The Medusa Protocol, Book One, Wish You Were Her, Chapter One:
Her . . . Her . . . Consumed by thoughts of Her – skin, breath, carbon.
“You’ve been got by the ol’ curse,” he said. Continue reading
Author: N. P. Ryan
All Along the Watchtowers
Welcome to a world of anxiety, anger and insecurity; a place where Abandonment Issues rule the day unknown.
Whether a first time visitor or previous—maybe even current—resident, The Medusa Protocol hopes to show as much as relate and commiserate.
Cats in the Cradle
More cat protest poetry. Though it’s futile, they never listen – no matter how many times I read it over and over to them in the hope some of it will get through.
But imagine if it did – what then? What if through the power of poetry I could get them to change some of their more unfavourable habits and going-ons?
I’d be in the highest demand, hailed poet laurecat!
Roasted Lone Wolf
Don’t panic: it’s not yet another gratuitous foodie blog about eating every possible living thing just cos whatever. Though some might wish it was once they see what I’ve got cooking in this week’s big pot of poetry.
To Do List or Not To Do List?
There’s something that really bugs me about To Do lists. Once it was only a mild irritation. Then one day in a meeting the person sitting next to me not only did it, but kept running their pen over the words again and again to the point I’m sure it would’ve been ad infinitum if the meeting hadn’t ended.
Now just the thought of it drives me insane with a pure rage and utter fury, that much like a butterfly coming out of its cocoon, has manifested as the beautiful verse below:
Good Me/Bad Me
Me-me-me. That’s all this is about. No one else. Just me as I take a deep delve into the self for a candid, honest and heartfelt look at both my good and bad sides. Which one had hold of me at the time of writing – you decide!
Murder on the Orient Express
A Reverse Review of the Recent Remake:
Vegan Hand Job
Verse about fixing motorbikes, becoming a vegetarian and liking clean hands.
On the Buses
It’s said buses always come in threes. If you’re stuck waiting for one without anything in sight or are maybe on one and not particularly enjoying the ambience, here’s three poems about them to help pass the time at least.
God Save the Queen
About that time a certain President came to visit.
N. P. Ryan 