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Friday, October 28, 2022

a poem- part 3 of the early birthday present

dedicated to Taylor Swift, a birthday poem

a birthday on december thirteenth

there is a december carriage that leads
down a snow-covered path at lingering speed
and rises above the mountains beneath
it's the perfect time of year, december thirteenth.
Christmas is on the way, the air is thrumming
a melodious tune about Miss Queen Stunning
and the moon is a mistletoe we refresh to
and the night is new year, we do this new romance forever

by Ryan Ventriloquist 

a song and a sesh- part 2 of the early birthday present

Here are two more recordings for Taylor Alison Swift's early birthday present.

the catch by Ryan Ventriloquist

rock 'n roll sesh part 1 by Ryan Ventriloquist

2 songs- part 1 of the early birthday present

Here is an early birthday gift for Miss Taylor Alison Swift. Two songs to describe the thrill of the moment:

Friday Night by Ryan Ventriloquist

Taylor's Birthday Song by Ryan Ventriloquist

Thursday, October 20, 2022

2 poems

the river

she is awesome and my honey,
she is sweet and stunning,
she is wonderful and amazing,
i am so grateful for her living.

her life, how great?
how truly great?

her love, how fabulous?
how truly magnificent?

on a willow log the squirrel runs
making new friends with the moss
that mesmerises the lowly worm
in spiral shapes, and brings the
bluebird rest in grace.
the leafs in arresting verdant streams
are wondrous and marvellous,
the elk lay down on them,
and the foxes that drift by at noon
pause at the sight of them.
it stretches to the bubbling river
that opens up in the fog of the morning
and gives a water spawning for miles
at the mystery of springs in mountain twilight,
the sun, melting snow, it rises above calling
goose. and one day i started calling it too,
she was not too far from me,
in my arms it seemed,
in my breath wherever i go,
throughout my life, this much i know,
i go to the river at dawn,
and i see how much God has done.

the daydreamer's gaze

another cloudy, chilly day
tells the story of the daydreamer's gaze,
solitary and wild, still and contemplative,
bringing in a boat full of rainbow fish
just in case the day turns colder
and the town gets some rain,
taxicabs drifting through the horizon,
on their way to a new place and time,
where what is home is silk and wire,
and moose hides and antennas,
going off to some other moon
we keep trying to get to,
some other gravity's ways
and the hope of a better day—
going the wrong way.
running in the window of sparks,
meeting her at the mall,
the rendezvous right at noon,
a bagged lunch of a child,
the hope of a stargazing style,
the air of the open hills and fields,
breathing in crisp oxygen and tilling,
home for the bounty of the reaper,
in the summer sound and atmosphere,
grass and jasper dish sets,
for a turkey basil sandwich,
and new haystack.

poems by Ryan Ventriloquist

Tuesday, October 4, 2022

2 poems

all is all right

in the sun,
i'm with the beautiful one.
she is high caliber in her
faded blue jeans waist high,
white tank top, sparkling blue eyes.
we are wide-awake
on the rooftop
with a medley of sparrows
fluttering in midair
around her hair,
a bird halo,
spinning right there,
arms around each other,
feeling so high,
thinking, 'is this a still life wonder?
i could just dwell in this and always be
on top of it, feeling
just right' it's just right,
so perfect,
nothing can define it,
it's love and bliss,
with overpowering gratitude
for our Lord and Savior,'
fog drifts in from the East
there's nothing else we could ever need,
we see miles through the translucent air
and the view is just right,
in good time,
in right angles and cylindrical triangles,
in a fresh breeze and look down Main St.
there is a marching band parading
to the sound of patiently waiting
and there are eager people clapping
at the crash cymbal on cue,
sent down from the moon,
she is in a purple aura
of peaceful color
and pale sky blue umbrellas,
making up for others' lost time,
with indigo quail falling from
up on high, delicious prizes,
and the presentation,
stately, illustrious,
in this town,
in this city,
in this nation,
in a federation of nations,
all is all right
all of the time.

we are on our way

i'm on a tightrope today,
here today, here tomorrow,
our home crafted with a throne.

a dreamweaver wove my dream
last night, just right,
and her dreamcatcher caught it.
and here we are
wind chimes cooing out
a blissful melody, her noise,
our fresh air,
the moment she said it twice,
it flew through the air,
and it felt just right-
from all of our mutual understandings,
the dim-lit vapor is enough,
tapping on the radio,
her tap dancing shoes are in the
groove, of a siamese cat
from the harlem renaissance
lettin' it go.

and she and i
know the order
of the approach
we let out in
pure motion
of dignified,
brilliant type.

slow motion of the hands over the grapes,
and we are doing just right,
and the crust didn't rise today,
but we are feeling just fine,
we made it this far away,
we're on desert time,
and we're doing what we did yesterday,

worshipping in calm peace.
our Redeemer sent blessings our way,

and we have them today
with no need to worry about anything,
a fertile crescent is not too far away,

we're led there, and
the leading is in tune,
we commemorate the ruins
of century old civilizations
that were grateful passer-bys
directed our way,
passing through where the going is well,
and heading across the land to the well,
to drink some good, refreshing water
a day or two
the time right in tune
the right thing to do
once two by two
forming goodness out of
all things
so we sing
and we sing,

this civilization will not fade away,
it's spreading its wings,
it's on its way,
alive and well,
in embryonic shape,

and we're doing okay what's doing okay
and we're not here to change

and we lift up in praise
and worship
the name above all names.

poems by Ryan Ventriloquist

4 poems about Greece

the way for me

the open air
is in millions of light years
of the timeless serenade
for the passerbys in rethymno
on the form of pattern
in the window light of yesterday,
forgotten today,
home for tomorrow.

the way to the island of infinite life

in the fresh air of Mother Earth,
i am in a barren desert,
cliffs hanging over me on each side,
with just a backpack and a ukulele.
the clouds have parted,
rain will not come.
i have been out all day.
there is a town up ahead
with a seashore
where i’ll get some rest.
the entire way i am in some peace
with the thought of my lover
in my heart, mind, and soul.
she is somewhere far away.
i might not be with her ever.
i could sit on a boulder
and play her to the atmosphere,
release my worries, fend off my cares,
when what really matters to me
is not here. she is not. she is not.
she is not. but with the thin veil
of vapor in this nomadic spiral of space,
i am soothing myself in strains of E
with divinity in her place.

samaria gorge is a long way
from the gavdos shore,
but when apollo arrives
we’ll be dancing the jive
from timbuktu to today’s infinite life.

here to the island of enchantment

for when we first found it,
we anchored to faith,
on a ship from the
noble firmaments of Fragocastello
where the dog was wild
and the lambs reigned free in the olive orchard,
a vociferous and boisterous settled clan
lounged to sunflower seeds, whiskey
and searching for affirmation from fickleness,
good karma through futile meaning of
the turn it all over again routine,
baptisms announcing gunfire of defiance,
blending in with the sand as the American
warplanes soared overhead toward
the regime change in Libya,
a beach made just for the fisherman to sleep
when he dazzles a round of company,
in an open, defining moment
we dropped it down,
held steady as it absorbed into our hearts,
salt settling in the hull of the makeshift vessel,
two broken shells bolted as a walk on water mass,
dizzy from a broken-hearted land,
on the way to an immortal family,
dressed in robes of white,
the derivative of a need to escape,
to fill blank canvasses with color
as the mountain air provides dynamicism
with the rainclouds and lightening bolts,
we stuck to it like octapus to the stomach,
enthralled in what we had and not letting go,
making no one our port except the Son of God,
and it let us into the vision of the graceful, serene
waters of destiny upon which our ship would now float,
over the porecelain vase of ghost orchids
floating through the Spring reminder of our falling,
to take us to this shadow where the light fizzles
and shoots like the stars, to lead us to some Mars,
where there is a statue of Apollo on a crag
over the sea, on the way, to a purple colony
where everything is not how it seems,
and we get lost again in disarry,
our house built on sand does not hold up
against the turbulent elements,
and so we make our home anew
with the past as our distant view,
the repeated history in our hands,
in which we ask the Lord, "will we be salty again?"
because everyone who goes there comes to an end
and this is the way it is, my friend,
the enchanted island is not the right place to be
when you can simply spend your time with Jesus.

making my way home

during the month of june
i wondered who i was
and what love was
and found myself
letting go of the ego.
it started with a ferry ride
to kythira. i reached into
aphrodite’s nest and soaked my hand
in nectar, trusting the sting wouldn’t
catch me. spread it out with apricots and yogurt
on a thinly sliced piece of delicious toast.
carried the wine bottle on a hike
to an oval cliff beside the sea,
drank it down, just her and me
on my mind, how things might turn out,
all the directions i don’t know about,
and on the rubble of a castle in chios,
she was in my dream while they are in reality,
dancing in festivity, well-fed,
knowing they are in peace of authenticity
in a heap of acknowledgement of futility,
and i kept buying phone cards and leaving unfulfilled.
while the thin dirt roads and boulders of Mother Earth
expressed their royalty, i simply wanted the queen.
her head on my shoulders— things like that.
luckily the world kept spinning and breathing came easy.
the dogs and me ran down the winding path to the sea
and i could hardly believe how good they were at keeping secrets.
while the women and men strolled to their ouzo and water meter,
my wild thoughts wouldn’t leave me alone,
like, will she speak to me in 72 hours?
will she accept my offering of a rain drenched flower
from my tears of being away from her,
my biggest heartache? did Christ also tell her
to keep your head held together when times are low?
and her feelings! why do i feel my feelings and not hers?
the oracle of delphi advised me to watch the North Star
on thanksgiving of 2019 to look for an astral sign.
i write this poem in retrospect. that was 2011;
i’ve waited all this time.
and what i can say is on the overnight to crete
winning a game of chess was like a lucky guess,
and when the hammock of the fisherman
came tumbling down, i was oh so grateful for his generosity.
and when we tossed a dog into the sea
i was so happy that the goat was clean.
and her memory comes back to me
but a phoenix was baptized in the Holy Spirit.
now he is a dove.
Jesus Christ is the light,
the Lord Almighty. He is Love.

poems by Ryan Ventriloquist