POEMS

Cover photo by Ken Greenhorn

The majority of my work is written specifically for the stage, but here's some poetry (with visuals!) you can enjoy on the page!
You can also view my greeting cards at my Corby.Cards website.

Self-Portrait Poem - photo and poetry by Ryan J. Bradshaw

Selfie at Takakkaw Falls, Sept. 13/2022

He is a Virgo

He is a planner

Before leaving home
he has carefully chosen routes and stops
for the entire thirteen-day road trip
from Saskatoon to Kelowna and back again
each direction a completely different journey

He has printed road maps
visited tourist websites
looked at destination photos
read reviews
booked all of the accommodations

Yes, he is a planner

But this place
this place was not on his itinerary

Stormy weather is forecast for the day’s planned destinations
so now he is here
After taking a very steep and very windy road
he is standing in front of Takakkaw Falls
Canada’s second tallest waterfall

His smile is genuine
He is happy

He loves waterfalls
Their mesmerizing movement
their thundering sound
their power
“Takakkaw” is a Cree word that means “It is magnificent”
a perfect description

And there is so much more here to love
The trees and mountains and river
the chill in the air
the adorable Mountain Chickadees
He loves everything about this beautiful, unplanned place
and he will remember this
as one of his favourite experiences of the entire thirteen-day road trip

~

He is a Virgo

His birthday was three days ago and he is now 42
He did not have this many grey hairs on his head
and his face a short time ago
It’s been a tough few years in more ways than one

But his smile is genuine
He is happy
He’s happy with his life right now
and he’s happy with the direction he’s going

He knows that life is unpredictable
that he can’t map out his whole future
And he wouldn’t even want to

But he is a planner
And he has made certain plans for his life that seem unshakeable

He is blissfully unaware of the storm
that is coming before year’s end
a storm he could not forecast
that will lead him up a very steep and very windy road
that will shake the unshakeable
and could drastically change the course he has mapped out for himself

And he will look back on this place

He will look back on this experience
thankful for the reminder
that a change in plans
a change in direction

can lead you to magnificent places

Walking at the Northeast Swale - photo and poetry by Ryan J. Bradshaw

The snow reveals the story of life here.

Pawprints of coyotes. Hoofprints of deer.

The plentiful tracks of partridge or grouse.

The cute impressions of a tiny mouse.

Wildlife searching for food. Or passing through.

Now, my steps are part of the story too.

Could the boot prints I leave behind reveal

how much lighter this walk has made me feel?

Little Pigeon - poetry by Ryan J. Bradshaw, photo by Aurora Milbrandt

Dedicated to Living Sky Wildlife Rehabilitation and Sharon Wacker (Please consider donating to Living Sky!)
Inspired by a personal encounter with an injured pigeon, and by the pandemic experience. Based on Little Blue Pigeon by Eugene Field.

Be calm, little pigeon, and rest your wings --
Little blue pigeon with fearful eyes.
You’ve been poisoned. You’re bleeding. But your heart is still beating.
And I have reached you just in time.

Be calm, little pigeon, and rest your wings --
  You are safe here, wrapped in my sweater.
No more poison. No traffic. No more reasons to panic.
It hurts now; but you’ll get better.

Be calm, little pigeon, and rest your wings --
  This is the time, and the place, to heal.
You’re stuck inside. Feeling trapped. You want your other life back.
  Exhausted by this whole ordeal.

But be calm. Little pigeon, rest your wings --
  The poison has nearly been beaten.
Your appetite is returning. The world is still turning.
  Patience. You’ll soon have your freedom.

It’s time, little pigeon, to stretch your wings --
  Little blue pigeon, take to the air!
You’re resilient. You’ve endured. You’re an astonishing bird.
Take care, little pigeon! Take care!

Catalpa Tree - photo and poetry by Ryan J. Bradshaw

I wish you could see the Catalpa tree
That towers in Tower Grove Park;
To admire its size with your own two eyes,
And the artistry of its bark.
I wish you could hug the Catalpa’s trunk,
Press both your palms against its skin;
And then you could sense the mighty presence
Of the spirit that lives within.

Yes, I wish you could see beyond the wood,
To regard it as your elder;
To accept its shade on a scorching day
And then thank it for its shelter.
To give it respect. To never forget
That it creates the breath of life.
To listen. Its leaves rustling in the breeze
Would offer you peace, and insight.

I wish you could see the Catalpa’s leaves,
Stand beneath them, gazing upward,
With your mouth agape as you note their shape
And the brilliance of their colour.
Every green part is shaped like a heart.
If all could see those leaves above,
Then the world would know: just one tree can grow
One hundred thousand acts of love.

The Catalpa tree has so much to teach;
I wish I could be its student,
Devoting my days to learning its ways
In Tower Grove Park, St. Louis;
To master the skill of just staying still,
To connect with the earth and sky.
To be like the leaf-crowned Catalpa tree
Who is gentle and strong and wise.

To a Piping Plover - poetry by Ryan J. Bradshaw

Poem inspired by Alfred Lord Tennyson's Flower in the Crannied Wall. Photo is in the public domain, photographer unknown.

Untitled - photo and poetry by Ryan J. Bradshaw

I see the branches of Silver Birches

Where Squirrel jumps and Chickadee perches.

I see Birch leaves turning yellow from green.

I think of Birch roots that cannot be seen.

I see the silver of a chain-link fence;

Beyond it, Birch Forest grows wild and dense.

Why does it stand between Birches and me?

I think about roots that I cannot see.

Adam - poetry by Ryan J. Bradshaw, photo/design by Ken Greenhorn Photography

Tapestry - two sonnets by Ryan J. Bradshaw

(Inspired by Kain Seremonial Menari, pictured left)

I stood in front of a large tapestry recently,
on display in Saskatoon
from an Indonesian island called Sumba.
The white cotton had been skillfully coloured
with red dyes
from the roots of trees,
and blue, from Indigo plants.
On a loom it was woven,
threads connecting
and blooming
into spectacular imagery.

On this tapestry, there were depictions
of animals
and mythical creatures.
There were birds, deer,
flying horses, dragons.
And four people, dancing,
in the centre;
each one holding a sword in their hand,
and joined with ancestors
in the spirit land.

As I stood in awe of this tapestry,
it struck me: before that day,
I had no knowledge
of Sumba Island.
I had no thoughts
of its people or their history;
no questions
about their ceremonies,
their beliefs,
their way of life.
I had no awareness
of Sumba’s traditional dancing
or incredible artistry.

This tapestry,
like poetry,
like dance,
like music or theatre or sculpture,
this tapestry had given me a chance
to connect with a different culture.

Standing there, I believed more than ever:
The world needs art.
Art weaves us together.

Bench by the Lake - poetry by Ryan J. Bradshaw

(Inspired by an oil painting of the same name by Bessie Lowenhaupt, c. 1963)

This is how I picture us
in autumn: crossing over
the muted space between
our bus stop and our bench
by the lake. When we reach
our perch, you take your place
on the edge. And I, as always,
settle in next to you, close
enough to hear your
thoughts. Memories of spring
and summer find us
in the stillness, sadden us
and make us laugh, the tones
of our past more vibrant
than our present. When I
picture us in autumn,
our eyesight has faded into
shapes and lines, colours lost,
details unimportant. But
we know every inch of each other's
face without looking
and have never forgotten
the shade of our
bench by the lake.
We watch ducks dabble and dip
our toes in the water, even as
the days grow cold.
When I picture us in autumn,
we are not afraid of winter.

Bench by the Lake by Bessie Lowenhaupt, c. 1963

I saw this painting while on vacation in St. Louis, Missouri. I connected with it immediately, easily one of my favourite pieces in the very extensive and impressive collection of the St. Louis Art Museum.

My Body - poetry by Ryan J. Bradshaw

I have eczema all over my body.
And I’ve been losing
my ability to cope.
I have eczema
all
over
my
body,
and it’s so effing itchy,
and red,
and swollen,
and spotty,
I’ve been losing
my ability to hope
it will ever really
get better.
My body has been prescribed steroids
by every doctor.
My newest hobby is
popping Prednisone
until I bloat and get headaches,
my medicated body becoming
restless
and my mind
foggy.

But I’ve been losing
my ability to cope.
And I’ve started forgetting that
my body is beautiful.
And (did I mention?)
I’m so effing itchy.
And I’ve been sobbing.
So now I’m taking steroids to
keep me afloat,
‘cause I’ve tried so many other options that
don’t.
And I’m sure my body is trying to
tell me what it needs,
but the prescription is sloppy and
I can’t read it.
I’ve been on this downward slope for a year,
and I have no idea when (or how)
my skin will clear.

My body (the human body)
can be such an a-hole sometimes.

But it’s still my body.

And I’ll continue to love it.

Walk in the Forest - photo and poetry by Ryan J. Bradshaw

Learn how to walk in the forest.
You will need water, hiking boots,
and a desire to coexist
with the natural world. Resist
texting. Put your cell phone on mute.
Hear the voices of the forest;
peeping of young birds in their nest,
the squirrel’s chatter, the owl’s hoots,
the rustling of leaves. Coexist
with the trees and they will assist
you, provide you with shade and fruits
to feed you. Walk in the forest
and learn to be a gracious guest.
Respect its insects, toads and newts,
its plants and flowers. Coexist
with the forest. This place has missed
you. You are still part of its roots.
Remember how to coexist
and how to walk in the forest.