Members Profile


Frank James Ryan Jr...fjr New York / United States, Male, 55
Profession :
Corporate Internet Marketing Exec.
Education :
Iona Prep Accelerated H.S./ Concordia College
Stage
854 Points

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

  • POEM: To Everything There is a Season by Ivy Schex (6/21/2014 1:23:00 AM)

    P L A G I A R I S T...! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! Verbatim from the Book of Ecclesiastes, and borrowed with a bold notation as being of said bible passage in 1965 by the Rock band, The Byrds whose music to these words was titled Turn, Turn, Turn(To Every Season-From The Book of Ecclesiastes) , and had their record top the Billboard Chart for 3 weeks at the No.1 spot......Not everyone has a natural talent for writing...Perhaps that is your dilemma, however, this is certainly no way to advertise your shortcoming! And if you have literary skills, lets see them...And if you don't but want do...R EA D & L E A R N! ~FjcR~

  • POEM: For can i play with madness, by Me, Myself and I (9/30/2013 9:16:00 PM)

    Far too preachy...lacks substance.A true storyline....I see you are still obsessed with employing commas at a pandemic rate.....Find a library and allot yourself some quality time to Read your Contemporary Poets, PLEASE!
    What you are writing here is nothing but rant and as far as literary quality is concerned is anemic of every basic principle of even mediocre verse...My suggestion is that instead of using your spare time to play I.P. Stat games, that you use that time to diligently learn how to pen meritable poetry....unless you honestly feel that you have no desire to improve on your current quality of creative writing...The choice is yours and my comments are
    not meant to chastize or impune your work....The stat scamming is entirely another issue which I find foolish and self-impuning....~FjR~

  • POEM: A Beautiful Day by Me, Myself and I (7/5/2013 11:46:00 PM)

    Too many mis-located commas amidst the same one train of thought....ok is slang and the use of it takes away from the formality of the work...okay is what you want...I see you also have an obsession for quote symbols...Totally distracting & grammarically faux-pas...No need to use them to embolden your conveyence. The theme and several segments of your delivery show that your writing has improved. Keep an open mind towards constructive advice, and keep that pen pumping ~FjR~

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

  • Frank James Ryan Jr...fjr (10/11/2014 1:20:00 AM) Post reply | Read 2 replies

    Hey Jim...How's trix?! Hope all is fine and healthy in your world....Well, as a 40+ years Tull fanatic, allz' I can say to your posting of the above is: Awesome lyrics, band, album from which this tune first debuted (War Child) , and last but most certainly not least...the lyricist, lead singer, flutist and concert magician grandeur himself...Ian Anderson....
    Be well, my friend...Frank

  • Frank James Ryan Jr...fjr (9/12/2014 12:41:00 AM) Post reply

    Excellent post Danny...Thirteen years, or 156 months, or 4,755 days after " THAT" day, here, on Manhattans Westside it still stings like a darning needle...And now, with all this time passed since September 11th,2001. and Bin Laden serving as tainted Pakistanian fertilizer... Enters ISIS, ISIL, ISO or whatever else our Presidents teleprompter has deemed the Terror teams tag of the day! Hope all is well in your world...How's that trellis these days?~Frank~

  • Frank James Ryan Jr...fjr (8/18/2014 1:20:00 AM) Post reply

    Echoes breathe deep beneath church steeples,
    wind warped chimes chase spiral pathways
    down the aisles where caskets are incensed.
    Funerals tend to cumber grieving hearts
    and lungs from the choking smoke, rising.

    Myrrh stings like darning needles,
    smoked heat dancing through gothic lamps as
    the starched 'March of Death' sleeps below them,
    and Echoes breathe deep sorely labored
    while mourners in pews sweat profusely

    by the noonday sun off bright stained glass
    Resurrection Masses occlude beauty,
    leave grey, hollow hearts strained, bereft;
    thank God for the steeple breeze
    whenever Church Echoes breathe deep.

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