Ryan Galloway

Ryan Galloway Apr 2016

Poetry

Who is a poet?
What is poetry?
Does it bleed from the mouths
Of those oppressed by tyranny
Does it stick to the lips of lovers
Like freshly ripe strawberries
Does it lie in the lines of the workman's hands
Like the dirt of the freshly tilled land
Does it exist in the hearts of man
To be struck out, serenaded, or wizened
Does it seep from our fingertips
As a sap that heals our aching bones
When humanity is the illness
And suffering the symptom
Poetry is
The desperately sought after medicine

Ryan Galloway Apr 2016

Falling

As if the stars were falling
And I, a speck of the skies
Feared for my minuscule life
I can't think for those who once held me up
Have let go
The ties I thought were so strong
Have decomposed
And I am falling like a meteor
Being tossed from its celestial home
And I am bracing for impact

Ryan Galloway Mar 2016

Letting go

I'm sorry the clouds no longer spell your name
That the wind doesn't sing
An inspired symphony
That only we know is about you
I'm sorry that the spring
No longer blooms
Only to be graced by visions of you
That the grass no longer makes room
For your mid afternoon wanderings
Nor holds your form for hours after you move
I'm sorry that my touch can no longer perceive
The dreams behind your light blue eyes
And that I can no longer differentiate
Blonde hair from your once spectacular gold
But above all else
I'm sorry that though the storm hit us both
It was I who let go

Ryan Galloway Mar 2016

Absence

I'll remember your absence
For its the only thing you left
The empty seat next to me
The oddly cold feeling on my chest
The missing cups of cold tea
With only a tad left
Placed mindlessly
In the midst of beautiful thoughtful revelries
When your fingers left indentions in your dress
Indentions in the grass where you slept
As if they were just as hesitant
To see you leave
That they held your shape just to remember you were there
I'll remember your absence
For its the only thing you left

Ryan Galloway Mar 2016

Vocabulary

It seems the stars are singing
Or perhaps their screaming
And I'm just hopeful
That though
The night sky is burning
It's light
May be serenading us to sleep
But I doubt it
I guess that's the foolishness of poetry
Or perhaps it's the beauty
I always get the two mixed up
Ascribing autonomy
To distant things
And applying them to my life
My weak narrative
My minuscule perspective
So I guess it may be beauty to believe
That such magnificent things may exist
To give me a vocabulary to describe you

Ryan Galloway Feb 2016

Midnight's Curse

Oh how the dark has closed around me
There was a time in which I would breathe it in
Let it flood my nose and drown my lips
Yet I have grown to hate the taste
It once was so sweet
Though it loomed like death it was as sweet as love
Now as the night has taken me as its own
I look in distaste at the cup that I hold
The coffee that I once held dear
Has long ago gotten cold

Ryan Galloway Feb 2016

Seasons

In you, I see
The flowers of the field
Opening to a new spring
I see
The softly blowing wind
On a warm summer day
I see
The light filtering through
Fresh autumn leaves
I see
The snow falling afresh
On newly barren eaves
I know that I hold no claim
For the beauty of the field
Nor the grace of your hand
Or these exalted features
Yet I see it as my responsibility
To not leave them unobserved
Though no bird flys for an audience
Nor any flower bloom for an applause
Such beauty has been painted to be observed
By some director
Setting forth a play
So I watch as you move gracefully through these scenes
You have found an audience by my eyes
I will watch such beauty dance across my fingertips
Calling it love, this careful movement, for I know no else
God has placed a masterpiece upon my lips
A symphony laced through my hair
And I stand, the most grateful of audiences.