Jason My Son My Only Son

Jason my son my only son
Bought a gun as loud as thunder.
Jason my son my only son
Shot himself, now he's six feet under.

poem by A.J. Ryan
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Darts

The bitter cold wind crawls like
A creepy insect,
Under my clothes to a bare skin.
The thick woollen jacket is zipped
Up to the chin,
I'm not differed from a black sheep.
The clumsy gloves are on.
All the lights is bright and the
Door is half-open.
I inhale the strong, invisible
Deadly fumes from the painted wood,
Won't do my lungs any good.
Yes it's pretty awkward
And there's homework in need of doing,
But right now
I want to be with my dad
In his shed
Throwing darts.

poem by A.J. Ryan
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Howlin' Mad Wind

The game's over.
The wind madly howled,
I cursed and growled,
And buried my sweaty head in a towel.

The wind had a distracting noise like a snare drum
Hit by fast hand. Its bitterness made me numb.
Manager said 'Wind killed us against the scum.'

We'd spit, and it would shoot like missiles mid-air,
Fly around everywhere.
Spit into the wind? You shouldn't dare.

We'd kick a ball straight, and it would curl and spin.
From when the match did begin,
We were beaten, by the howlin' mad wind.

poem by A.J. Ryan
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Gates Of Paradise

I'm in school staring out the window,
The school gates open, almost telling me
With words to just go, walk out,
Be as free as speech.

Cars cruise along,
Engines quiet and hoarse,
Drivers sunk into soft leather seats
Having a nice day.
I wish that was me right now.

Then partners stroll along,
Hands clasped tight,
May be walking in no real direction but
Having a nice day.
I wish that was me right now.

I'm halfway through the day,
But it has only begun.
If time was a plane, it would be in a hangar,

[...] Read more

poem by A.J. Ryan
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