N. P. Ryan

Author ~ Poet ~ Music Lover

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From Flags to Fags and Buck-a-Beer: the Biggest Differences Between the UK & Canada Part III

October 13, 2021 / N. P. Ryan / Leave a comment

Flags and why the British one so often drives me nuts.

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From Flags to Fags and Buck-a-Beer: the Biggest Differences Between the UK & Canada Part II

October 13, 2021 / N. P. Ryan / Leave a comment

Part II: BEER!

(in which many misconceptions from both sides of the pond will be utterly destroyed!): Continue reading →

Google Chrome: a Security Warning

April 3, 2020 / N. P. Ryan / Leave a comment

Here’s a little something you might like to know about Google Chrome. Continue reading →

UK/Canada Differences: 11 – 20

February 9, 2020September 15, 2020 / N. P. Ryan / Leave a comment

Hello! Following on from 1 – 10 welcome to the next scintillating batch of the biggest differences between the UK and Canada. Continue reading →

Don Wars: The Cherry Strikes Out!

November 19, 2019September 15, 2020 / N. P. Ryan / Leave a comment

There’s a civil war taking place in Canada.

Divided into two warring factions, never have Canadians been so irate and aggressive towards Continue reading →

Differences Between the U.K. & Canada: The Definitive List 1 – 10

October 27, 2019September 15, 2020 / N. P. Ryan / Leave a comment

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From Flags to Fags and Buck-a-Beer: the Biggest Differences Between the UK & Canada

September 22, 2019September 23, 2021 / N. P. Ryan / Leave a comment

Part I:

(in which is included a FREE inspiring message of encouragement to anyone trying to knock tobacco on the head)

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Perfect

January 27, 2019September 15, 2020 / N. P. Ryan / Leave a comment

To some degree everything is the result of anxiety; perfection isn’t so much sought, but fraught after:

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Vegan Hand Job

September 22, 2018August 18, 2019 / N. P. Ryan / 2 Comments

Verse about fixing motorbikes, becoming a vegetarian and liking clean hands.

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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

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

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

Us We Humanity

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

Cata Doxa

Cata Doxa

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

Gobbledegook

Gobbledegook

An absurdity of words.

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