Poems ✍️

Shadows of autumn, they haunt me
Life...sentenced to death by change
Only needles of green, n' pine-cone
Spare the forest-scape...of a barren
black winter...

Shadows stalk on th' whispery gales
Novembers fickle breeze, doth snap
Crisp images, ah, for th' poetic mind
And, reclusive me as I quill by night
in silent attitude...

Shadows cast late noon silhouettes
Tips o' goldenrod fast fade to umber
Mornings dew wrapped in infant ice
I see it all- behind boxed glass panes
o'er shelves of Donne and Poe...

All I need is my quill.....and isolation
To tease my yen for an abstract buffet
I begrudge no one, harbour no secrets
I'm all about words from th' dark side
of tell-tale...

A Poet I'm not...will never claim to be
Poets fleck a canvass of deep exposure
Into th' passions 'n perils of their lives
And they do it, ahhhh....so seductively
with pathos and genius....

And, th' autumn glow beckons this eye
Fast bleeding colors.... early frost melts
Like the verses of Sandburg and Eliot
While captured in th' Autumn equation
of its death... its last cold breath.



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Frank James Ryan Jr. / FjR