"ryder" poems
He was born in 1924
And at 17 went to war.
Parachuted over Sicily,
Wounded, sent home to live in civility.
One day he met a Ryder,
Tall and elegant and regal.
Married her and made a home,
Though the front lawn lacked a gnome.
He died before I could really know him.
But what I remember is this:
His heart was good and full of love,
Tender, strong and not at all rough.
He pulled quarters from my ears
Whenever I saw him.
He and Shadow walked the beach
For miles before a swim.
He smoked cigars and drank beer
While playing cribbage.
And he was my favorite person
When I was four years old.
May 31, 2014
May 31, 2014 at 3:46 PM UTC
He looked at her like she was the most beautiful thing in the world,
not like a piece of meat that is waiting to be devoured
more like he needed her like plants need sunlight
it almost seemed like she is oxygen and he needed her to be there and fill his lungs every time he took a breath
with every glance you could see the love in his eyes and the smile that played at his lips like he wanted to love her until the end of his life
and to be without her would be the end of his life
The way he looked at her said "I will never leave you"
like every moment with her could have been his last, and every moment without her was utter torture
She looked at him like he was the blood in her veins and every time she met his eyes it was the first time
like her love was unfathomable and without it she would not go on
She looked at him like she saw every moment they ever had together in the curve of his jawbone, every kiss they ever shared in the color of his lips, like all of the love in the world was resting on his brow
The prelude of their kiss, where their foreheads rested against each other and their noses touched seemed to be endless and peaceful as though nothing else existed
The moment they kissed looked like it lasted forever in their eyes, but felt so fleeting
like it kept them grounded and without it they would be 10 ft off the ground
"When I met Johnny, I was pure ****** He changed that. He was my first everything. My first real kiss. My first real boyfriend. My first fiancé. My first guy I had *** with. So he'll always be in my heart. Forever. Kind of funny that word." Winona Ryder
She sounded so nostalgic and soft, he meant the world to her
As though the world would be off centered without him
"I'd die for her. I love her so much. I don't know what I would do without her. She is going through a lot right now. I wish I could just kiss away the pain, make it go away, stop it, **** it! If she, you know, I don't know what I would do. I'd **** myself. I love that girl. I love her. I love her almost more than I love myself." Johnny Depp
He seemed so passionate, like without him he both couldn't and wouldn't want to go on
Like the world wouldn't stop, it would just cease to exist
"Believe me, this Winona Forever tattoo is not something I took lightly... Her eyes **** me."
I believe they did **** him, that just the thought of her cut him like glass
that every moment he spent with her made him love her so much it hurts
I want a love like Johnny and Winona
a love so strong that it'll leave me thinking about every kiss, every accidental brush of their arm against mine, every second since their eyes met mine. I want a love like music, a love that makes me feel like with it the world will slow to one beat per measure.
A love that feels like the ocean, they are the shore, and I am the seashells that get swept up in it
A love that is completely undeniable on every account
A love like Johnny and Winona
Mar 2, 2015
Mar 2, 2015 at 3:31 AM UTC
The year I would turn nine
Charlie Kelly threw his pint over Paul Brennan
in the opening scenes of a new Irish drama
called Fair City. The 25th Dáil was dissolved.
Ireland got its 1st lotto millionaire.
There was talk of mining for gold in Mayo
and Christy O’Connor Jnr
won the Ryder Cup for Europe.
(Years later playing Trivial Pursuit
one of the questions wanted to know:
what profession gets the Ryder Cup? —
a cousin from Carlow answered; prostitutes.)
I was growing through 3rd class
St. Brendan’s National School; Loughrea —
on the other side of Tiananmen Square
another student stood up
as the Guildford Four walked free
after 14 years innocently incarcerated.
While in Germany, a wall
that had been built to divide: separate, fell.
Pushed over by people. While Hungry, Poland
and Czechoslovakia: all said: enough.
The Russians left Afghanistan and in South Africa
Apartheid began to crumble. Pity
it was allowed to even begin.
Iran was ****** off about some book
and on Christmas Day in Romania
Mr and Mrs Ceausescu were executed.
In 1989, the Church of Ireland allowed female priests.
96 people died at Hillsborough.
Haughey was Taoiseach,
Mr. Heaney was conferred
as Professor of Poetry at Oxford
and we qualified for Italia 90.
I was 9 and the only thing I remember
about that year; I fell out of a tree
and broke my arm.
Nov 7, 2010
Nov 7, 2010 at 11:53 AM UTC
My antidepressants don't work
the way I want them to.
I tried to imagine watching each film
with anyone but you.
Your flickering eyes,
they project the world.
Hidden reels
inside your soul.
There's too many people
inside your bones.
You don't have to be
in your theatre alone.
I forgot how to sleep
under the same ceiling.
I watch movies in the dark
to remember the feeling
that made me confide in her.
My eighties film.
My Winona Ryder.
There's too many people
inside your bones.
You don't have to
be in your theatre alone.
Five after dawn
and your movie's still on.
Christian, **** the popular kids,
because they don't understand
how her brain works,
how her glances steal,
how each death
can't make her feel.
Your flickering eyes,
they project the world.
I watch movies in the dark
to remember the feeling
that made me confide in you.
My eighties film.
My Winona Ryder,
let me forget you.
Maybe you're crazy
with your cleaner.
Maybe each swing of the mallet
made you meaner.
Maybe reality bites because of Heather.
Maybe it scared you that we were in love, together.
Maybe it scared you to stay together.
Maybe it scared you to stay together.
Oct 23, 2014
Oct 23, 2014 at 1:23 AM UTC
Pencils
And papers
And fancy erasers
Rubberbands
And soda cans
And ratty old pairs of Vans
This and that
Or 'maybe' something
Equaling all sorts of nothing
And then I met Winona Ryder...
Jan 25, 2020
Jan 25, 2020 at 7:08 PM UTC
You'd think Blake, Bosch
& Emanuel Swedenborg
read Pythagoras in the original
& walked with Christ & Newton;
E. A. Poe, the Horror-Poet;
influencing the Decadence of
Baudelaire, Wilde & Rimbaud;
Pinkham Ryder's influence on
Symbolism & Surrealism led,
oddly, to 20th century pop culture
depictions of Victorian monsters;
Frankenstein was the product
of the English Romantics;
German Romanticism to Sturm
& Drang led to Expressionism.
Beardsley [dead at 25], Gustave
Moreau, Van Gogh, Gauguin,
Egon Schiele [dead at 28]; ||| - -|
Klimt, Freud, Jung: Judaism;
Id, Superego, Ego, Shadow,
Anima & Animus, collective
psyche, Nietzsche's Superman,
eternal recurrence & will to
power; Wagner's Ring Cycle...
Jan 18, 2019
Jan 18, 2019 at 1:56 PM UTC
The bullet rumbled to a stop,
Its black - clad rider at the top.
Dark glasses, leather jacket, youthful spring,
Majestic with the helmet swing.
The world round him, seemed to slow,
A playful glow, his eyes did show.
Entranced by the lady across the street,
Falling for her, advances he on quick feet.
The gorgeous girl but glanced around,
The knight in shining armour, did abound.
Returned rejected to his steady stallion,
Defeated in, the great battalion.
Her high heels, clicked in beat,
As the faint rumbling, reduced the heat.
If the prince, should ever find,
A scrawled number, in his pocket hind.
Would not we all, love to know,
What did follow !!!
Apr 25, 2018
Apr 25, 2018 at 2:50 AM UTC
will I keep my secrets?
shave my legs on the shower floor
imagine how things can be
cool **** by chastity belt playing on my apple tv
check back soon, check in with me
a vegan soup diet
black coffee
diet coke from the bottle
one potato cake
and savoys: an australian classic
poems, poems, poems
words that rhyme
off rhymes — no rhymes
forced a non sequitur
confess, confess
confide and abort
remake dating app profiles over and over
pictures of me: two years old
women - women - women - women
a cup *******
not even a cup *******
***** mirror — bathroom sink
want a cortado? — past memories
mediterranean wholesalers — sydney road
buying glassware in south melbourne
i dream of mozzarella
dairy — unethical
and oysters — the cruelty
be cruel to me, be my bully
kiss me on the lips softly
your tongue in my mouth
you taste like campari
my americano
negroni lesbians
discuss films
you'll mention jim jarmusch
coffee and cigarettes
winona ryder — taxi cab
in los angeles
and i was once an actress
consider me retired
break down the barriers
scream inside yourself
let everyone in until you can't take it
be left alone
Feb 9, 2020
Feb 9, 2020 at 2:04 PM UTC
Burn In Reality
Welcome to the promise land,
enter people and take my hand.
Nobody helps, nobody cares,
friends are just like musical chairs.
It's a selfish and cruel world,
at a young age, you see it's unfurled.
No one seems to have enough money,
the government laughs, they think it's funny.
The ones you love, stay very close,
in glass houses, always wear clothes.
Shooters and drugs on every corner,
don't wanna be a victim or a mourner.
In this world, it's a dog eat dog,
going blind from all the dense fog.
All you can do is try your best,
don't let yourself get obsessed.
We all done some bad things in our life,
people are always stabbing you with a knife.
Play with fire, and you soon will burn,
what others do, is not your concern.
Look in your soul, what do you see,
is this how, you want to be.
You can decide your own fate,
choose it soon, before too late.
Always work and never play,
reality ***** is what I always say.
Hear no evil, seek no evil,
maybe it's time for a reality retrieval.
Is life fact or is it fiction,
let's bring back the crucifixion.
Reality bites, just ask Winona Ryder,
for your kids be a good provider.
Reality shows are just a joke,
after fifteen minutes, they too are broke.
The older you are, the worse it gets,
everyday you're hit with a defensive blitz.
We are all burning in Reality,
Hell will be just a simple formality.
Jan 2, 2014
Jan 2, 2014 at 12:46 PM UTC
What is our reality?
Bulging waistlines and burger joints?
Sweatshops and religious fights?
Our poisoned food system and corporate profits?
Our jailrate is as high as Mao and Stalin.
These revolving doors and corruptions cannot blind us anymore.
We, the people, deserve to know.
People who hate, depreciate.
The fact is, who can we trust?
Certainly not our bankers,
but what about the Chief Executive Officers,
full of evil and greed?
What about Rana Plaza and Tazreen?
Burning bodies to ash.
And they can get away with
burning bodies?
There was the Holocaust
and then...
there was now.
Mar 14, 2014
Mar 14, 2014 at 11:04 PM UTC
if i put my hand above my cat
she reaches her head out
to have me cup it
i am the same with you
i compensate for the distance you don't feel like going
or maybe you just know that i'll always reach for it
so you don't bother...
it's alright.
i know, too
Dec 7, 2013
Dec 7, 2013 at 3:08 AM UTC
*Celebrity car crash,
Diana's obliterated,
so sad so sad, and the world goes round
Twenty-one years later, and it's no accident
The Ryder had killed them poor *******
But we'll get the ********** we'll get the **********
The sidewalk ain't safe, the playground ain't safe, the schools ain't safe, but hey, my home is safe for now
I'll eat spaghetti out of a can if I have to,
I'll **** in the bucket if I have to,
Just to keep my poor *** safe from the loonies
Marked safe, I'm listening to static all of the time
Living under the rock is cool and calm
Until the jackhammer penetrates my skull
You're safe, you're not safe,
and the world goes round*
Apr 23, 2018
Apr 23, 2018 at 6:36 PM UTC
Your hands were crisp with the cold chill of autumn;
The spherical time bomb had transitioned into winter,
And your hands had crumbled into nothingness-
Only remnants of frozen ash had remained in the palm of my hand.
I saw far more in those ashes than most though.
I saw *** and lust and passion and want for hands to be against skin and skin to be against hands.
I saw the ashes as lust-full summers;
pure ****** and rose cigarettes.
Every time a cold wisp of winter air brushed against my scarred and pink knuckles,
I was reminded of the loneliness your hand had once provided me with,
And the way it simply gave up into mine, never to return again.
Goodbye said your hand,
And my hand soaked in all of your absolute nothingness,
Leaving me as absolute nothingness too.
Your hands were tight and hot and sweaty with the blinding scent of summer;
Pollin living within the beds of my moist eyelids
and cheek bones swollen with exhaustive heat.
The creases of my hands relishing in vitamin D;
Vitamin D relishing in my human skin-- am I normal yet?
Next to mine, your hand soaked it all in,
I soaked in the yellow, the yellow soaked in me, and you soaked in us both.
You drank our souls through a purple straw and puked us out onto a hotel bathroom floor--
Is this what summer's like?
It hurt how tightly you held onto me and how I was stitched into your lung, into your stomach.
My only escape being a bathroom floor,
And I was just hot.
Throbbing eyelids, throbbing cheek bones, throbbing hands--
I swore my hand would collapse into yours eventually. But it didn't,
Ironic isn't it.
Your hand was warm and soft with the feeling of compassion.
Your hand upon my neck and entangled amongst my falling hair,
It was sympathetic with the feel of a skinny stomach.
Where had mine gone?
Where did my skin go?
You held me and against the frail bones of my decaying skeleton
Suddenly I was feeling some sort of togetherness again.
The way Depp and Ryder had reminded so many of passionate love,
full of furiously mad happiness,
I was now seeing that.
A crumbling hand had now manifested from the fury,
into some sort of crave for my touch for my soul for my love.
I could feel my stomach again
My skin was forming over the once decaying bones
And there I was in your hands.
Memories of autumn and crumbling finger tips and skin and tissue and bones were now vanished.
Memories of summer and sweaty and obstructive hands were now nearly ambiguous to my past.
It didn't make a difference,
Because in that moment your hands were warm and soft and showing me what it was like to be a living, breathing carcass again.
You were now Johnny and I was now Winona,
And this love hate relationship was being felt in my bones, in my skin, in my palms,
And I knew--
You would always be my autumn
You would always be my winter
You would always be my summer
You would always be the forever on.
Jun 23, 2014
Jun 23, 2014 at 8:52 AM UTC
Hey Santa, I know I'm a little old
But I wanted to write this letter out before it gets too cold
I'm 19 now and my requests have changed
I went from wanting a Red Ryder BB gun, to a batman action figure, to wanting something to sooth my inner rage
But now Mr. Claus, written down on this page
Is what I want this year, no tears if you can't deliver it I'll be okay
I want to have vigor and purpose
Among the people of the world outside of these written verses
I want to have a lust for life that cannot be sated
The kind of burning passion for life that no one cares how it was created
Basically, Santa on Christmas morn
I want to be a kid again, hopefully that won't get stuck in comets horns
Dec 19, 2015
Dec 19, 2015 at 9:35 PM UTC
At the start of summer I was introduced to you
It was pure serendipity
I said,
*"Hi I'm Ryder, age twenty-two"
*On our first date I noticed your eyes
An emerald green
They had me memorized
On our second date I noticed your smile
The stars in your eyes
Your quirky style
On our third date I noticed the freckles on your skin
Your succulent lips
That dead **** grin
On our fourth date I noticed the coolness of your kiss
And the flutter in my heart
After our goodnight kiss
On our fifth date you told me that you loved me
Took me on a picnic
Carved our names into trees
*(R+D)
"Baby I love you, don't you feel it too?
this electricity that's between us
I want to be with you"*
1 year later on our last date you barely looked at me
"Honey, I cheated," you said
"Please forgive me"
R.r
Jul 6, 2014
Jul 6, 2014 at 3:32 PM UTC
"This is a collect call from: 'Darlene Ryder', at the Nielsen County Sheriff's Department, press '2' to accept charges and be connected."
beep
"hello? Bill?...you there?"
**** Darlene, how many times we gotta fuckin' do this?!", he threw his voice at her through the phone like a fastball wrapped in firecrackers.
"I dint do nuthin' wrong! they jus got sumpn' against me s'all!"
"uh huh, the **** d'you do, huh?
"the ***** had it comin', I was jus tryin' to have a few 'n relax then she come 'n talk 'bout how I was lookn' atter funny but I watn't- I was jus mindin' my own talkin' to Charlie. So all's I need from you is to get yer lazy, belly-picken', beer-guzzlin' hole fer a face down here and unpinch this fuckin' mess!" and hung up the receiver on her end of prison.
The guards shoot each other a look then raise their eyebrows. They'll be recounting this over beers tonight beneath the monstrous glow of 47 90" TVs in between attempts at the waitress young enough to be their daughter. They'll shovel in the wings of a total of 18 birds drowned in hot sauce and butter before the sports bar stops feeding them. Then they'll all drive home drunk with hot breath and testosterone like molasses, ending their nightly routine with their ***** in their hands and their pants around their ankles drooling at tiny glowing screens.
Long live the American gods of New Olympus.
Apr 3, 2020
Apr 3, 2020 at 11:04 AM UTC
I don't know if anybody told you
that you look like young Winona Ryder,
or that the skin around your eyelids
looks so perfect when you smile, but
You're a devil
And you move just like you like
And no one can tell you anything
When you bite your lip that nice
Aug 7, 2016
Aug 7, 2016 at 1:56 AM UTC
I tried to write a poem today
But I wrote nothing
Because I feel nothing
Nothing's on my mind
Winona Ryder looks so young
Driving a cab smoking a cigarette
I don't watch movies with plots anymore
Coffee and Cigarettes and Slacker
All random episodes
Hundreds of people I'll forget by the morning
But it isn't like I'll remember if I met them
Or that they'll remember me
We're all stuck in this night on earth
And as the train drove past I rolled down my windows to listen
I was driving the opposite direction
And maybe there's a poem in that
Maybe I'm delusional at this point
And out this newly open window I sing
Of "all my cocktails be Molotov"
But I don't mean it
I don't mean what I say anymore
Maybe things were beautiful then
Maybe they should be now
Maybe they really are and I can't see it
But what prescription makes the people smile back?
My life is a series of random events
No plot no explanation no chaser
Knee **** reactions to every 24 hours and tomorrow I'm a new character somewhere else
I finally wrote a poem today
But it wasn't any good
But I don't feel bad about it
Because I feel nothing
And nothing's on my mind
Jan 20, 2017
Jan 20, 2017 at 11:35 PM UTC
#
This side of paradise
located just across the threshold
of those delicate clothes
underneath that soft pink skin
stretched over those lovely bones
Rosalind, how those eyes hold
the constellations of my love
hold me close, dear
and let go our fears
of class
of money
let us not go hungry
eat the plate that feeds
The other side is looking greener
like the color of money,
a serpent hissed in your ear
what a fitting surname
Ryder, on the coattails
it's not love, its security
for your family
Thank God for prohibition
paradise was starting to look hazy
#
Sep 5, 2018
Sep 5, 2018 at 10:06 AM UTC
dead trees like cotton against the clouds
Apr 21, 2015
Apr 21, 2015 at 10:25 PM UTC