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

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.

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.

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

It all started with a little green book
That was read aloud to me
And the title of this book
Was the giving tree

And I loved it so much
That I asked for more
Pete the cat and rainbow fish
Cluttered my playroom floor

And as I grew a little bit older
So did the books that I was read
The wind in the willows and romana age eight
Were read to me in bed

Then there was rascal
and winnie the phoo
And as I grew older still
Spy school was there too

Then the most glorious thing happened
I found my first book!
I could read if I tyred
All I had to do was look

But it took me two weeks
To make even a dent
I had to give it back to library
I ran out of the time I was lent

And mary pope osborns
Blizzard of the blue moon
Was so hard to read
It had me feeling like a loon

and if I couldn’t read
A book about A magic tree house
Then how could I even read
Stuart the mouse

So I gave up reading for myself
And my dad read to me instead
I heard so many stores
Before I went to bed

There was Narnia
And all of its wondrous tales
There was Harry Potter’s magic
Rons Utter fails

And then a day came
Where I picked up a book
And I opened it up
And all it took was a look!

I was reading the book
All by myself
There was no body there
There was no one to help

H.G. wells was my favorite
There was no dout in my mind
That it was the way that the book was
It was its own special kind

But I soon came to find
That the time machine was not the only one
I read rascal with eas
It was all said and done

Then I wanted more
And more came for me
I could read by myself!
I could do what I please!

Then I read more spy school
And Then Percy Jackson too
I went through that phays
And I know you did too

Then I read this book
It only took me four days!
The fourth book of percy jackson
Was done in a haze!

And then there was Cinder
That I finished in three
That book series will always be
Special to me

And then the book
That left me in a daze
488 pages
In three fateful days

The school for good and evil
Put me on a spree
I was reading books faster
Than I could possibly be

I ran out of room on my shelf
I ran out of room on the floor
But still as I read
I was left craving more!

Let the sky fall in three
And Sunkissed in two
The selection in three
There was nothing I couldn’t do!

I cried over One degree of freedom
And wicked king left me aghast
I even read in the night
My bedtime long past

It so happened when
I was looking at my shelf one day
When I heard a little Fwomp
And too my dismay

The books around me came
Crashing down
One by one
They all hit the ground

And as I stood there in anger
Wishing that I could die
Something on the floor
Caught my eye

And as I took a better look
My eyes opened with glee
It was the little green book
That was read to me at age three

And then I realize
As I look at that book
That what it gave too me
Wasn't necessarily what I took

This little green book
Gave me who I am now
That is all I have to say
That is my final bow