Connor Ryan
Chicago, IL
A very warm welcome. I'm a writer, director, photographer, explorer and keen sailor. I savour my earl grey, admire my hand-welted boots, and cherish my woolen sweaters. I'm an avid reader, cinephile, amateur pianist and am often found lurking the halls of art galleries.
Thanks for perusing my poems, films, photography and other work. If something inspires you, if you have an idea resonates, or you want to work together, I urge you to reach out. To discover more about Glass Poets, please read about our ETHOS.
Remember the silence of tall grasses
And those days of yore
The dirt, the masses,
Underneath heaven’s store.
You could not endure
A new millennium;
Taking with you
All your old treasures,
Your old troves,
And new measures:
For those groves
Were filled
With Un-light
And light unburdened.
The next day
You were heard,
And you will say,
Each day you will say:
Come again,
Look through this window
Breath this word.
But you will not go
And as the birds
You too will speak,
Not a creak.
Come again,
Watch long feathers fall,
Drifting,
And the twines
Un-twining.
Twice-twined,
’T’won’t tell;
(Teeth of tubes)
Uttering foul words.
But you,
Odd, graceful and slow,
You will utter,
And you will know.