N. P. Ryan

Author ~ Poet ~ Music Lover

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A Life of Crime vs. the Free Market (6)
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vs. Poetry (153)
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Drinking in a dingy bar by the sea, crumpled postcard from Her and World’s Biggest Ray Zero for company; then the son of a starts saying I’m cursed. Praise Be to lighting-up another smoke. Inhale, taste a foul brand: the Hex She put on me. Promised Heaven, delivered a dive nightclub Hell. Thank the Lord for liquor loving hot chicks. Though nothing compares to how it’ll feel catching up with Her.

Wanted a quick bit of business and gone. Bath had other ideas. First, battered and left for dead after a hundred heart-breaking truths. Then a Police Chief with a saggy old treasure chest of secrets to keep needs a scapegoat. Dumps me in the middle of corruption so deep it eases through bone to suck greedy at marrow. With every gun pointing my way, Hell, not even He’s gonna get me outta this one.

Recent Posts: N. P. Ryan

White Hills: Mitosis; an interpretation

Mitosis is an album that swings from completely submerging the listener within its own narrative realms to the rhythms synching the mind with any task at hand like an internal soundtrack of one’s own making so seamless it almost isn’t there because it feels like it always is. The ability of Mitosis to detach the […]

In With The Inn Crowd

One thing I never expected to hear at a punk gig: a shout-out for ex-footballer Gary Lineker, and more so one well received. Such is the embarrassment of messes the BBC has made in dealing with Lineker’s Tweet of disgust for insidious government policy and terminology, the player I once jeered from the terraces when […]

Us We Humanity

A verse about us. With thanks to NASA for use of the header image.

Cata Doxa

Written when the snow was but a forecast on the TV . . .

Gobbledegook

An absurdity of words.

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