Originally Posted: February 3rd, 2016
Updated: June 9th, 2020
Found out my friend Ryan passed away last year. We met at the Canoga Park Art Walk a few years back…I typed him a poem, he showed me his drawings. Young guy. Potential. We stayed in touch, hanging out and talking, reflecting. The last time we talked, he told me he was focusing on recovery.
Addiction uses our mind/body as a feasting ground. How to fight back? Maybe a poem. Rest in peace, Ryan James.
“With Ink”
winter, i
never stay, we
smile from coffee, i
wasn’t addicted, yet
flip scratch to cook, there’s
always the birds, but
fuck where they’re going, and
fuck where we’ve been, I
wanted to let you crash.
The car’s gone, now. Music’s stolen,
too, but my hands don’t miss
much, these days. these days, i
split wood to burn paper, pick
words like ash, you see it’s
winter, now, and i
billimarie
february 3rd 2016
for ryan james – rip
Above image is artwork by Ryan James, a gift he gave me after I wrote him a poem the first time we met.
Nice poem. I’m sorry about Ryan.
Thanks, Matt; appreciate it.
Sorry to hear about Ryan. It’s a beautiful tribute.
Hey Richard, thanks for saying so.
So sorry
It’s a beautiful poem
Thanks Sheldon, hope you are well.
“split wood to burn paper, pick / words like ash”: I don’t know what it means but it sounds perfect.
“… and i”: great way to end, or not end, a poem inspired by an interrupted life.
I like the way it sounds too, Richard…plus the abstract imagery it provokes.
Thanks for commenting, always appreciate your insight.
Art is long; Life is short. Your loving poem has created a beautiful memory of Ryan
What a wonderful sentiment! Wrote it down in my journal. Thanks, John.
Beautiful poem; sad news.
Thanks, Ray. Succinctly stated, as usual.