Poetic Philosophy Ryder


Fallen leaves and fallen stories

how we’ve gone past fallen glory

all this lichen everywhere

fallen leaves in your hair

fallen leaves in your hair


I love your heart and how it glows

turn the heat up and the lights down low

the lights down low


I was there and I was sold

to the story of the old

I saw with my own two eyes

all the simple ways you can surprise

with your own two eyes

your own two eyes


Mossy light is inside this dew

while a trampled word comes out

of you.

Poetic Philosophy Ryder

The Idea of Electricity Inside of Electricity

Across town writing is modern delighting,

a sauntering reminding of our luckiest timing.

Our thoughts travel through circuits like a circus,

caught inside the electricity with a purpose,

defying common sense and defining a new day hence,

like shamans of machines and daughters of steam spent.

The ideas are shoved into keyboards,

like a sly gloved hand swinging three swords

an impossible feat towards fossil feet,

we should toss our glee, pray to circuits

and  free our calculations’ tourniquets.

Poetic Philosophy Ryder

The Wrath of Music

A string’s scream laps you up like a cat does milk.

A drum’s shuffle becomes you a deck of cards.

The Progression makes you  a possession.

The throat’s rasp carves your flesh.

The shaking quakes your mind.

Hammer’s fall ascends you.

The story stills eyes.


Poetic Philosophy Ryder


We once had some Fallow whispers.

And she wore her old Hollow slippers

but once we awoke

from the sighing hot choke

They found us in the wallows of stiff hurt.


I traded my skin in for hope

And I wasted away for the pope

but after the walk on home,

slamming heads with a tome,

I scrubbed out the lies with some soap

Poetic Philosophy Ryder

A Fettered Quill

The letters

crush deeds, tremble

and spurn.

They are fetters

love heeds.


A thimble mingles in an old purse,

crinkles receipts and stray verse.

The needle pierces the leather,

the yarn wraps round a feather.


The words

strangle meaning,


They are birds,

freedom teeming.

Poetic Philosophy Ryder

The Whisper of a Piano in Young Morning

Be                    creation.

Start, search, improvise–

Edit, compose, and revise.

You are              art.

Think, live, change–

Sing, paint, dance strange.

Chaos is beauty   ;   Form is


The     is       is all there        is,

feel with                   it.

Poetic Philosophy Ryder

The Element Dreams

I dreamt of water

it flowed so right.

Whose your daughter?

Does she know her light?


I dreamt of fire,

it burned my faith.

Whose your liar?

Does he know your wait?


I dreamt of green earth,

it crushed my storm.

Whose your rebirth?

Does it know you’re warm?


I dreamt of cool air,

it blew this note.

Whose your high dare?

Do they know your oath?

Poetic Philosophy Ryder

Lookin’ Ahead

The future taunts a Gordian knot,

tied up thoughts.

Sleeping toes will winter the morn

steelboots sworn.

A fickle freckle delivers so much,

with the slightest touch.

Vile scars quell like quills

quiet eyes on the windowsill.

Education scorns the brambles,

as the world rambles.

Peasants collect pheasants so pleasant,

cease the hesitance.

Poetic Philosophy Ryder


Clarity is a melody for your mind,

a mellow sea so gentle and kind.

Everything slides right into place,

the calm melts the pain from your face.


Clarity is a rhythm for your heart,

a decision made in the favor of art.

Your body is warm and hastily wise,

you see the story written for eyes.

Poetic Philosophy Ryder

Politics of Rage

These collections of feelings are directions all stealing my quotes in my sheath and elections of dealings, the rope from your teeth. Drowning water will save face for frowning daughters, the laughter of disaster for Sophiatown’s slaughter, don’t you cross no stitch, don’t toss no itch,  you’ll be dead with hasty twitch, either by no bread or one bullet. A coldhot bullet or an empty gullet. Abide by the rage but set alive the stage for explanation for your nation, that this starving wage needs exploitation of rightful patience, a tightsold gazing situating change of this blazing range of equality.

Poetic Philosophy Ryder

Play the Tender Swamp

Would you burn the bayou in the night,

if they’d buy you a whole flight

to the western skyline?

Would you miss the foggy dog,

the comfort of rotten logs,

the muddy boot’s jog?

If so,

bathe in the Muck,

and rub the land

into your skin.

Who knows

when asphalt

will be your pond.

Poetic Philosophy Ryder

Numbers and Sensations

We love our mathematics, like addicts we solve tricks and absolve epistemic pragmatics. The conjectures pile on projectors riled long, in silent throngs, imaginary deeds bending wills bending creativity, like a fourth letter to x y z. How can we prove our truths, soothe our brutes, electrify our minds with delectable manipulations, and smooth rhymes and broad stipulations, algebraic relations between numbers and sensations. Our hearts are variables, exponential aerials leaving liquid contrails, equal to another like brother or mother, an existential sweet luck of detailed lovers. Stochastic chaos shapes us like monastic days lost, making our wisdom and deep decisions a little more than cold tea-steep precision.