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26/M/Arizona
My name is Ryan. I write almost daily to get my thoughts out of my head. I hope you enjoy my works and thank you ...
Fredericksburg, Virginia
"The most beautiful thing we can experience is the mysterious. It is the source of all true art and science. He to whom the emotion ...
Poems
Jakub Oct 2015
Holding out a net
Jakub
Oct 2015
A man sits in his boat alone
And yields no riches from the river
so he is lost on what to do
until he sees a fisher.
This fisher brags his perfect catch.
"This fish looks far too big for YOU to catch"
The fisher then gives a reply:
"I'm offended that you think that but I shall help you"
The fisher gives the man a net to try.
He says:
"This net is only a tool, you cannot use anything but your own strength if you want to catch the perfect fish"
The man thanks the fisher for his help in accomplishing his wish.
Days go past with no results for the man with the net.
He meets with the fisher from time to time
each time the fisher tells him that only his own strength will help him catch what he says: "Is mine".
In all this talk, the fisher's perfect fish escapes.
The fisher is devastated.
The fisher is wrecked.
"How could I have let her go?!"
The man sees despair in his friend's losing his perfect.
The fisher and the man now sit alone along the shore.
They sit with their nets in the water.
No words are spoken.
No support because they are both broken.
The man then sees the fish that the fisher lost.
He knows the fisher begins to miss her
And uses this loss.
The man runs out, he tries to catch her.
He tries to take what the fisher once lost.
To take from a man he calls 'brother'.
The fisher is betrayed.
The fisher sees the desperate man.
The fisher moves away.
Because only a thief steals
what his brother loves
A brother never tries to steal
The only love a brother has.
And yields no riches from the river
so he is lost on what to do
until he sees a fisher.
This fisher brags his perfect catch.
"This fish looks far too big for YOU to catch"
The fisher then gives a reply:
"I'm offended that you think that but I shall help you"
The fisher gives the man a net to try.
He says:
"This net is only a tool, you cannot use anything but your own strength if you want to catch the perfect fish"
The man thanks the fisher for his help in accomplishing his wish.
Days go past with no results for the man with the net.
He meets with the fisher from time to time
each time the fisher tells him that only his own strength will help him catch what he says: "Is mine".
In all this talk, the fisher's perfect fish escapes.
The fisher is devastated.
The fisher is wrecked.
"How could I have let her go?!"
The man sees despair in his friend's losing his perfect.
The fisher and the man now sit alone along the shore.
They sit with their nets in the water.
No words are spoken.
No support because they are both broken.
The man then sees the fish that the fisher lost.
He knows the fisher begins to miss her
And uses this loss.
The man runs out, he tries to catch her.
He tries to take what the fisher once lost.
To take from a man he calls 'brother'.
The fisher is betrayed.
The fisher sees the desperate man.
The fisher moves away.
Because only a thief steals
what his brother loves
A brother never tries to steal
The only love a brother has.
Path Humble
Sep 2023
“where time is the fly and age the fisher of men”
<>
”until I fell forward
into fall where time is
the fly and age the fisher
of men, then when winter
begins all will be forgotten,
where time is the fly and
age the fisher of men”
excerpt from “The Fall” by Rick Richardson
<>
that words from a different ionic state, jump as embodied ions from screen to the throat, evicting a guttural current of exclamation, you believe even with the half-heartedly palpitations from remainder of my damaged pumping heart, that these words were always intended, just for me…
boy and old man coexist, the pottage of memories stirred,
and the time is fly, and I drown in the miracle of greenest grass of
Yankee Stadium at age eight,
oasis, heaven, a child reborn in a sea of Bronx concrete,
and the swallowing up of my boyhood is forever marked henceforth, the hook has caught me, and I am of the age
once and forever
not a fisherman, but a fisher of men’s souls,
mine own is my best bait,
hooked line and sinker, and
wisdom and words
elude and delude always,
like summer is perpetual and aging a construct,
time does not fly, but slowly laps and waves
eroding our myths and ourselves upon a continuum with
no ends
~postscript~
<>
yet I believe,
in miracles of
fish and loaves,
and that our individual continuums
will exist beyond the artifice of constraints
of
mortal time and that poems are
the forever chemicals within
our
bloodstreams,
even when our blood no longer spills
yet I believe!
<>
”until I fell forward
into fall where time is
the fly and age the fisher
of men, then when winter
begins all will be forgotten,
where time is the fly and
age the fisher of men”
excerpt from “The Fall” by Rick Richardson
<>
that words from a different ionic state, jump as embodied ions from screen to the throat, evicting a guttural current of exclamation, you believe even with the half-heartedly palpitations from remainder of my damaged pumping heart, that these words were always intended, just for me…
boy and old man coexist, the pottage of memories stirred,
and the time is fly, and I drown in the miracle of greenest grass of
Yankee Stadium at age eight,
oasis, heaven, a child reborn in a sea of Bronx concrete,
and the swallowing up of my boyhood is forever marked henceforth, the hook has caught me, and I am of the age
once and forever
not a fisherman, but a fisher of men’s souls,
mine own is my best bait,
hooked line and sinker, and
wisdom and words
elude and delude always,
like summer is perpetual and aging a construct,
time does not fly, but slowly laps and waves
eroding our myths and ourselves upon a continuum with
no ends
~postscript~
<>
yet I believe,
in miracles of
fish and loaves,
and that our individual continuums
will exist beyond the artifice of constraints
of
mortal time and that poems are
the forever chemicals within
our
bloodstreams,
even when our blood no longer spills
yet I believe!
a tribute to one of the best poets around