http://slow.writerscafe.org/MaxwellRyder The original writings of author Maxwell Ryder en-us Copyright 2026 WritersCafe.org 1775986564 WritersCafe.org RSS Generator 15 When God left the building Back in the CambrianEarth was an outhouseHe threw refuse in,Where bacteria beganTo infiltrate and spread Till it filled up withBidpedal simpsWho pimp on OnlyFansAnd Instagram Like the Chosen amongNeanderthals,Lizards and Chimps -The worst of them.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/MaxwellRyder/2957377/ One day a teenage boy, Wearing his dad’s dog tags,Was caught in the act,Stuck in the bum Of the neighbour’s wife,Who barked as she looked back.The explanation Later given on the witness stand,Was that her husband Had trans’d to a cat. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/MaxwellRyder/2846737/ I came, I saw, I punctured.I took my myocarditisLike a champ;Even had the booster,But got vaccine-injured,So I took another two -Because “f*ck you!”What else could I do,I wore a mask;I stayed at home, Like every other tool;It wasn’t my decision to choose.I d.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/MaxwellRyder/2832585/ If they hadn’t ruined the world,You wouldn’t have the needOf their God, which they begotFor you through much warringAnd plunder of your effects.You wanted to be WendyAnd live with your Peter Pan;Be happy, they said,You’ll own nothing But the clothes on your back... http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/MaxwellRyder/2831621/ Political poem http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/MaxwellRyder/2831497/ There are tannins In that skinI know if I stir,Caress, and savour,I will be drinking my death, So I get drunk instead. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/MaxwellRyder/2831426/ Rain is salineClouds are gauze Snow keeps downEarth’s swellingTill Spring’sRenaissance. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/MaxwellRyder/2831347/ Vivid dream,I wake from sleep.Stand, stretchShoulder cracks,Knees creak.Wait, I needA moment to think.Oh yes,I’m awake.“I’ll brush my teeth.”No, not yet.“I need to pee.”Shower.Medicine.Breakfast:Eggs, toast and jam.What time is it?.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/MaxwellRyder/2830844/ Once we could see the stars,Then Hollywood, one by one Plucked them from our skies,And put them on its boulevard.All I’m left is the moon To gaze at from my backyardOn occasion, Venus too. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/MaxwellRyder/2830810/ The Ordinal Mortal,Catholics called God, I couldn’t findMy King in,Especially whenThey named HimPius, InnocentOr Benedict,Which I thinkIncredibly ironic,At the least,Supremely odd. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/MaxwellRyder/2830381/ The same starsHang in the sameNight sky; Millennia unfold,Still they abide;Watching eventsUnfold over time,As they did then,Making mockeryOf catastropheAmong humans;Sending out code,Beacons of hope,To Roman soldiers That never arrived. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/MaxwellRyder/2168109/ There’s a tree I plantedOutside some schoolI went to years agoI imagine it’s grownInto a majestic,Inverted lung,Soaking up Pollutants And virusMine are dying of. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/MaxwellRyder/2166551/ I packed the MarlborosShed the plastic wrappper,Tossed it in the bin;Lit the cig behind my hand,Bracing in a stiff North wind;Took one look at my furry friend,Pointed out the fire hydrant beside him:“Fido, look, it’s Donald Trump,”Then watched him hike his leg up.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/MaxwellRyder/2162354/ Get on a pedestal, Turn into stone, For all inhabitants Of Florence and Rome Your vanity awaits Its permanent throne. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/MaxwellRyder/2162082/ https://www.facebook.com/651148709/posts/10156943388013710?sfns=mo http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/MaxwellRyder/2148260/ I feel like I was born in a biome,Neither desert or bayou;Dry Hot Humid, ColdPulled, stretched, wrenchedAs prey to carrion,Weather picking at flesh,The elements slowlyWhitening my bones,Till all that’s leftIs a pirate emblem:Skull and crossbones. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/MaxwellRyder/2147432/ Do f***s really fly?They say pigs don’t; But when push Comes to shove, Both do, off heights. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/MaxwellRyder/2147430/ Cicada moltingsClingingOn crampons,Ascendingoak trunks;Bolted in,Eyes bugged,Focused onthe summit above;Mountaineers fallFrom EverestDuring autumn’sAvalanches;Chitons crunched Under children’s Jack boot stomps. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/MaxwellRyder/2146524/ The solution isn’t eating babies. Nor is it Trump’s Big Macs;The solution is in the stolen tax;the tithing Uncle Sam demands.God didn’t say, Let there be walls,but F**k your ailing backs?If He sent a dude named Jesus,He sent him as a tax collector,To be tarred and f.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/MaxwellRyder/2146127/ The raven’s call,Long and sonorous, Is the battlecry of Fall;It’s a soundWhich yellowThe leaves in fear,Shaking the boughsOf trees,Down to their sprigs;Waking morning risersIn their toilet stalls;“I’m here,” it bellows,As men slowly headFor the.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/MaxwellRyder/2142698/ Today I thought of splashingThe front desk girl In cryptic swirlsat my local gym, who walks on Holy grails ofSturdy timber,Whose cupRunneth overEvery month;But for someEarthly reasonI segued toThe smoke andPrimitive howlerMonkeys stuckIn pockets ofRain forest,Ch.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/MaxwellRyder/2138848/ If bullet casings had built bridges,we’d have glued continents rifted by war, and walked to our brothers. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/MaxwellRyder/2136780/ A blackbird trawls the graveyard floor, after a summer downpour,hopping from mound to mound,spearing the wormswhose ancestors once fed on the tiny victims of scarlet fever;their fathers who never returned alive from the Front;and their widows, starved from heartache and lost pensio.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/MaxwellRyder/2115979/ Poems find cracks in the sidewalk and spring to life; chasteand youthfuljust long enoughto sit for a portraitin my journal. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/MaxwellRyder/2114153/ a yellow orchidin the WC,perched uncertainlyon the parapet,between tissue and sink,watered by glass beads;a bridge grafittied:"I need sweet weed,"sprayed fora private audiencewho pays a ticketbetween cities;train cars of coalto burn in crematoria,their extinctionwarming.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/MaxwellRyder/2113433/ Three poems in one on women's perfume. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/MaxwellRyder/2112272/ A clerkGets highOn weed;Bible’s OpenedTo FirstCorinthians.The thiefComes in,Points His gun,andDemandsthe cash;She calmlyOpensThe till,and asks,“Don’t you prefer to be armedwith your Lord?”Beforethe soundOf a reportLefta tric.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/MaxwellRyder/2109467/ I feel my body Trying to kickMy soulTo the streets,And go restEternallyIn the ground;My psycheHas to tell it,Go pound sand. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/MaxwellRyder/2108047/ What’s sadder than a grave,But a sunken grave?Than one that’s nameless,Unmarked, or even defacedBy time and space?I walk by the cemetery;The earth is eatingEtchings and photoscarved in stoneOf lovers, actors,Juris Doctors, poets Even war heroes of old, whose stori.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/MaxwellRyder/2107503/ Mayflies in April,June bugs in MayI never thoughtI’d live to see the dayFrogs were so happyFor global warming,And earlybird buffets. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/MaxwellRyder/2106246/ https://www.facebook.com/651148709/posts/10156431804953710?sfns=mo http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/MaxwellRyder/2101296/ Eight ball cracksHer nose, spilling redOn her jawShe stirs bloodInto jack and coke,Quaffs it backDreams of days She aroused Lestat’sJugular. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/MaxwellRyder/2101214/ https://www.facebook.com/651148709/posts/10156431547523710?sfns=mo http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/MaxwellRyder/2101213/ If Jesus had been black,he’d still have been rightI’d have listened to him,washed his feet, been a fisher of menin the darkest of nights;The stripes on his backwould’ve been no less red, the cross, no less heavy.But if Jesus had been black,I’m not sure he would&rsqu.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/MaxwellRyder/2100238/ Watching a spiderTrundle a bundleAcross its spindles,Mummies surfher hinterwebs,Silkened chocolatechips decorate Charlotte’s menagerie of debris on threads The necromancerHangs another charmIn her pavilion of death. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/MaxwellRyder/2098810/ I hear a jackhammer way up in the oak,And it’s March.It must mean one thing;There’s a woodpecker Peckish for a poke. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/MaxwellRyder/2098776/ To the cardinal rapist,There are no wordsJesus ever spoke,Prophet or poet ever wrote, Which could spare your throatFrom being slit, end to end,When you split thoseChildren into torn souls,And defiled them.Here’s a sword,Put it in the hands of one of your victims,And go .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/MaxwellRyder/2097937/ The Master Algorithm prefers offeringsof fluffy cat picswhile it drinks used tampon cocktails and sells baby organsunder a street lamp to make rent in Hell. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/MaxwellRyder/2097778/ The past is a zombieWho sticks its handOut from the graveTo grab bouquets,Shatter lit candlesGraffiti headstonesAll in hopesNot to atoneWith the presentIt left alone. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/MaxwellRyder/2097776/ Skeletons in my closet,Itty bitty friendsDead bodiesPicked to bones,Spat out the colon;I offer up these wordsThey lay in stateUpon a catafalque For all in aweTo gaze upon, ablaze;I offer up this hymnTo God HimselfAs a judgment, Witness against myself,Seeing all in dea.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/MaxwellRyder/2096008/ APassion OverlyDosed,YourOfferProducesSensationsIntimatelyStenographed. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/MaxwellRyder/2095802/ I had a candid Meeting with a lollipop That didn’t suck;He called me a candy-a*sAnd wished me luck. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/MaxwellRyder/2095240/ She had an assorted Spray of sores That left no part of Her lips unturned to kiss, Yet her client Looked her up And down, Declaring, I can find other avenues to fulfill my love; How good is your French? She responded, I don&rs.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/MaxwellRyder/2094745/ If I were a Native I wouldn’t like itIf I were called aSiberian Land-BridgeAsian,By those pretending To be AmericanOf European descent;Who got me liquoredUp on bingo, casinos,reservation living,white man’s clothes,Who did more thanJust beat a drum In my face, .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/MaxwellRyder/2093343/ Where were you?You let me goSeasons pass,With anotherYou eloped.Our season returns,I watch the snow Icing oaks,Then you shakeMe awake,As I look youRock down,Alight, angelic white,Dressed inYour snowflake,Landed on my nose,A virgin kissWatering my soul. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/MaxwellRyder/2093223/ Do men with small penises Think they just have big c***s?In this new age of pronouns,Do they just think they’re its?Why buy a box of WheatiesWhen your idol Jenner’s a girl?Eat Special K, be a heptathlete;Wear panties, like Joyner KerseyAnd rejoice at the finish lineYou .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/MaxwellRyder/2092896/ we try on women like clothesafter some years,we look back at our wardrobe,out of style, so damn old;some pants are ripped,some shirts still fit;while others we donateto the poor, laughing atthe stories they once told;we take others to the tailorto recall the sea as sailors,to b.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/MaxwellRyder/2092630/ I have reached that age of an old dog, losing his old tricks I refuse to speak, sit, or rollfor masters and fools.I’m lost in a world of baiting and clicks. Thank you for that, Facebook; Alzheimer’s is on the move. Stubborn and stupid has arrived too soon, and my cloud is.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/MaxwellRyder/2092512/ History isn’t just written by winners; Victory, and how it is won, is sterilized, made glorious By the best of intentions,and omission.Evil is evilbecause it is other - not us. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/MaxwellRyder/2091645/ enduring a new moonin the depth of winter’s night,dark, cold and cursed,existence rides in a coffinin the back of a hearse,waiting to be interredtill resurrection at morning lightburies treasuresnever to be unearthed,stolen by monarchsor mortals worn. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/MaxwellRyder/2091197/