Poetry on the subject of value, age and perception.
With thanks to Jude K. S. for use of the header image; and likewise to Heather Green for the backing image used on Instagram (licensing).
People laughed
Because the pages
Were yellow with age
What you want to keep
That pad for?
They’d always say
Never realising
That what the paper
Carried in the curvy
Writing of a hand
Would be lost forever
So couldn’t be just
Thrown away
Even the idea
Terminology used
To describe casting aside
Was so beneath that
Contained inside
Thanks for reading 🙂
N. P. Ryan
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The ongoing delve into mental health via the medium of fruit-infused poetry. 
i DECiDE retains the Spanish/Persian flavour, cyberpunk feel of previous empress piru releases, while also taking on a more urgent, in-the-present, grittier edge.
A recent and unexpected run-in with a deadly infection lead to writing this in the days just after being discharged from hospital when everything still felt an absolute mess. The phenomena written about below—‘the flavour’—is a consequence of too much bacteria being in the stomach. No one at the hospital told me to expect it and likewise can be said for the known impact of the virus in question to a person’s state of mind. Combined with the previous week of surgeons looking at me doubtfully . . . The good news is it does eventually go, but for a while felt here to stay. 
Poetry on the subject of deceivers.
A tale of the worst type of betrayal. 
No Time Like The Present opens with upbeat foot-tapper ‘The Hat’; a story of gigging here, there and everywhere told in a cheeky Ian Drury-esque vein; smiling through not simply the trials of life but more so the death sentence of using Ryanair and then laughing riotously about it all with new best friends for life who’ll only be so for the night of a show. Not only lyrically, the vibe is caught in the music too; a feel of looking out of a car window at a never before seen fields, tired and thinking of the previous night while heading down a new stretch of motorway equally energized about the potentially likewise one to come.
If bands were alcoholic beverages My Silent Wake’s latest outing Lost in Memories, Lost in Grief would be a fine vintage of red: subtle, yet full bodied with a woody/smoky aftertaste, the grapes having been specifically picked from a glorious vineyard somewhere in the Tuscany region.
Written to help create the mindset of a fictional character.