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Connor Ryan

Chicago, IL

A very warm welcome. I'm a writer, director, photographer, explorer and keen sailor -- I have recently passaged the North Atlantic from Ireland to Greenland aboard a 38' ketch. I savour my earl grey, admire my hand-welted boots, and cherish my woolen sweaters. I'm an avid reader, cinephile and often lurk around art galleries.

This website is a collection of my work -- poems, films, photography and other musings. If something inspires you, if you have an idea to express, or you want to work together, I bid you please 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,


And the twines



’T’won’t tell;

(Teeth of tubes)

Uttering foul words.


But you, 

Odd, graceful and slow,

You will utter,

And you will know.

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