RYAN QUINN FLANAGAN

 

 

The Trees In My Neighbourhood

Are Waving Practitioners

 

The trees in my neighbourhood

are waving practitioners.

 

I am a dreamer, at heart.

The way I look is through

and forward.

 

There is sadness, sure.

Cracks in the road like accounts

to be settled.

 

But what is best is all around you.   

 

The willows forever wisping

an undefeated chime. 

 

Patsy Maker (2)

 

Ever stared down

into a cup of coffee

and knew what you

had to do?

 

That beautiful womanly voice,

and circles of cream

spooned into strangely

tranquil submission.

 

All those “Cuba activities”

that bring the avid bird watchers

back to wing.

 

If I had a way out,

things would not have become

so involved.

 

Tight brown ringlets

dropped over my face

like a distant stormed

beachhead.

 

Glistening and shampooed.

 

Old license plates

still on the road

like priceless rubies

that never really

knew.

 

The Vanisher

 

He would disappear

for days at a time.

 

Then return without a word,

as though nothing had happened.

 

No one knew where he went.

No one ever asked.

 

And this went on for years.

This vanishing act.

 

Until his death.

The one we never come

back from.

 

RYAN QUINN FLANAGAN

 

RYAN QUINN FLANAGAN is a Canadian-born author residing in Elliot Lake, Ontario, Canada with his wife and many bears that rifle through his garbage.  His work can be found both in print and online in such places as: Evergreen Review, The New York Quarterly, Our Poetry Archive, Setu, Literary Yard, and The Oklahoma Review.