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The roof tops are terra cotta, more torn than terra, as they flake off the slanted boxes of white wash and metal bars over glass.
Few towers stand above the rest like a family seperated, not together, distant enough not to be close.
The road that twists between and connects, visible, in intersection but hidden under the canvas of trees planted with the purpose of shade, but much less planned where they are, with broken side walks, exposed roots, and lifted cracked tar and cement.
The new old, what we once were is now, for all walk around changed without knowing the past is happening.
Open are the eyes, mouths, lips of lips, as sensuality embraces the future, for we do not know now, only later. Embracing the future of possibilities in the bosom and flesh of the streets, boxes, buildings, and shade.
Comforted by the past plans that serve the purpose without perfection, but by being and being, where building is for tomorrow.
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Wind blowing into winds crossing,
Words flowing into others talking,
Leaves bustling with children rustling,
A rebuke of sorts all receives,
In this moment a thought conceives,
What grand and simple memories,
In calm or chaos,
Are Sanctimonious.
By Ryan Anthony Gibson
*Sorry for not always listening…but it’s hard to think when you are talking.
Along and around but not over,
The warm ocean waves,
Not so deep so as ones feet,
Can touch the ground,
Far enough that ears close,
To fluid filling and removing,
Not quite in ones eyes,
But closed for fear of mist or more,
But relieved for no fear does realize,
For when the eyes open,
One sees only the warm Ocean waves,
That runs along, and around,
But not over.
By Ryan Anthony Gibson, Feb 3rd. 2010 Orange Book of Poems
The worst thought is no thought at all… that’s the hurt. One wishes for the passion but to have that one needs to think, feel, love, embrace, embue oneself with another. What starts with a thought, ends with one, if there is no thought, that is the worst thought of all.
What begins with no thought, ends with no thought.
By Ryan Anthony Gibson
“What starts with a thought ends with one if there is no thought that is the worst thought of all, for if it begins with no thought so shall it end.” Ryan Anthony Gibson
I had passion with you, from the moment I met you,
Tearing your sweater off at the beach or in the car,
Making love where ever we were, whenever we could,
The good one never forgets passion or love,
The feeling of it from the inside out,
The echoes of ecstasy’s shout,
Hours of kissing without a moment of tire,
For such moments I remember and aspire.
By Ryan Anthony Gibson
This is my first book of poems, I hope you enjoy it and a Merry Christmas to all.
Love Ryan Anthony Gibson
Download Here: The Writing Seed By Ryan Athony Gibson
The streets of Venice flooded today
Not by a butterfly’s wings but tears
In the Southern tip of Africa for lost love
Chaos is in a tear not a wing.
By Ryan Anthony Gibson
Fallen In Love By Ryan Anthony Gibson
Why do we say to “fall in love”
It sounds as if I have landed on my head
Trailing headlong off a cliff
Not raising love or flying high above,
But a treble of words that imply
Like a dream or nightmare
You are hurling towards the matter
Of which there may be a chance you
Hit it and wake up… to reality.
But what if I am not fallen
As without love there is no lower place
It has raised me up rather,
I wonder if you are falling towards
Whether it scares you?
As I fly up from my mortal being,
I shall catch you as your attracting force
Propels me closer,
As if to have given me wings,
Of which your body finds me in a free fall,
To catch from a divine place, and
We shall suspended in equilibrium of forces
Caused by similar means
Float in and around the impact
Of it all, still in the air like art,
In one thought and interpretation,
Like a painting by Bougureau,
For us to be in and those to appreciate,
Who see what love is.
By Ryan Anthony Gibson
heart broken,
passed a word as no words passing
but endless one way thoughts.
No matter my hardships,
no more as difficult as the emptiness
left by the void of love
when one could focus on a greater love.
A pilgram who did not interpret the dream correctly,
so I walk with the desire to try to interpret it again…
the dream.
The greater love is from there,
the direction clear,
the little sheppards gate
I must open.
Blowing Kisses
Passion of your lips on mine parched,
Opening an old wound and healing
All at the same time.
Memories of errors, nights, rough,
Dry lips, fists, elbows and feet,
Or the feeling there of when the past
Whips by my cerebral cortex,
Connected to the sensation,
But now all I can think of
Is your lips on mine and racing
Beautiful moonlit eyes,
The air that once dried now
Blows kisses in my direction,
Winds of time and destiny.
By Ryan Anthony Gibson
