Christopher Ryan

Christopher Ryan Poems

Oh, you who herald winter’s tides,
And tell of drafty floors, besides,
For in warm weather you do thrive,
Oh fungus on my foot.
...

In meadows every afternoon,
About the time for tea,
The flowers listen to the tune
Sung by the bumblebee.
...

Oh, surgeon generals always claim
That smoking leads to death,
But people still smoke all the same
And putrefy their breath.
...

I. 'If drunk on wine...'
...

Just chillin’ with our stylish loves,
Us Guys and Jimbos with our maids;
...

Oh space-time, my true love,
I wish you the best:
You must be the rue of
An object at rest.
...

“Lo! ” Vespers whisper as you walk past their gaze,
“Hail, o Venus, she whose beauty shall surpass and amaze! ”
“Lo! ” Venerations pour from the mouths of the kind;
Even the wicked by thy halo veracious are struck wholly blind.
...

Giant rowans, hear my call
And answer, if you will –
You vines that canter up the wall
And crest the windowsill –
...

The Best Poem Of Christopher Ryan

Ode To The Fungus On My Foot

Oh, you who herald winter’s tides,
And tell of drafty floors, besides,
For in warm weather you do thrive,
Oh fungus on my foot.

At winter’s nigh you grow bright red,
For ‘tis the cold you fear and dread
And wish to be back in our shed,
Oh fungus on my foot.

You make my foot itch in a patch
Just so behind your ears I’ll scratch;
My girlfriend leaves when you hatch,
Oh fungus on my foot.

My foot looks like a leper’s gash
Because of you, you stupid rash,
You just grow more when my foot I wash,
Oh fungus on my foot.

You itch so much, you feel like lice,
I’ll make you suffer with some ice:
Next time you see me you’ll think twice,
Oh fungus on my foot.

Last night I slept with my ice pack
And woke up with my foot all black –
Frostbite made my foot a snack,
Oh fungus on my foot.

The frostbite my foot inflamed
Until this morn, when its growth I lamed
When with a tourniquet my foot I maimed,
Oh fungus on my foot.

Now when I walk, it’s with a THUMP,
I have no foot, it’s just a stump,
But I’ll be positive, not a grump,
For gone is the fungus on my foot.

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