Ryan+Francis


 * //"Poetry is like making a joke. If you get one word wrong at the end of a joke, you've lost the whole thing." - William Stanley Merwin//**


 * Ode To Imagination**

My thoughts, itching to remove themselves from the cramped space in my head and jump onto the paper in front of me and dances around until it has well showed off it's shapes and curves and jumps back into it's home where it manifested from, but now it's image has been left on the paper.

I scratch my head as my pen sketches as fast as it can, back and forth, until I get the perfect line, the perfect curve, the perfect facial feature. Then I paint their faces onto the page and give them mouthes to express themselves, give them ears to hear their creators commands, give them eyes to see what there surroundings are, create their image and their knowledge all with this hand with a pen full of ink and a pocket full of pastels to create the world in which my book has made for the characters I have created, but yet they are confined by boxes of different imagery of views of each being. Being airborne or being ground bound, they all have a say in the view of my box in which the characters reside.


 * My Momma**

 My place got robbed, must have been him again. He will never leave us alone for shit. We try to shake him, lose him in the mix, but he manages to still keep us nigh.

Not my momma. Not my strong head momma. She don't deserve all this bull in her home. but man, betwixt all this heavy Drama, she still is able to keep us strong, grown.

My momma is stronger than any other, that is why I smile like winter to spring and I am proud to call her my mother. And her soft elegant voice when she sings.

even though she is tough and well rounded I find myself steady and well grounded.


 * MGS4**

 Completely lost... not a soul in sight..... Whoa.... whats that? wheres it coming from? sounds about north eastern a few paces... maybe... near the trash can.... no.... the building, first floor corner.... maybe it's rats... No... too distinct of a rattle to be rats.... shit....it's getting closer, maybe.. no yeah! there we go! under that car!.... It's approaching... I knew it wasnt small... Those boots are iron clad yet they make no noise upon ground contact.. Shit.. I think he see's me.... No no no!....... silence...


 * Poets Corner**

//"Ever since I was little, I've always seen the world through my mind and not my eyes. Everything I've looked at so far has an abstract spin to it whereas I see myself creating everything around me the way I want it to be and no one else's. Inspiration comes fast to me, and I swear a cloud looks like any and everything to me. My life is nowhere near the typical "normality" of most teens, my eyes are my own and so is my mind, the way I see it is golden." - Ryan Francis//


 * Poems by Kay Ryan**

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 * Sharks Teeth**

Everything contains some silence. Noise gets its zest from the small shark's-tooth- shaped fragments of rest angled in it. An hour of city holds maybe a minute of these remnants of a time when silence reigned, compact and dangerous as a shark. Sometimes a bit of a tail or fin can still be sensed in parks. code

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 * Patients**

Patience is wider than one once envisioned, with ribbons of rivers and distant ranges and tasks undertaken and finished with modest relish by natives in their native dress. Who would have guessed it possible that waiting is sustainable— a place with its own harvests. Or that in time's fullness the diamonds of patience couldn't be distinguished from the genuine in brilliance or hardness. code

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 * Nothing Ventured**

Nothing exists as a block and cannot be parceled up. So if nothing's ventured it's not just talk; it's the big wager. Don't you wonder how people think the banks of space and time don't matter? How they'll drain the big tanks down to slime and salamanders and want thanks? code

The first poem states that silence is golden and few experience it because of the creepy, sneaky ways noise sneaks up on it in which she compares noise to a shark and she labels everything silence. In a nutshell, Kay Ryan is giving character to silence which is called personification. She is not only trying to paint a pitture in our heads to describe such a strong inanimate object, but she is also using her wording choices wisely and taking a lot of risks with her writing. So basically, poem two "//Patients//" is talking about the virtues a well as the rewards of patients by adding in material and mental benefits from it. It is also showing the importance of endurance and the effects of trial and error connecting to the act of responsibility in completeness. This poem can connect to the idea of poetry and the art of writing because most people can;t sit down and just blow through a meaningful poem, because it takes time to analyse what you want to write about and what main idea your writing from, or it can be an out poor of thoughts, but it takes patients to get the completed model. This brings us to poem three, "//Nothing Ventured//" which basically is saying once theres an idea, run with it. In deeper meaning, "running" with an idea could mean venturing out to create, invent, or discover something that no one else has seen, and it also is saying that in reality if you do't take a step forward then you won't know what lies ahead of you. Kay Ryan seems to write in heavy metaphoric and personified ways in her three poems by giving very detailed imagery in her poems. An example of her personification skills would be, "Nothing exist as a block and cannot be parceled up. So if nothing's ventured it's not just talk; it's the big wager." - //Nothing Ventured.//