ROBIN RYAN was born in Perth,Australia.....has lived in BC since 1956 ....taught at every level: First Grade to Second Year University, and in the community....warms spontaneously to children, and others....loves nudging people to find out what “makes them tick”-- most of all, strangers. (“What do/did you do?”.... “your best story?”.... “your best/worst day?”) Most people open right up. It’s a hoot!....only struck out badly once, on a bus ride in Sydney--another story!

Words are candy to Robin , to be savoured or gobbled up irreverently for personal pleasure. And having FUN is number one priority....Noses were made to be pulled! Yet he hungers blatantly for some threads of acceptance, as do most people who rack their brains trying to be creative.
Robin leans towards the joy of writing popular songs and “small taters” poetry perhaps because the gestation period and delivery pangs are less trying than for some other forms of creation– and more to his simplistic liking.
He has been writing fifteen years, and written ten songs and a hundred poems, mostly for his own satisfaction.
(“Get with it, cruel world! Shake a leg! Get on the bus!)

GUESS WHAT I BLEW FROM MY DIDGERIDOO! -Robin Ryan 2003

I blew, and I BLEW
on my didgeridoo.
And out shot a letter
that Sis wrote to Poo!

She’d run out of stamps
so she sent it by roo!
But it bounced from the pouch
where a hollow tree grew,
the same one I chose
for a didgeridoo !!!

I whittled it down,
missin’ school with the flu.
The chips in my bed
made me itch ( ‘n’ Spot too!)
But, back to the letter,
if it’s alright with you!

I READ it, and Sis cried:
That’s NOT right to DO!”
( I drowned her out quick
with The Saints Marchin’ Through.)

I’m NOT tellin’ lies, Mate!
This is all didgie TRUE!