Patrick Rylands Poems

Nothing might contain the night of life,
The fire of her wild soulscape
And the moors.
Wherein time is a thing to be lost or spent.
...

“I’m writing to say.”
“I decided to write.”

I found beginning the difficult thing. (Remember not to commentate.)
...

For all those who confuse reality with fantasy – a warning
The following television disaster was not contrived in Hollywood
And although we will be showing you ‘dramatic’ footage, do not be taken in.
The tear-stained faces of beautiful children were not directed, the screams are real
...

My unvoiced love is heaven-high
I lie atop and wonder why
I never ran in the snow to tell you the news
(I signed away the insignificant dues)
...

As we walked in the fire
As we talked of desires
You lifted me to drink from the cup of life
I pulled you after me, a tandem of love
...

Sent back my health - said I didn’t need it
Returned my heart, my soul, my self
“You know, I think I’m better on my own”
...

I gave her the feed and she smiled politely
That slick-lipped, lip-sticked show of perfectly white teeth.
I recoiled, immune, so used to this artifice.
Sipped my unwanted drink and glanced at the time
...

Here I am as usual, seeking out poems about madness
An alternative to gardening my way to an imaginary escape.
Once I walked on the lawns, peering into the empty faces.
In lost afternoons I mapped the route from sluice to orange juice.
...