Raindrops, by Ryan aged 10 years old.
A raindrop hangs and
Sunlight beams bend through
With unchained clarity like
Astral fragments,
Perhaps minute rainbows too.
That dew drop holds tight
As if by unseen glue
To the very tip of the vividly green leaf
On which it happened to fall unto.
Morning had broken, in that they shared
In a quick but daring duel with gravity,
The raindrop falls.
Within that crystal-like teardrop, does a world turn by?
Moments to me, but it’s a lifetime we shared,
And when that droplet falls
Spiraling in crisp morning air
It covers the darkened soil,
With more water than I knew.
THE RIVER BEYOND
River flowing far along
diamond light shining on
sparkling water.
It’s a great sight
to see Otters splashing,
playing joyfully,
twirling together.
A feeling of pleasure.
A stork stands greatly
thinking, “I’m the king!”.
a fish is swimming
and its scales catch
the sun’s rays.
The stork sees a flash
with a diamond ripple.
Down the hatch,
away fish’
into a darkness world.
Man, through binoculars, can see
turtles slowly plodding
and seeming to stop the worlds’ time
to see where he says, “slow”.
Slimy newts swim swiftly along
with the gigantic toad and frog.
Green, yellow, red and brown
and many more colours.
SPLASH! goes the toad.
Diamond light, silk river
and the velvet sky.
A Kingfisher skims the water
and veers away from a tree
Then dives to wash his feathers.
It jabs a fish,
then dashes up to the tree
and throws it in his mouth.
An Eagle larks to her mate
and soars over to him.
They nudge their young
to keep them safe.
They see a rodent
so they swoop down.
The male forces it to jump
and while the rodent is in the air
the female catches its prey
with its enormous talons.
They go back to their nest
and rip the rodent open
and feed their young.
Ryan Lewis March 23rd 1994.
(Age 10)
A Snowflake Wander
“Do you see him now?”
He asked in his lowest held voice in decades.
A little bit of silence followed, than a light hold on his arm,
“He’s cold and thrashing…
Wait! No. Excited maybe. Let’s get a little closer.”
They had to go this way to visit the lake,
And winter’s cold air only laid a crisp reminder of its presence
Rather than hold a trip to its beauty back.
They slowly stuck their worn boots, one by one, into the untouched snow,
And as the light broke on the hard cover,
It lent its help on top
For wriggly toed feet to reach that pillow case landing below.
He glanced over, and past the long silver wired fence
To see the frost had; in its boredom or
Lament; covered the new bushes fingers
All Straggly and frail. Still reaching upward out of the cap-
They looked like they were reaching for something special,
Then he remembered! The sun was actually back!
As it flashed on the snow to blind his eyes,
It brought him present
And he could feel the gentle reminder of his wife.
Warm breath was lightly teasing the back of his neck,
As they travelled along and to help the tiring cross
He started wading in straight trenches to make the path behind.
Each wade felt like walking in mafia cement shoes,
But their journey went somewhat straight, and forward.
“Here he is. Boy he’s trashing hard,” she saw.
He nodded slowly; as something was clearly not right with the little dear
As he increased his pace and reach him faster.
The doe knew they were there but had not ran,
And their intrigues to this… off the path doe…
Had made them want to find out what had brought him here.
He knew that would may had been something
That would have brought him to trouble in the past,
Yet here, it was more of myth than anything else.
They stopped as close as they dared,
On the same side as their fur clad young walker.
He took a glove off- who knows why you would there-
Some old habit of being foolish when the blood is up,
She grabbed his hand and put it back without the need of speaking.
“I think he’s trapped, he moves so violent but with three legs in circles.
His other is hidden there,” as he pointed down
With the same hand he had uncovered before…warmer now.
A light whimper came from her,
He looked and her eyes which were almond-wide as she looked back into him,
“He has caught it on loose wire… see how it travels down from the post.”
He did, and the icy wind replied by blowing through her hair
With airy ease but worldly strength,
Yet only in serving to light up the intrigue held there.
“What can we do?
She was concerned, and now, so was he.
It had seemed just a doe playing in the woods near their home,
Yet this was obviously duress, something they become accustomed to now,
And immediately understood.
He had the thought of others who may have continued past to call someone first,
Yet they hadn’t done these kinds of walks doing that
For any of the troubles out here at the property.
“If I move fast- I could pull him free.
It looks more wrangled from his fight than too constricting and tight.
He can not see what we plan,
So we just need to make sure I don’t
Disappear in all this drifting white!”
It was coming down like a snowflakes from a Christmas tree and
Although I could tell she had grinned more for that,
It just joined with her wrinkled-up worry lines.
He could pin him down too,
But knew that a even a worried doe kick, could make another tragedy.
Or more likely, his ankle will twist and be out here
Without another who could physically carry his hefty form that far back,
And it would be made worse by the numbing cold.
They both knew that.
He leant a covered hand on one of the poles that was dug in,
Planted by the next neighbor a few years back when they
Had bought up their new home beside them.
They had passed by many times since they had bought up
After making it through a hurricane of life
And yet he hadn’t noticed their zig zag form before.
They were young wood but he was holding
Knobs, spurns and circles, no straight lines here.
He leant his head on his arm and smelled old wood
Like the neighbor knew about age and memory – or old varnish smells.
To the contrary of course as this was oak, so young and strong,
No, it was aged from those seasonal lessons,
Of snow drenched times and turns
As winters heave has lessons of care, so unavoidably so.
He snapped out of his mind wandering, again,
Which each time would remind him of childhood.
Focusing on another heart pounding thrash
From the little doe, he could see those little lungs were now gasping harder.
He squeezed out his own tight breath forgetting about the icy cold,
That really needed to give him no reminders of its presence to his head,
But of course it did,
And despite that it still gave omnipresence
Which no meditation could ever have done so well.
He heard his wife lean back, to brace for a fishing hole catch.
As he removed the broken snow
From beneath the wires hidden at the posts trench,
With the protection of his leathered glove.
And indeed, it had wrapped – but not cut – the does left hoof.
He immediately grabbed it right then, pulling hard and with purpose;
As twisting and moving never helped a problem;
Only in silly films and ‘this guy I knew’ stories.
‘Like a new cut stuck on the damn bandage- quick- for this one’, he thought.
And as quick as that, he was on his back,
Still awake but without a hoof in hand- looking a little dizzy-
To see the doe on all fours, just standing in front of him,
Calmer than any winters carve could have made him.
Their eyes locked in for a moment, or maybe two,
Each set an amazing blue sent twinkling by the sun’s distant radiance.
He bolted too quickly for some other nostalgic feeling to arise,
And went off and off into blurs of fingered bushes,
Still frostily waving hello-goodbyes.
“You did it!” She exclaimed, “Well done my love.”
And in her genuine happiness he adored so much, he replied,
“Did you see his eyes? I saw myself, in younger throws.
That familiar mindless thrashing against the coldness of ice cooled steel.
Oh how trust can come in a moment like that! I will never know.”
And so they set off from their knees to start the walk back,
As they decided to end their walk there. They would never top that-
Even with the well-loved lake they loved so dear,
They chatted all the way back,
The intrigue of those matching blue eyes-
“What a free… and beautiful animal he was.”
In that thought, she stopped to enjoy its purity.
So he stopped to join her there, and all he could think was how good it had been
When he had first learned how to get the wire off his own feet.
Rock and Water
by Ryan Lewis
The washing waves enjoy no stress
Without the care or need to stop,
But there is also a hard-press
That water runs give the grey rock.
Gullies curve on waters journey,
Directed by those out-crops first,
Thrashed by knights of waters tourney
That crash to feed thunderous thirst.
Sandy beaches have rocky cliffs-
Rock paths directing safely through.
It makes me wonder sometimes if…
That rock needs some water runs too.
The washing waves will hold no stress
As it carves hard on each depress,
And has no need or care to stop
When water flows over grey rock.
Gullies turn on waters journey
Thrashed by knights of waters tourney.
Directed by those out-crops first
A salt crash with thunderous thirst.
Even sand coasts have rocky isles,
Showing the way with knowing smiles.
Was it something He always knew?
That grey rock needs the water too.
And has no need or care to stop
When water flows over grey rock.
Gullies turn on waters journey
Thrashed by knights of waters tourney.
Directed by those out-crops first
A salt crash with thunderous thirst.
Even sand coasts have rocky isles,
Showing the way with knowing smiles.
Was it something He always knew?
That grey rock needs the water too.
Running the Oak Tree Gambit!
by Ryan Lewis
The forest walk!
And it’s so sunny, no clouds of grey!
Now that makes rubber boots jump for puddles
I’ll be splashing all day-
I hope we see some Oaks!
“Not too fast,” they call, matching my footsteps hollow-
but I am moving so thrillingly fast to ever slow,
I can’t get enough of this fresh green
when cool breeze changes to crisp wind by my speed.
See those little red boots dipping and hoping?
These boots refuse to fail!
The Wind Fairy reddens my cheeks- gives my lungs tickles-
and I can still hear branches snap as Mum and Dad call
but I’m too excited, I couldn’t look back,
as I rustle my boots down into that perfect collection
of reddening leaves
that were allowed to softly fall
to their waiting bed- at the bottom of the trees.
Gee! Only here does He truly create
A la an artist,
So named That Mighty Oak of Canopy.
My small heart pumps harder,
as I lean on hardwood backs, so wide, like my childish grins
and I stare up, way up, to squint and see
the sunlight’s rays in all her majesty;
and wait to Scare those two to!
Swish Swish little hands- back and forth- work to do,
the Oak and Fairy are too busy right now
to drop a crown of leaves or two
I could use them though! They’d cover me quick with that lightest dance!
The suns warmth, is so full of energy and light
It’s licking moisture from vibrant leaves
to place it as a kiss on my reddened face.
As I stare so unabashedly at its growing splendor-
I see what an effortless grace it has- it’s power!
Playful control, only held by such natural tranquility-
the hardest of simple- in that Way only They can do,
is shared as a invisible movement throughout the canopy
and underneath these skies so bright and blue.
All around, down, and through
the Oak will add its illustrations
with paintbrush strokes of source and shadow form,
still admiring itself for what it does, and so secretly to!
Each bright sun filled day another scribe of simple beauties, just left there for you…
and to think this was just one moment to see!
A warm sunray stopped its windy play on the back of my hand!
Stay still… I can hear them closing in… I gasp!
A leaf shakes off!
Hah! Dad has already seen me.
He dumps down some leaves to help cover the little Oak.
The forest walk!
And it’s so sunny, no clouds of grey!
Now that makes rubber boots jump for puddles
I’ll be splashing all day-
I hope we see some Oaks!
“Not too fast,” they call, matching my footsteps hollow-
but I am moving so thrillingly fast to ever slow,
I can’t get enough of this fresh green
when cool breeze changes to crisp wind by my speed.
See those little red boots dipping and hoping?
These boots refuse to fail!
The Wind Fairy reddens my cheeks- gives my lungs tickles-
and I can still hear branches snap as Mum and Dad call
but I’m too excited, I couldn’t look back,
as I rustle my boots down into that perfect collection
of reddening leaves
that were allowed to softly fall
to their waiting bed- at the bottom of the trees.
Gee! Only here does He truly create
A la an artist,
So named That Mighty Oak of Canopy.
My small heart pumps harder,
as I lean on hardwood backs, so wide, like my childish grins
and I stare up, way up, to squint and see
the sunlight’s rays in all her majesty;
and wait to Scare those two to!
Swish Swish little hands- back and forth- work to do,
the Oak and Fairy are too busy right now
to drop a crown of leaves or two
I could use them though! They’d cover me quick with that lightest dance!
The suns warmth, is so full of energy and light
It’s licking moisture from vibrant leaves
to place it as a kiss on my reddened face.
As I stare so unabashedly at its growing splendor-
I see what an effortless grace it has- it’s power!
Playful control, only held by such natural tranquility-
the hardest of simple- in that Way only They can do,
is shared as a invisible movement throughout the canopy
and underneath these skies so bright and blue.
All around, down, and through
the Oak will add its illustrations
with paintbrush strokes of source and shadow form,
still admiring itself for what it does, and so secretly to!
Each bright sun filled day another scribe of simple beauties, just left there for you…
and to think this was just one moment to see!
A warm sunray stopped its windy play on the back of my hand!
Stay still… I can hear them closing in… I gasp!
A leaf shakes off!
Hah! Dad has already seen me.
He dumps down some leaves to help cover the little Oak.
The Tree of Knowledge
Written by Ryan Lewis, 22 Feb 98.
The continuing trail of lore,
the branches on the tree,
each leaf a memory,
which will never wilt and fall,
the ever growing wisdom,
in the light or in the dark,
in the rain or in the sun,
always showing its culture,
always explaining the orders,
forever in our minds.
Its soil of thought,
instilled to its roots,
flowing up its trunk,
stretching out the wings of wood,
flowing around the air,
even the warming sun,
streams out its intelligence,
touching everyone.
Experience infused,
even in the wood,
all look in awe,
cannot believe their eyes,
aeons it has stood,
almost like sculptured in stone,
its life must be eternal,
and its sap filled with deity,
the tree of knowledge,
is always sound.
POEM ABOUT MY FAMILY
by Ryan Lewis
We are like leaves falling from trees
our lives are in the breeze
we can make it good or bad
but it all starts with Mom and Dad
with all the twists and turns that we endure
all we have to do is make absolutely sure to
nourish the tree and make it secure
July 12th, 2011
Mother and Son
Happy 61st
For the Birthday Mum!
When I saw his precious head,
In between her cross-arm spread,
What you must of felt- I see-.
It all came to me.
You gave me that hospital hug,
With tears in your eyes, while my son laid snug,
Is Mum upset? A silly thought it was,
As it came to me.
You’ve watched me grow, and nursed my coughs
The rambunctious boy who loved to run off,
Your heart in mouth, with mine on my sleeve, you see?
It has all come back to me.
What you felt, that I have now come to see,
A bond so special, together as only mother and son can be,
When my son falls and cuts his knee,
We know he won’t run straight to me!
Those boys who run through fields with sweat on the brow, With out a mum to wipe it dry – I get that now I don’t know where I’d be, If you had not always came to me.
For Mum’s 61st birthday, and thoughts forever more
July 12th, 2011
Poetry Booklet
Written By Ryan Lewis
English 20
April 17th 2000
Take the twisted saunter, Through space continuous, And notion incomplete.
With halted occasion,
A crack of resonance final, Sound rejected.
Radiance no more, Gloomy forever gone. Substance apart, Lynching in a void.
Shrieks may scream, Yet plunge on ears deaf.
Whether iniquity or genial, For it matters not;
In the space field,
It is only death. Death.
Rebellion
Rest glory at your feet,
Desire in your hands,
Wrath in the eyes,
Fear upon minds of men.
Take what is yours,
It’s yours to seize.
In shadow of light,
Only will is marked.
Fight; for your mind,
Revolt; for your freedoms,
Rebel. Rebel.