days of stone

Tag: beauty

  • Southern Cross

    —

    by

    Ryan Stone
    in

    Some nights,when the wind shiftsand the silence settles deep,I step out barefootonto the cold veranda. Above the gum trees—the Southern Cross,low and steady,like it’s waiting for meto notice. It doesn’t blaze,just holds its shape,a quiet thingpointing the wayI’ve always knownbut needed to remember. Not a map.Not a promise.Just a reminderthat homeisn’t something you reach—it’s the…

  • Almost Eden

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    by

    Ryan Stone
    in

    You knew.She knew.It was thick in the air —like rain that never falls. Her hand on the doorframe.Yours in your pocket,clenched around nothing. The storm had passed.But the heat hadn’t broken. She looked at youlike you were the answerto a question she wasn’t supposed to ask. And you looked at herlike a manmeasuring the cost…

  • Magpie Morning

    —

    by

    Ryan Stone
    in

    Fifty soon.Strange how that numberfeels both heavier and lighterthan expected. I wake before the house stirs.Kettle on.Dogs at my heel—the old one careful on the tiles,the young one waiting for the daylike it might break open just for her. A magpie sings on the powerline,low and fluted—not calling,not warning—just there.Like me. The track behind is…

  • you left before the bell

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    by

    Ryan Stone
    in

    we were sixteen,all collarbones and restless hands,kicking gravel behind the bike shedslike we knew the world owed us somethingand we weren’t afraid to ask for it. your name lived in my throatfor years afterlike a word I never learned to sayout loud. we never got a proper ending—just a Tuesdayand a late noteand a suddensilence.…

  • Tōrō Nagashi

    —

    by

    Ryan Stone
    in

    Your flame flickers briefly— a parting whisper. Some trick of the river mimics your laughter. We stand apart at sunset, lost in natsukashii, come together in darkness, to watch the dead pass on. Your light has fallen now to shadow beneath the bridge. Ryan Stone First published on Napalm and Novocain, January 2016 Published at Poetry…

  • Paradigm Shift

    Paradigm Shift

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    by

    Ryan Stone
    in

    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…

  • Night Dancing

    Night Dancing

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    by

    Ryan Stone
    in , ,

    Dusky pink moonlight Cherry blossom arabesque Dreaming tomorrows Ryan Stone

  • Tidesong

    Tidesong

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    by

    Ryan Stone
    in

    Warm sand between our toes, your hand belongs in mine, until our songs are sung; our instruments unstrung. Ryan Stone Written for National Poetry Month 2016 @ The Music In It – Aging.

  • Days

    Days

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    by

    Ryan Stone
    in

    Sometimes she’s wildfire, burning through the night; some days she’s a winter storm, ice and fury unleashed. Sometimes she’s a shadow, neither fully here or really there; some days she’s untamable, wild as rolling seas. Sometimes I hold her close, as the world starts coming undone; some days we fit together and I feel that…

  • Death in Suburbia

    Death in Suburbia

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    by

    Ryan Stone
    in

    Sometime past lunch when the housework is done a translucent lady sheds her husk. In her mirror the tricksy sun cajoles grey to gold, teases with wistful strokes. Like a vodka-chased pill she slides down a rabbit hole until soft fingers feel almost like strangers. With a methodical parting and functional probing, she dies another…