The Poet

Leave a comment Posted on Journal

The Poet: Do You Believe in the Beauty of Your Dreams?

Do you believe in the beauty of your dreams?
It’s said the future belongs to those who do,
That beauty is a goal to reach for it seems,
Beauty as bright as morning dew.

I feel I fail at reaching for this goal,
Procrastination rules my mind with an iron fist,
It is the beauty that it stole,
Carrying it off in an impenetrable mist.

I want to believe in the beauty,
I want to hold it close,
Reaching for it should be my only duty,
Showcasing it here in glorious prose.

And, now I’m extremely depressed,
Feeling nowhere near my very best.

Ryan S. Kinsgrove

RSK

Follow along with my peculiar brand of insanity: https://upscri.be/5a20f7/

Leave a comment Posted on Journal

The Poet: The Curse of the Vacation

Vacation. What does that word mean to you?
Form me, the definition is do absolutely nothing,
That definition comes in far to impractical a hue,
Doing nothing leaves me not feeling anything.

I wanted to be proud of what I accomplished,
But, I didn’t do a damn thing,
I did nothing I promised,
Super me, the waste time king.

I wanted to go out with friends,
Hopefully build a new relationship,
Those hopes came to empty ends,
With zero money I missed the trip.

As with everything, I struck out,
My life is thoroughly filled up with doubt.

Ryan S. Kinsgrove

RSK

Follow along with my peculiar brand of insanity: https://upscri.be/5a20f7/

Leave a comment Posted on Journal

The Poet: Stressing Over A Cat

Sitting down to write a poem,
After stressing all day over a cat,
You would understand if you know him,
He’s a little ball of orange fluff, and not very fat.

I work nights,
So, naturally, the appointment was mid-day,
I was scared, and time was tight,
I didn’t have much say.

Turns out he’s allergic to the tiniest flea,
His skin scabbed up and broke out into a really nasty rash,
A shot was all he needed, a big relief to me,
And not a terrible drain on my pool of cash.

Insomnia is here, so much for sleep,
Sometimes I really want to scream BLEEP!

Ryan S. Kinsgrove

RSK

Follow along with my peculiar brand of insanity: https://upscri.be/5a20f7/

Leave a comment Posted on Super Sonnet Sunday

The Poet-Super Sonnet Sunday: All Under Control

Delirious he,
Delirious she,
Delirious me,
Delirious thee.

Mania and Dementia,
Manic and Depressive,
Twins on the same coin, hallelujah,
Yet suddenly compressive.

Bi-polar disorder, you old fiend,
Or claim you Sheogorath be,
From thee the Joker has many things gleaned,
Constant accursed companion you are to me.

Mental health is not a joke,
Trapped in this monster’s eternal yoke,
My brains spill out little more than yolk,
And, I’ll feel as if I never woke.

On paper, it’s easy to be mad,
The audience merely thinks it’s an act,
In reality, I’m not all that bad,
I’d say I’ve got plenty of tact.

Negative thoughts, self-deprecation, all under control,
I’ll at least let you think I’m playing that role.

Ryan S. Kinsgrove

RSK

Follow along with my peculiar brand of insanity: https://upscri.be/5a20f7/

Leave a comment Posted on Uncategorized

The Poet: Crying In The Rain

The key is not for me,
No happiness there shall be,
I do not deserve to be free,
Bleeding, broken, and bound to a tree.

They freedom, thou dost surrender,
Going through life devoid of splendor,
Feeling like nothing more than a pretender,
At the very worst a repeat offender.

The sun is there, hidden behind black clouds,
Their silver lining is its burial shroud,
Tearing through and breaking their vows,
Into the depths beneath the bowels.

Here I am left, crying in the rain,
Wondering what life is like without any pain.

Ryan S. Kinsgrove

RSK

Follow along with my peculiar brand of insanity: https://upscri.be/5a20f7/

Leave a comment Posted on Uncategorized

The Poet: I Once Thought I Had The Key

Life feels empty,
Great stone corridors devoid of anything,
Depression, it seems, is quite trendy,
Deep in the tomb, burying.

Writing from an emotional place,
Sometimes forges the best art,
I wouldn’t know fine art if it hit me in the face,
How long are we to be apart?

How deep does despair go,
I don’t think I’ll even know,
Not so long as I’m falling, falling, falling,
The silence of the grave is a siren’s calling.

I once thought I had the key,
The key meant to set me free.

Ryan S. Kinsgrove

RSK

Follow along with my peculiar brand of insanity: https://upscri.be/5a20f7/

Leave a comment Posted on Uncategorized

The Poet: -ing

Summer’s fell by winter’s sting,
Hope held out only for the spring,
A day upon which I will sing,
Glorious praise to the spaghetti king.

Here’s the one who holds the ring,
It is with her I’ll have a fling,
Metal makes the bell go ding,
Some other word that ends with -ing.

In meditation I search for something,
Not a higher power, glorious and thumping,
But inner peace with little stressing,
I’ll always come up guessing.

In a fight, I’ll go down swinging,
Tis the only path, aside from singing.

Ryan S. Kinsgrove

RSK

Follow along with my peculiar brand of insanity: https://upscri.be/5a20f7/

Leave a comment Posted on Uncategorized

The Poet: Dobhar-chu, Who Are You?

Dobhar-chu,
Who are you,
The water hound,
Whose upward bound.

Irish mythos for the win,
Dragons have nothing on his kin,
Seriously, don’t say anything about a selkie,
Or I’ll have to tell Aunt Melkie.

To my new short story,
There’s nothing to cause you worry,
My genius will see me through,
Even if my dialogue’s a little mew.

I can’t believe he took the cat,
Now how will I kill the rat?

Ryan S. Kinsgrove

RSK

Follow along with my peculiar brand of insanity: https://upscri.be/5a20f7/

Leave a comment Posted on Uncategorized

Work, Work, Work

It’s what we do all day long,
Toil away to the sound of the gong,
Beats and breaks men who are so strong,
It proves they’re incredibly wrong.

Talk on the phones all night,
Fixing tech issues, try as I might,
Up until the break of first light,
God, I know this isn’t right.

My sanity is breaking under the stress,
My life is constantly filled with duress,
All I want is a tender caress,
Something to help me out of this mess.

Work, work, work,
All it really does is make me a great big jerk.

RSK

Follow along with my peculiar brand of insanity: https://upscri.be/5a20f7/

Leave a comment Posted on Uncategorized

The Poet: The Uncrustable

Where to look for inspiration,
No further than the freezer,
Inside is a great temptation,
Even for a geezer.

Uncrustables are the tastiest thing,
Almost as good as an ice cream sandwich,
Pardon me while I go sing,
In the land of sand and which.

Those are for kids,
Some people may say,
They’ll not get my bid,
Not even to stay.

Now to find a word to rhyme with uncrustable,
I’d say it’s positively combustible.

Ryan S. Kinsgrove

RSK

Follow along with my peculiar brand of insanity:https://upscri.be/5a20f7/