, amplifying carefree tones.
I gasp for an answer as my thoughts fall and swirl into her eyes.
Her beauty latches to a genuine soul; I only want to mold the key.
She smiles, brushing her hair with a single finger, but only my heart grins;
my mind tries to understand why.
It incloses me, trapped by the desire and timid wall.

Her figure skips my steps, silences my sounds; reverb's my rhythm.
The stage is still empty, no thunderous applause can inch me forward.
The melody is feasible and pure yet, its song is unrehearsed to her.
I can't raise the curtain and she still glows.
She hasn't heard the music; not even how it goes.
Poem I never showed an old crush. **** our poet hearts.
Ryan Gabrish Mar 2013
There’s a lagoon in my head separated from the fierce ocean of confidence by a low sandbank.
The sand dawdles to diminish its size, with melancholy waves halting its ruckus,
Water was never that loquacious, only cooing hastily on the salty air
Quaint grains of mushy rutabaga make it hard to finagle,
Because the sirens beautiful song entices me to sink
So I flounce hysterically, unable to calm my mind.

Her fair face freckled with sand gleams with odes of despair,
Adding to the mournful steps of the receding tide.
Waters once at a healthy level, wisp the fresh sea foam away.
Jagged rocks now poke out from the depths,
The vibrancy of her seaweed hair messy and curly, shrivels.

The timid sand portrays such reserve in its frantic company,
The waves crash on cue with such force,
Predictability is only her turquoise concealment
Ephemeral brine absorbed by desire,
Encapsulated by the beige powder,
That cannot dissolve.
Ryan Gabrish Apr 2013
I had a few unfamiliar mushrooms for breakfast,
And decided to have a picnic.
I got my berry basket and plopped two foxes in it.
I then staggered to the chicken coupe,
And told the hen to tell me the truth.
“What can you do with an egg?” I asked.
“Fake it” she replied.
“I could see dat” I said, shrugging my shoulders.
I walked out of the coupe, catching shooting stars on my tongue,
When I realized, I just had a conversation with a chicken.

I suddenly felt an urge to do so many things:
I could arrest all those screwdrivers for molesting those innocent screws…
Maybe I could get a balloon to bounce!
Oh…..wait, I didn’t take a shower today….
Meh, I’ll wait till it rains.
WOA what if I had a tail!? I would so drape it over my arm.
And who wants to breathe fire when it could be milk? I LOVE MILK!
Dam…. What if I start to shrink?
Eating my hat seems to fit.
***** this!.... I’m just guna eat some spaghetti with an axe.

— The End —