Poetic Philosophy Ryder


The quill drips

black ink onto the letter

addressed to my friend–

she is gone to Vienna.


Reddened leaves crackle


whose veins are varicose

as hers were

in winter and


in summer–



combustion is loud

above the trees, burning

louder than the wind’s

bluegrey frolic.

By Ryder

I am a writer, furniture designer and a musician. I enjoy synthesizing information because it helps me (and hopefully others) understand subjects in a systematic way.

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