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Frank James Ryan Jr...fjr
Frank James Ryan Jr...fjr New York / United States, Male, 56
Profession :
Corporate Internet Marketing Exec.
Education :
Iona Prep Accelerated H.S./ Concordia College
27,709 Points

Frank James Ryan Jr...fjr's last comments on poems and poets

  • POEM: Song of Social Despair by Marvin Bell (2/27/2015 3:06:00 AM)

    A well crafted piece of work...Virtually flawless structural movement, and a storyline powerfully delivered wit poetic conviction.~FjR~

  • POEM: I Thought The Spirit by Naveed Akram (2/27/2015 3:02:00 AM)

    This was a most interesring storyline, engrossed in a myriad of underlying symbolism...Abstract yet spiritual...Good vs evil perhaps...How easily we as mortal beings can be taken to that mountain top masqued Evil for tea & temptation? Excellent work, , indeed ~FjR~

  • POEM: Life is the laughter by gajanan mishra (2/26/2015 11:35:00 PM)

    So much can be received, contemplated, delivered, and resolved through the element of absolute Silence...I think Simon & Garfunkel gave a most epic description in their 1965 chart-buster single & vinyl LP, The Sound of Silence...The above poem displays a good depiction as well....worthy of a 2nd read which I have already taken advantage of! Solid Penning, G ~FjR~

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Frank James Ryan Jr...fjr's comments on forums

  • Frank James Ryan Jr...fjr (2/21/2015 12:49:00 AM) Post reply | Read 2 replies

    A wee succinct 'yarn' if you will
    on a very early Saturday N.Y. morn...

    Lessons Fom Cat's... ]^.^[

    Siamese Cat's perched on eaves,
    sans the slightest movement of vertebrae -
    sit ossified like creation's by Nengah.
    Below them they sense the same air above them,
    but only because they understand freedom.

  • Frank James Ryan Jr...fjr (2/16/2015 12:19:00 AM) Post reply

    I must concur, Allan, however, death could be quite lucrative for the beneficiaries of a filthy rich dearly departed...~FjR~

  • Frank James Ryan Jr...fjr (1/29/2015 3:28:00 AM) Post reply | Read 2 replies

    A Visit To Your Home Amongst A Field of Stone...

    Thought it was time I stopped by to visit
    and yes, I brought flowers, don't you dare laugh!
    Habitual manners from an Irish upbringing,
    'Never visit one's homestead, uninvited or empty handed',
    that's what Mum always said, so I heed.

    Flowers are always freshest when laid
    upon mornings dew, while the Sun is still sleeping,
    yet, by noon, they'll be wilting by its hot yellow eye
    in the August haze, dying, decomposing.
    And my mind takes to thinking to itself
    how morosely apropos, these flowers be,
    considering the conditions beneath me.

    I knee-touch the bare soil, still settling,
    place the spray against your freshly cut stone.
    Flowers cannot speak, nor can you... or can you?
    I sense a breeze pass the nape of my neck, is it you?
    It must be, it has to be, for if not...
    I'm just standing here alone amongst a field of stone,
    listening to the breeze wisps behind me.

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