As a musician, I spend 90% of my time writing, may it be music compositions or poetry. My writing process for lyrics and poetry are one in the same, usually lyrics for a song are pulled from my various scribbles in dim lit shady bars and airplane cocktail napkins. I begun writing when I was very young, it was my first passion even before music, The parallel between the two would find its place in my soul years later. Aside from my hero's in the music business, Authors such as Bukowski, Thompson & even revolutionary french poets such as Stéphane Mallarmé offered a dark world and a new medium of what could be "heavy" in a entirely different form of expression. I hope one day to have my works published, when the opportunity arose to share my work in the Church of Annie, I was very honored, there is no better format and platform then this in which share my devilishly demented thoughts and music.
So here is a poem I dug up from my journals, I hope you enjoy.
Whiskey Wishes,
Le' bette noir
Ryan McKern
We pawn our insecurities to afford new self fabricated drama and despair.
We purchase our problematic life plans at the thrift store, from the array of wino's and pill popping entrepreneur's...
guns are available as a payment plan......
Destruct and protest engaged fundraisers of the equal opportunist, for it is in the eye of a fire's disaster for which we truly live.
Mark it on the newspaper.
Internet swine & high school persona's
You taunt me with your knowledge of the unknown and give favors only to see the slave you have created.
31 days in county lock up.
21 poets
many masks, many storms.
It's a deity of desire.
A willingness of pride.
A selfless confession of aggression.
The sounds of the locomotive bring back the noose
let me close my eyes.
Simpler landscapers create impossible escape routes.
You are so graceful in the art of betrayal
.
I should have seen your intentions from across the 52 states of perversion and
manipulation.
Bleed like kings....
we Reign for Irony.
The goat of the fallen child
the third eye in the ring of confusion.
Although you intend to dissect my patience.
I shall again walk a path of sanctuary.... a life of indulgence....fulfillment and justifiable dischord.
Dementia is supported with a tip of the glass.
We purchase our problematic life plans at the thrift store, from the array of wino's and pill popping entrepreneur's...
guns are available as a payment plan......
Destruct and protest engaged fundraisers of the equal opportunist, for it is in the eye of a fire's disaster for which we truly live.
Mark it on the newspaper.
Internet swine & high school persona's
You taunt me with your knowledge of the unknown and give favors only to see the slave you have created.
31 days in county lock up.
21 poets
many masks, many storms.
It's a deity of desire.
A willingness of pride.
A selfless confession of aggression.
The sounds of the locomotive bring back the noose
let me close my eyes.
Simpler landscapers create impossible escape routes.
You are so graceful in the art of betrayal
.
I should have seen your intentions from across the 52 states of perversion and
manipulation.
Bleed like kings....
we Reign for Irony.
The goat of the fallen child
the third eye in the ring of confusion.
Although you intend to dissect my patience.
I shall again walk a path of sanctuary.... a life of indulgence....fulfillment and justifiable dischord.
Dementia is supported with a tip of the glass.
- Ryan M. McKern
11/09
I love this poem. Thank you.
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