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    Arborism
    Arborism
    Arborism
    Ebook119 pages50 minutes

    Arborism

    By M J P Ryan

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    About this ebook

    Over the course of a year M J P Ryan set out to write a new poem each week and to their utter amazement succeeded. This book includes all 52 poems along with accompanying notes on their inspiration, construction or simply their existence.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherM J P Ryan
    Release dateJan 31, 2022
    ISBN9781005449001
    Arborism

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      Book preview

      Arborism - M J P Ryan

      Travellers Together

      At the outset I was, and still am to some degree, sceptical of my ability to complete this project as I had promised, and maintain finding the time to write and post a new poem every week for the whole year. I was however more aware of the need to engage with people in the infinite world of the internet. How far some of my poems have travelled has been enlightening and inspiring. Like any art form, poetry has no meaning without at least two people engaging with it. The creator, my humble self in this instance, and the consumer, you. If no-one reads or hears a poem it has no significance. With that in mind I penned the first of the fifty-two, a free verse, in honour of you, and the journey you have agreed to embark upon with me. From the bottom of my heart, I thank you.

      Travellers Together

      Hello fellow traveller along this path of time

      Thrown together by inevitable circumstance

      If at first I seem cold and unapproachable

      Forgive me, our natures are slow to change

      But as we fall into step I’ll soon brighten up

      A sparkle will bloom in my eyes.

      With a familial lightness in our hearts

      We stroll together, growing closer

      In will and thought until we reach

      The pinnacle of our journey where

      The warmth of our friendship will

      Embrace us as a binding cord.

      Tethered by a common goal

      We move in synchronicity through

      Cornfields and city streets alike

      Watching traffic flow on butterfly wings

      As the sun warms our backs

      And we talk of all we have seen together.

      But as is the will of existence

      All things must cease to exist

      So we will reach the end of our journey

      But as we part with heavy hearts

      Think not of what we are losing in parting

      But only of what we gained since first meeting.

      The Dog’s Frolics

      Too often the dog walk is seen as a chore, a necessary evil in the deal struck with the family’s new best friend when they are invited into a human’s home. For the dog, the walk is the one chance to draw in all the smells and sights and sounds of the world outside of the front door. To acquaint itself with the other animals in the area – catch up on the local pee-mail. The stimulation that single trip outside gives the dog will keep your friend’s mind active and happy for hours. All day the dog lives in the human’s world, by the human’s rules. Walkies is the one chance for the dog to experience life outside of four walls. So for all our best friends I penned this as a form of List poem.

      The Dog’s Frolics

      This is fun time, my time

      Nose close to the ground, listening to the sound

      Of the rumbling trucks and the bumbling schmucks,

      and the birds and the rats and the cats

      the slither of a snail and the swish of my tail

      I can taste the colour of smells

      They chime in my head like bells;

      There’s human of course

      The grass, the nettles and gorse

      The sharp tang of ginger cat

      The golden tinge of scurrying rat

      I hear birds in the branches above

      blackbirds, starlings and a dove

      A hedgehog recently passed by

      Hmmm, half a discarded mince pie

      Crickets are singing out of tune

      But it’s better than your air guitar on a wooden spoon

      I love my walk even more than your talk

      The time between them is ten minutes, or a year

      But I don’t care, memories make time disappear

      So don’t curse when I stop at something sublime

      All day I’m yours, walk time should be mine.

      I Can’t Dance

      I wrote this open style poem in response to the premise that the only way to impress a girl is to learn to dance. For us men for whom the ability to sweep a woman off her feet ala Anton Du-beke or John Travolta is something that happens to other people, there are in truth

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