With all that’s been happening in the world, I sit back and think to myself: How nice would it be to just live in la-la land? Where pixies and nymphs do sprightly jigs while singing catchy little tunes in the sunny, yet cool afternoon. In the entrance of a nearby cave, a troll takes a load off on an overgrown toadstool as he flicks through the pages of a book by Tolstoy. His nose softly whistling notes like a piccolo. Down by the bay, mermaids bathe and wade. Their splashes and laughter, just as musical as the crescendo of waves. Yeah, la-la land sounds pretty good right about now.
Author: Ryan Olejnik
March 14th, 2020
I need to learn how to squeeze more creative juices out of me like a lemon without making the words that come out leave a sour taste in your mouth. Maybe I should think of them coming from something more like an orange that way I could write pulp fiction. I could just take all of it, stuff it into a blender, and whip up one big writing smoothie. Every sip, each sentence, so incredibly healthy and refreshing. I think I’ll go see if I have enough ice…
Spring Site Improvements
It’s been awhile since I’ve posted a news update, or anything for that matter, and that’s exactly the point. In the coming months of spring, I’m going to be making improvements to this site, so I am better able to share more new and existing content with you. Some of the improvements include: A journal, where I will be posting some entries from my personal journal; short story and writing excerpts, which you will be able to read or download with a donation in the amount of your choosing; and a section for the articles and reviews I’ve written. Part of the problem has been that by using only my own personal photography for my posts, I’ve felt inhibited with the things I can share due to either time constraints or the inability to capture my subject’s image. My solution to this problem is to now either use generic images I’ve made for these areas of my site, or use royalty free images with attribution to their photographers. However, I still plan to use my own personal photography for my poetry as much as possible though. I look forward to making these improvements and bringing new content to you very soon!
Aftermath
In the aftermath,
I’m only a fraction,
You’re half of what I am,
I wish I had your…
undivided attention.
Seacrets
The wake of a sleepy sea,
Underneath night’s cool black sheet,
I can hear windswept secrets,
That the sea crests could not keep.
Sorrowful
A swallow of sorrowful joy,
Flits its wings in pity,
Flies helpless into the void,
Sunset shot of whiskey,
Killing two birds with one stone,
She couldn’t die without me.
Scattered like Papers
The leaves scattered like papers,
And crumple underneath his feet,
There’s nothing he can say to her,
The words written on those sheets,
He walks around an open grave,
In the cemetery where she sleeps,
Hoping death isn’t a stranger,
So he won’t ever again be lonely.
Deadlines
Listen to your chest,
Do you hear it?
I’m the dead beatnik,
Slamming poetry,
Against your breast.
In the Offing
He could taste the saltiness of a cold seaborne rain.
He was more a capsized vessel, than its captain.
He could hear the sirens wail of a great refrain.
With the wind on the quarter, he sailed toward death.
He looked to his compass, but there was no other way.
When he left port, it was never to return again.
He saw shore just before crashing on the rocks like waves.
All he treasured inside his chest had sank with him.
Wounded by Love
This loneliness is crippling,
And alcohol is like a crutch,
For a poet wounded by love,
Whose verse is mostly scribbling.