Romance Be The Colour Aqua...
Somewhere between emerald 'n topaz is a world of aqua
Coral and rocks that glisten in shining water...like mirrors
Reflecting an aural seascape, that Romance, hasn't seen
Since the theories and legends..........that buried Atlantis
Bermuda makes promise of a fantasy Island.......for lovers
Romance in the shadows of late afternoon........silhouettes
And after the honey and fruits of the island...........be tasted
Lovers bathe in a pleasure of amorous capture......of aqua
Oceans be ever instilled..... with the treasures of Romance
One must feel the thrust of the tide as it surges, and peaks
A force that transforms passion... into soul-binding rapture
Somewhere 'tween here 'n there...the waters breathe majic
poem by Frank James Ryan Jr.
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W h i t e () N o i s e
The noise broke white
from far behind
so it seemed,
that it was,
as the Douglas Firs bristled
in anticipation.
We watched from a nearby mountain peak,
bristled at the onslaught,
white weight barreling forth in giant sheets,
snapping hulked bark like matchsticks,
smothering all that stood in its path
of hard-hitting waves of frost-drift,
mountaintop cancer
like Schools of Stickleback -
trapped in Nantuckets Sleighride.
Nascent? no...you never see it,
tho' you'll never forget the sound
upon you as fast
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poem by Frank James Ryan Jr.
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M a s q u e
Veiled to silhouette ''Itself''...'fore God's penumbra
Cursed of and cast to the flaming 'Chaos of Hades
Arrives by sin to place Its thorned badge o' rubicon
'Pon the heart-thread's of a populous lost in ersatz
All accomplished 'fore the bloody day was through
Such the statesman 'It'was...
No longer small, much larger now'It' breathes deep
In the brains and bowels of the likes of you and me
Masqued in sweet aroma, raise the cup....to the lips
To which pours 'Itself' from the lust of sordid carafs
All drunk or dead, 'fore the bloody day was through
Such the fools we be...
And it is said that hands of Power will be the first to Rise 'n War
And it is said that hands of Power will be wrapped in lambs wool
poem by Frank James Ryan Jr.
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D e a t h d r e a m e r s {Transitus Supre}
Amorphously trancic eyes of an old man, dying
Effete lids close to a dripping state of morphine
Dreams of love, war and the twenty-seven Yankees
Intangibles never traded for souls or extra innings
Immortality, a Dream for they who fear not Death
And its pathway that invades the deepest sleep
But No! Not for the true Dreamer's, for only they
See Death's nascence as a mere passing cloud
To Dream is to experience life without conscience
Where quandaries are resolved or abort upon waking
There are no sandlines drawn, that morning can't erase
'Tis why the True Dreamer shall never dream their Death
Yet should they die in Dream, they know they will wake come morning
And, should they die in Sleep....their ultimate Dream breathes forever
poem by Frank James Ryan Jr.
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Just A Theory About Wisdom
Wisdom can be difined by acumens performance;
As, yes...... Rome could have been built in one day,
It just would not have survived to see a second day.
Wisdom sometimes is just common sense applied.
Yet, then we were taught never to pass Judgement!
Who then should be resposible to awaken the dead,
Before the roots of Armageddon.....rear their seeds?
The answer is, each one of us in sync with all others,
With our one common thread that cannot be denied.
We were all borne of ash.....and we'll all die the same.
Which then places us all.......in the same sinking boat.
And so, then, in reality......Wisdom speaks in the end-
About being in the Right Place....~...at the Right Time,
Though it might be wise as well....to own a spare boat!
poem by Frank James Ryan Jr.
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Alzheimers...When Will We Just Say No!
When do the moments begin to move
on wings of hours, veiled and skewed;
and what to say to th' silent old man
who for his Life could not understand
that the number for 911 was just that,
then called information to get th' facts.
[Yes I know, that doesen't make sense]!
When will we finally just say 'NO' to
.................'ALZHEIMERS'................ .,
let the labs and clinics do their thing
for as a Roman Catholic...'Practicing',
I cannot conceive The Christ Himself
wanting HIS creations to die in a shell
on a cruel, brain-burned ''Pilgrimage'-
these children HE made in HIS image.
Think about it.....One day it WILL be
some of US...and when our memories
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poem by Frank James Ryan Jr.
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Sorrow Be the Colour Indigo
Bleeding-out the heart like Xylem sap,
oozing from the bark of november trees;
inertia, negotiating crooked grooves,
in depressed, sardonic spiral;
descending to the taste of the Autumn soil,
cold, dark, and bitter..........as sorrow be.
We bleed in darkest indigo,
thru' the rivers of our narrowed veins,
and arteries...streams of purpled blue,
like the wounded heart in pathos;
'less the wound breaks flesh into open air;
colour indigo.....turns darkest red.
Holding-cell for sorrow....the human heart be
harbouring poignance in its bundle branches;
warm pulse cradling, its burning-iced lament,
until faith lightens the heavy, delivers remission.
And sorrow then be a lifeforce....fervent,
as the verdant buddings of the april trees.
poem by Frank James Ryan Jr.
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Reading The Tea Leaves of My Father
Silence ostensibly follows...shock an' solitude;
May i offer you a cup of Jasmine Green Tea?
Sometimes the unthinkable affords us
options and opportunity
to realize our acumen,
muse on our attitude,
or perhaps be opaque
to the shock and solitude,
and ensconce in the mind-quelling ambience
of time, Death and tea leaves.
For Tomorrows another day;
that's what my Father would say,
when silence held its breath
far too long,
while people feared chaos;
.....and,
he could not bear to watch the void
of the helplessly old staring 'n twitching
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poem by Frank James Ryan Jr.
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UPON THE FIRST OF APRIL[ Written,12: 01am, April 1st,2008]
April comes, and upon it's breeze, there's renaissance
And virginity, to nature's newborne host of greenpeace
Shadows cast a sunrise pink......o'er fields of Magnolia
Day's longer now, through the ide's...of April's eventide
Fresh buds rear their fragile blossom, in virtual eyeblink
Bold naked branches, glaced by frost.......just day's ago
Turn to limbs, adorned by multitudes of springs majesty
Mother Nature dear, ne're fails, to entertain our eyeshot
Sweetened rain, quenches th' earth that winter ravished
Penetrates th' hardened dirt, an' negotiates new growth
Nourishes the promise that April vows, as its gift to May
And there be no finer wine of Spring.....than April's pour
.
..........Written April 1st,2008..........
Frank James Christopher Ryan, Jr.
poem by Frank James Ryan Jr.
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I n c i s i o n
Touch of fire from cold steel-tip
like the Sea that pathed Exodus,
a parting from Egypt and Death-
the separation of human flesh
without syringes or ether
Modern lasers mundungus smoke
climbing queer as ivy on stone,
o'er sterile masks, spotlight, loud
breathing the rising spiral stench-
burnt flesh warming latexed fingers.
Surgical stainless clamps applied
to a fissured surge of bloody black,
prompts sheets of thick meshed gauze
absorbing Incisions upwell
like dunes drinking Nor'easter tides.
Motion set in the Theatre,
principals gather in circle,
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poem by Frank James Ryan Jr.
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