Tag: alone
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Coal Town
Birds don’t stop in this town. I see them fly past, black peppering blue, going someplace. I’ve given up dreaming wings. This town will know my bones. Condoms sell well in Joe’s corner store – boredom breeds but breeding’s a trap, a twitch in the smile of those steel-eyed shrews who linger late after church.…
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Paradigm Shift
I’m not an ice-block or wasted teardrop, mooching around your Long Island Iced Tea. I’m not chasing dreams, dreaming of Jeannie, won’t slow for one more whistle stop. I’ve never bridged sighs, I don’t island hop, or tasted the free airs of Heaney. Nor held a heart that, like some Houdini, didn’t vanish with barbaric…
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Adrift
The last leaves are golden, most have already flown. Branches hang bare beneath ashen skies. Not so different from when you climbed, hand over slow hand, waging a war inside your young mind. One leaf breaks free, hangs on a moment, before leaping into the maelstrom. I imagine a short fall, sharp jerk and silence;…
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I’ll not tread lightly
Remember school days and how we would play like there was no tomorrow? Now the castles we made are the price we must pay or flounder in oceans of sorrow. Roaming wild and free, building houses in trees as worlds waltzed to discordant tunes– like a zephyr through grass, gilded summer days passed, left us…
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The Sculptor
On Sunset Strip the lights have dimmed And silent now their siren’s call. A fading starlet’s eyes are brimmed With tears–one more forgotten thrall Who keeps her locks of platinum trimmed, Awaits her call to glory, Lays bare her soul to cheat decay And rewrite her life’s story. He sculpts her in immortal clay, In…
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Old Photograph
In the photo I keep in my wallet you’re smiling. No hint of ghosts in the glint of your eye. You’re sitting on a riverbank weaving a daisy chain I wore until it crumbled– linking flower to flower with the unblemished certainty that beauty and vows are forever. Ryan Stone
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Breaking Point
Pa, I see you in your shed– unaware of dusk settling over your garden, painting your pink crabapple blossoms grey. I see you bend, to squint at some small imperfection marring the wooden soldier you’ve spent the whole day carving, hands slow-dancing to a tune no-one else can hear. Later Ma will shake her head,…
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Muted
Clock hands circle lethargically. Heels clack, a distant speaker hisses – muted, surreal. I shift on a green vinyl chair, eyes trace an arc from clock to window. Outside, a succubus sun kisses children at play. At my father’s bedside, both of us wish I wasn’t. I despise myself for watching the minutes, and him…
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Dying Light
From my porch I watch thunderheads battering high noon into bruised twilight. I see you climb from under eaves, awakened by a pressure change. As the storm inhales you leap and spin, leap and spin your web — knowing your time to build is fleeting. Ryan Stone
