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Frank Mceleny
Frank Mceleny Overland Park / United States, Male, 50
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Former Bricklayer, now Real Estate Agent
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Frank Mceleny's last comments on poems and poets

  • POEM: My Little Corn Farm by Imaobong Igwe (11/3/2013 10:07:00 AM)

    Life in the middle of the desert, the work of God. He draws His own into the desert and there He teaches and gives life. Only His children would be drawn to a lifeless place, a place where nothing grown, in order to grow and find life. The Kingdom of God has turned the world upside down. There is life where there should be none, there is love where there should be hatred, there is peace in the midst of turmoil, all of this to the one who walks in the Spirit, who walks in the Kingdom of God where even corn grows in the desert.

  • POEM: I Cannot Return by Adeline Foster (9/4/2012 12:10:00 AM)

    Well, your right Adeline, you cannot return. Memories are wonderful and we would not be without them and they make us who we are, in a sense, but they are hollow shallow ghosts. Time itself beats upon us like never ending waves shifitng the sand constantly. Take the memory of a loved one, its a reminder of what has passed and what cannot be retrieved. Dont get me wrong, I'll take ghosts over nothing. It presses home the need to live now. Jesus was revealing a startling truth when He told us to live for today, live in the now, live in his presence.........Frank

  • POEM: .Frost Flowers by Adeline Foster (9/3/2012 11:58:00 PM)

    I like the imagry of snow. I came from a dirty little industrial town on the banks of the River Clyde. It had blackened sandstoned tenements and a thousand smoking chimney pots that looked down on hard cobbled narrow streets. Hard town, hard people, but then the snow. The town is set in the hill of a deep valley and I lived on one of the highest streets, and when the snow came it came heavy and it lingered there and it covered everything and suddenly it was clean, virginal. A late night snow meant no footprints, only unblemished white garments and silence. Could this be a taste of heaven, this muffled silence, this purity, this removing or covering of dirt? These were my thoughts as a troubled young boy from a broken home where silence only ever came in the dead of the night. Yet, like that silence in the night, I knew the snow would not last and so it was only there for a moment to be savored. There Adeline, see what your poem has made me write :) ..........Frank

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