days of stone

Tag: hope

  • Whispers

    Whispers

    —

    by

    Ryan Stone
    in

    I am he who worships Spring in moonlit mountain shallows. I am he who watches you, insubstantial shadow. I am he who brings night’s ship safe to morning’s shore. I am he who loves you, your servant, evermore. Ryan Stone

  • Sneewittchen

    Sneewittchen

    —

    by

    Ryan Stone
    in

    Ten small moons blank as bone, not bright enough to guide her home. Five above, and five below in the land of Fae, where cold winds blow. A coffin, glass, her beauty case; asleep at last, the maiden, chaste. A mirror’s truth first planted seed, from poison springs doom’s apple tree. Cloaked in night her…

  • Ingénue

    Ingénue

    —

    by

    Ryan Stone
    in

    Ingénue Raindrops – steel drums, belting roof tops. Loud beats unheard beneath white sheets where two hearts shed one last taboo. Ryan Stone

  • The Grey Mornings

    The Grey Mornings

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    by

    Ryan Stone
    in ,

    I start at the sound of each car passing on midnight streets outside; hoping it’s you, knowing it isn’t. Dreams fade with your warmth as reality slowly intrudes: it would be enough to fall into your arms and know I’d wake there, too. I am only real when you are near, but you never stay…

  • This is the winter of darkness

    —

    by

    Ryan Stone
    in

    everything lead grey—heavy as storm clouds.The trail I follow around the lake, swallowedby mildew and mud. Branch bridges and detourscrisscross, from walkers bypassing flash floods.A wind howls through weeping willow skeletons,haunting my passage. Boots grow heavy with eachstep. Treacherous soles threaten to betray.Nestled among tree roots, wood ducks huddlein sleepy pairs, wings folded—waiting.This grey world…

  • Wedding Poem

    Wedding Poem

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    by

    Ryan Stone
    in

    It’s a fleeting moment– a red sky at twilight, rushing to the long night; the last russet leaf clinging to bough as autumn inhales, breathes out. You know this, you’ve felt it in the grey light of dawn, in that pause between waking and finding. You’ve heard it whisper through the dry grass of summer–a…

  • The Wind Whispers, The Wind Sighs

    The Wind Whispers, The Wind Sighs

    —

    by

    Ryan Stone
    in

    – after Longfellow The wind whispers, the wind sighs, the dawn light brightens, a magpie cries; amongst the gum trees tall and green a girl becomes a faerie queen. And the wind whispers, the wind sighs. Morning settles beneath silk skies, her reign flits by like dragonflies; deep shadows dress the naked hill in dusk,…

  • felicity

    —

    by

    Ryan Stone
    in

    embracing each day arms stretched to the horizon —forgotten scarecrow Ryan Stone

  • Deek’s Golden Day

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    by

    Ryan Stone
    in

    A chill October morning. GreyMelbourne, 1982. Usually, we studentswould be outside at recessrunning ourselves warm. Not today. In the close schoolroom we huddlearound a tiny tv screen,watching the Commonwealth Gamesin Brisbane. Watching, in colour as marathon star, Rob ‘Deek’De Castella, battles two rivalsin third place through Fortitude Valley.Close to the 42km finish line Deek lengthens…

  • Little Things

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    by

    Ryan Stone
    in

    In the few spare minutes between kids’ basketball games I find myself in the produce aisle floating on a rainbow of yellow, red, orange, green. Vibrant and bursting with perfection, promising the flavors of earth and sky and stream. I pause— unexpectedly overwhelmed, grateful to live in a time where fifteen stolen minutes allows me…