Awake!
A slate grey, cold
daybreak –
blood clot
sunrise, I take
a shot
and miss.
Life must hold more
than this.
Ryan Stone
too much coffee, too little sleep, a love of words…
I wake a full hour early
for the rare gift
of a walk in the woods
with my father.
He is a silent giant
among misty ghost gums.
I tell him, Watch!
See how fast I can run.
He doesn’t yell when I trip
and fall, but lifts me
with unfamiliar,
calloused hands.
At the end of the trail
I study my grazes—jagged
and bloody. He tells me
he’s leaving my mum.
On the walk home
I gaze at the gum trees
and fragmented clouds, thinking
they should look different somehow.
Ryan Stone
first published at Poetry Nook, 1st place Week 185
From this bridge of sighs
They watch the chasm sunder
Here, where dreaming ends
Ryan Stone

In this threadbare landscape
where patchwork fields
stretch to the horizon,
a red barn slouches—
weathered and worn
through all the long days,
paint flaking under the sun.
Surrounded by wheat husks,
each stalk croaking secrets,
forgotten, a scarecrow slumps—
guardian of a dead land.
Tattered garments hang limp, button
eyes gaze sightless. Last sentinel
against encroaching shadows.
And still, there is beauty here.
Where barn, field, and scarecrow
converge, where eagles cry
on the wind—a tale of courage
and heartbreak. A tale
of life’s simple grace.
Ryan Stone

In empty spaces
echoes fade to silent grief,
whispers on the wind
Ryan Stone

funeral flowers
wilting in quiet corners…
so hard to let go
Ryan Stone

After all the years, the heart-shaped
promises, a Ponts des Arts love lock
one Spring, it has come now to this —
a sterile room, too-small-for-two bed,
plastic flowers, faint urine smell.
Standing bedside, she strokes and hums,
remembers a warm night by the sea.
The setting sun kisses white hair
golden. Tremors become twitches,
become silence.
Ryan Stone
We walk the tide line
barefoot on the morning sand,
your steps close by mine.
Later, I return alone
but no trace of us remains.
Ryan Stone
