Submit Your Poems
Get Your Premium Membership





Best Tim Ryerson Poems

Below are the all-time best Tim Ryerson poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

View ALL Tim Ryerson Poems

123
Details | Tim Ryerson Poem

Baseball Card

And there you were - 
blue cap and jersey, white pants
bat held high above the shoulder
cocked and ready to swat one out
in that perfect stance of yours...
Shoulder turned, name half visible
(Proud you were to wear that name
Proud was I you wore that name)

Yes there you were - 
smiling that smile of yours...
Cocky, confident, ready-or-not smile
The kind of smile of someone who
was exactly where he belonged
exactly where he wanted to be
in that very place, that very moment
doing what he was born to do
Fulfilling his destiny...

(Yes that's my boy out there
Yes he IS a good player isn't he?)

So there you were - 
An all-star you were, oh yes, a star
a shining, glittering star but:
Stars are born to flame out, die
We are all born to die it is said
Seems only the best of us die young
and far too soon, too soon
You died too soon...



Details | Tim Ryerson Poem

The Game, Playing the Game

'I want you to use all your powers and your skills
I don’t want his mother to see him like this
Look, look how they massacred my boy'...
Don Corleone (Marlon Brando) in “The Godfather”
-------------------------------------------------------
Playing the game. It's a game isn't it?
Life is but a game, but a dream isn't it?

I drove home by that road many, many times,
that very same short-cut country road that you drove
that road where our lives crashed, exploded and shattered
shattered in jagged shards of Silver-Saturn pieces

(This is where you must have seen the swerving headlights
What were your thoughts? Were you worried? Were you alarmed?
This is the spot, oh God this is where, where it all hap...
What were your LAST thoughts? What were your last words
when that pick-up jumped, jumped and flew out of that ditch?
You always said "WHAT THE!"... Yeah, you must have said that)

Driving myself to madness playing the 'what if' game
What if you had driven just a little faster?
A little slower? Stopped to pick up something?
DIDN'T stop to pick up something? (Did-didn't-did...)
Stayed at work a minute longer, or left a minute early?
(What-if-what-if what-if-why-where-what-when)

Just what are the odds? Just what are the chances?
2:AM? Maybe one car, one car every 2 hours or so?
It was 'perfect' timing, a 'perfect' flash in time
(Perfect-imperfect-perfect-why-where-what-when)

I drove home by that same road many, many times,
that very same short-cut country road that you drove
that same short-cut road, that road you were driving
innocently, driving....just trying to get back home
 
Yes, playing the game. It's a game isn't it?
Life is but a game, but a dream isn't it?
ISN'T it.

7/1/2012


Details | Tim Ryerson Poem

Wild Rose

scarlet streaked with yellow
I lean to breathe in her scent
I reach out to feel her touch 
she pricks me
and I bleed...
bleed her scarlet fever
bleed her yellow fever
she needs me to bleed
so gladly I bleed
scarlet streaked with yellow



Details | Tim Ryerson Poem

And She's Not Bad Lookin Either

Her Soup name we know as PD
Her REAL name is Linda you see
And Irma as well
Trevino! I yell
From my rooftop...Can’t hear me? (Poor me)

For a very special and loyal friend...


Details | Tim Ryerson Poem

I Recall

I recall a filthy sidewalk
running in front of grandma's house
with bumps and cracks from the roots
of ancient white oaks…

Meandering down to the levee
with cane poles and sack lunches
crickets and freshly dug earth worms
Barefoot in careless summers...

I recall one low spot 
beneath a straggly Chinaberry 
filled with pitch-black delta dirt
washed in by summer rains
Shuffling through and digging down
burying our toes...

Often now I recall
when the heavens are shrouded in grief
when darkness closes at the edge of vision
I recall a porch light flicking on in the distance
I recall grandma’s trembling soprano calling
calling me back home….

10/28/13







Details | Tim Ryerson Poem

Fickle-Foolish-Footles - Man's Best Friend

Overweight Terrier:
   Porky
   Yorkie
Un-cool Terrier:
   Dorky
   Yorkie

Spaniel dog breeder:
   Cocker
   Stocker
Parrot who mimics a Spaniel's bark:
   Cocker
   Mocker
Book on how to care for Cockers:
   Spaniel
   Manuel
Originally from England, a well-rounded Spaniel stays in shape by playing:
   Cocker
   Soccer
Then showers and dresses by its:
   Cocker
   Locker

Dachshund headgear:
   Weenie
   Beenie
Grouchy Dachshund:
   Meany
   Weenie
Proportionally, male Dachshunds have:
   Teenie
   Weenies
(But size isn't everything)
Dachshund making critcal life choices:
   Eenie
   Weenie...

Lassie was a level-headed dog and never engaged in:
   Collie
   Folly
Reared in a loving environnment, she was a rather:
   Jolly
   Collie
Bred in the capitol city of NC, making her a:
   Raleigh
   Collie
To commemorate her frequent (and often rowdy) visits to N.O. a streetcar was renamed the:
   Collie
   Trolley

Snoopy immigrated to the States but alas, was found not to be a:
   Legal
   Beagle
Thus he was deported back to England but was promptly knighted by the Queen becoming a:
   Regal
   Beagle
Now a celebrity, he even had an entourage of nubile young female beagles named:
   Snoopy's
   Groupies
Eventually, he met his soul mate, married her in Westminster Abbey and it is rumored that they engaged in numerous and somewhat kinky sessions of:
    Snoopy
    Whoopie



Details | Tim Ryerson Poem

The Ghost of My Lonely

Abandoned in the fifties after the war
A frieght elevator stuck between floors
Obsolete machinery, splintered old chairs
In a warehouse in Newark, New Jersey somewhere

Dead air presses down, stifling and thick
Something still dwells behind one of those bricks
Curled up in a ball, it waits for me there
In a warehouse in Newark, New Jersey somewhere

A musty gray vapor that whispers my name
It seeps through the wall and creeps to my brain
It sighs and it groans as my soul is laid bare
In a warehouse in Newark, New Jersey somewhere

It mumbles and moans and drones of ancient tombs
Of claustrophopic closets and dim, hollow rooms
I cry out for help, echoes answer my prayer
In a warehouse in Newark, New Jersey somewhere

The ghost of my lonely, my lost and alone
My hopeless and helpless, my can't go back home
It's looking at me now with a dull, vacant stare
In a warehouse in Newark, New Jersey somewhere







Details | Tim Ryerson Poem

Star Trek and Captain Kirk's Final Frontier

Kirk: ‘Lt. Uhura, come to my quarters at 1800 hours’
Uhura: ‘Yes captain, might I ask what’s up?’
Kirk: ‘Nothing now but something WILL be at 1800 hours’
Bones: ‘Jim, is this a medical issue?’
Kirk: ‘You bet your boner it is, Bones’
Sulu: ‘Captain, a Klingon ship is approaching’
Kirk:  ‘Blast that sucker to smithereens, I got a date’
Chekov: ‘Captain, you’ll need protection on this mission’
Kirk: No problem Ensign, got a few here in my wallet’

Obi-Wan Kenobi: ‘May the force be with you’
Kirk:’ Thanks Obi, but you’re in the wrong contest’
Obi-Wan Kenobi: ‘This isn’t PD’s contest?’
Kirk: ‘HELL no, now SKAT will probably disqualify us’
Obi-Wan Kenobi: ‘Well, may the force be with you anyway’
Kirk: ‘Look Kenobi, nobody’s forcing ANYBODY here’

Spock: ‘Captain, I’m receiving a message from SKATfleet Command’
Kirk: ‘What Mr. Spock? And why do you always talk like that?’
Spock: ‘To qualify for the contest, the writer has to command the ship’
Kirk: ‘Damn it all! What the…FRONT AND CENTER WRITER!’
Writer: ‘Um…All hands on deck?...Anchors away?’

Uhura: ‘Ohh Captain KIRRK, it’s 1800 hours’…
Kirk: ‘Not now Uhura, I’m not in the mood!’
Uhura: Ohh Captain WRITERRR, it’s 1800 hours’…
Writer: ‘Kirk, you have the helm. I’ll be in my quarters’ 
Spock: ‘Fascinating’
Kirk: ‘Shut-up Spock’…

Tim Ryerson
Theme: Sexual harassment in the workplace
For SKAT’s contest


Details | Tim Ryerson Poem

More Foolish Footles for Super Soupy Soupers -

Andrea D?...No brainer:
Dandy
Andie

Or in her younger, wilder days she may have been:
Randy
Andie?
(Just kidding! Just kid...Ouch!)

I have no choice but to categorize several poems by my mentor as:
Guzzi's
Doozies
(Now don't YOU start on me Deb!)

Ms. Macmillan's writing style is quite modern so here-to-forth she is:
Trendy
Cyndi
(You're not gonna' hit me too are you Cyndi?)

It is rumored that Mr. O is a care-free soul so some might name him:
Groovin'
Ruben

And be sure to keep up with current South African events in the:
Suzette
Gazette

A Christmas poem composed by Carol Brown could be a:
Carol
Carol

Writer's block PD? No sweat!...Just a temporary case of:
Souper
Stupor

Okay, that's enough...


Details | Tim Ryerson Poem

Big Bang

This is one laymans' confession
(I have this nagging obsession)
A huge mass of matter
Explodes in a scatter
Here is my 'ignorant' question...

From whence came this gigantic ball?
Just how did the whole thing befall?
What was there before that?
And before even that?
And so on and so forth, et.al...

Blank space, only vacuum you say?
Endless void? Flat nothing? Okay...
Is nothing just nothing,
Or ain't nothing something
And what made the nothing I pray?


123