He cast off his clothes
and his soul he laid bare
as he knelt with his nose
to the floor in prayer
then someone mistook
his crack for a rack
and parked the front wheel
of their bicycle there...

rich begat rich
forget the rest
societal nepotism
reserved for the best
bias uncrossed
infinite regress
poor plied
into poor piles
segregated
made less

Give me some adderal
Would it be worth it?
For once to pay attention
To start observing
When you never gave a dime to me
Ignoring
The shrine I built in the likeness of you
Unnoticed glory
I built it with glass and held it together with glue
Your amazing on the outside
But you're so transparent
As soon someone throws a stone
You lose your whole foundation
Won't let someone too close
Afraid the ground will start shaking
When you tremble; and knees get weak
I look at you, and I see a piece of me
Walking away

Cars
Bikes
Buses
Vans
Most other road legal vehicles...

get it?

Damage or repair,
so often tyred of life.
It's constant wear and tear,
going round in circles of fear.
But that's life for us all, so **** wheel.

Now I beat my brow, and how.
She wrote this on her arm in the poetry workshop.
Poetry? That will never amount to apple crumble- a mumble, from a passer by.
Whose eye twinkled. Answer me. Whose eye twinkled?
It spake of the forlorn and well worn wristbands from picnics with wistful bands.
Coherent thoughts in liquorice all sorts
Amount
In the end
To noughts.
And crosses
on hot buns in the local bakery.
That one's spelt bread, b-r-e-a-d.
A whole army fed,
On the pep of a rally to charms,
Sound the warning alarms.
******* alert.
On the winding country roads,
Squishing toads
***** nilly.

What's that?
Too tired to think?
Two-tyred, so blink
“And you're there in a jiffy”
Said the giraffe,
For the laugh.

There are children there
And also, every which and where,
Boy do they stare
Unaware,
Without the slightest inkling of the remorse
That we learn to impinge in our gaze
An apology for existence,
“Just coincidence”

I’m feeling old, I’m feeling sick and tired
I hate these people and I hate this town
My car has broken down yet newly tyred
I think I’m gonna burn this mother down
I’m gonna dress up and dry all bars out
I’m gonna win the Tori Spelling Bee
I’ll be like “Britney *****”, I’m in Blackout
I’m gonna open my heart with a key
I’m gonna share my love and share my body
You ain’t no ******* ‘till someone paid you
I’ll be the Mary, Jesus, I embody
I am the Burning Paris: *****, I made you
I am not shady, I am simply fierce
Tonight I’m hungry, hairy, hot, and *****
Tonight I’m gonna drink blood, sweat, and tears
For all the ***** and **** with their crowns thorny

Once the dust has settled, and the last few have been picked off.
The people that have lasted this long have no hope.
A light shines down on their tyred faces.
It is Jesus and his angels.
he goes to them and talks to the people.
but little did they know this was not Jesus, this was evil.
as the outer skin of the holy being starts to melt away, away from the red bones and burnt flesh of the underlying shell.
it is Satan our lord our savour. they try to run and hide from the powerful beast that is laughing inside.

Do we ever get over,
Our dreams.

Is life as discombobulated
As it seems.

Each day I'm up early,
My hair wet and curly,
The matrix, the mantra,the memes.

If one is a foreigner, we are Piston’s,
but the village Cranks are never Shafted.

To be exhausted by omission is to be
expected, we are, beside The Points .

Bright Sparks are rarely found in these
positions, only bureaucrats, function 'ere.

Not in The Hub of things, is refusing to
wear the Dust Caps, then, you are Estrange!

When a Head Gasket blows, chances are,
it will be by a Francais, mais pas grave.

A meeting of minds to discuss a local
SDF (neer do well) Bohemian, A Gitane.

Mr. Ron has an idea to help the Peu Jo but
Le Mayor said, Sit Ron, to the Do Ron Ron!

The timing is not right, can tell by the idling,
so, the Do Ron Ron's concept is filtered.

To be Re-Tyred en France is not a Re-Mould,
it is a birthright, (issued with a spare) for time.

Dynamic people are replaced by Alternators
therefore, what is current, is usually oscillating!



Ryan O'Leary.
Poet Author Playwright Humanist Vegetarian.
Currently living in Lacoste France. © 1st/July/2018