Sep 2017 Ryan Kirby
Emily Dickinson


We knew not that we were to live—
Nor when—we are to die—
Our ignorance—our cuirass is—
We wear Mortality
As lightly as an Option Gown
Till asked to take it off—
By his intrusion, God is known—
It is the same with Life—

  Aug 2017 Ryan Kirby

when you pass my way, know that my Wi-Fi network
requires no password to gain entry,
thus it comes with a security recommendation:

there is no security in poetry, only the unresolvable:

how came Excalibur into the rock,
will our children have better lives than us,
can we define accurately finite,
why can't we add new letters to our alphabet,
will my poems live longer than I

so when you pass my way
walk right in, sit right down,
greet madness,
thy new boon companion,

who will not ask you for the password...
8/27/17 11:43pm

  Aug 2017 Ryan Kirby

I hope that you will smile today
and give yourself a break.
A smile can be great medicine.
It helps when hearts might ache.

Perhaps, if you try hard enough,
the smile becomes a grin.
And when you've worn it long enough,
you'll feel it grow and then...

The grin becomes a chuckle
and it then becomes a laugh.
And everyone will wonder if
you've made a social gaffe.

For laughter is contagious
and it helps to get us through.
Here's hoping that today will bring
some happiness to you.

  Aug 2017 Ryan Kirby

Here's to the writers—

You have the power to paint words
Into beautiful art—
To be able to touch a soul—
To touch one's heart

You can make the stormy sky blue—
Stop the waves from crashing to the shore
You can make all the withered flowers bloom—
Turn winter into summer, a glimpse of gold

You can make someone's dark day colorful—
Gather hope to put in between your words
Make them feel that they are understood—
That they aren't alone in this cruel world

You can mend someone's broken heart—
Put love in between your lines
Let them know that they are enough—
That being hurt is just a part of life

We can make a whole new perspective—
We can create a world of our own
And no, we don't speak only for ourselves—
But also for all the lost souls

—Thalia Bautista; Just keep writing

For all the writers out there ❤️
  Aug 2017 Ryan Kirby
phil roberts

With magnificent indifference
The world swirls and eddies
And life ebbs and flows
Around my crusty head
But still this radiant illusion
Springs eternally hopeful
And leads us by the nose

Times of mysteries past flow
As the northern rain washes the days away
Into slick and glimmering colours
Without earthly reason
And this late in the season
Daffodils fade and die
And butterflies won't fly
In an awkward silent stillness

                                   By Phil Roberts

  Aug 2017 Ryan Kirby
joe thorpe

the girls in the back
of the local pathetic
(where nothing,
none of my things,
comes out clean)
speak ugly slavic
their loads must be light
as they're only half dressed
I put my clothes
all I own
except the one's on my back
in five dryers
and go sit
on the paint-peeled
two-tone maroon
bench in front
today's heat is indefinite
and I wonder if someone
has stolen my
soap and basket yet
this is downtown
the turf occupied
mostly by addicts and foreigners
and the rich
the richer than me
meander lazily in and out
of bars and salons
the beautiful plump brown skin girl
I've been falling in Love with
has straddled her bike and left
she didn't even see me
smile at her
now there's the asian man
stereotype, smoking incessantly
like me
who spends most of his time
daydreaming of some other life
his thousand yard stare sees nothing
and I'm hungry, but I won't eat
the restaurants are all white owned
and nothing is good or cheap
there's garbage everywhere
and no one seems to mind
when my pencil stops moving
terrible writer's fear
I'll never have another thought
worth writing or bought
time to fold up
and maybe scrape that
marines sticker off
the back of my truck

Ryan Kirby Aug 2017


I don't write in jingles
Or rhymes for no reason
Outside of the wrinkles
I'd rather pace this season:

I write this way, esteemed to assuage
A glance at Hurricane Harvey;
Tracking the storm, petulant form, my page
Is where you will find me

In the middle of central Texas
Dear friends in the east, the south, (north the least)
The coast and the Rockport: give yesses;
A minute at least with CNN East

My page will have an ongoing poetry update of Hurricane Harvey as the Gulf whistles through my window right now.
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