days of stone

Tag: loss

  • Mother’s Hands

    Mother’s Hands

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    by

    Ryan Stone
    in

    Advertisement for Myers Gloves, by Margaret Watkins (Canada), 1920s. Mother’s Hands Strong enough to lift me each time I couldn’t rise. Soft as cotton wool, washing dirt from scrapes and tears from eyes. Firm enough to model clay and boys, to bowls and men, yet fine when stroking ivory keys– Für Elise and Clair de…

  • Roulette

    Roulette

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    by

    Ryan Stone
    in

    Awake! A slate grey, cold daybreak – blood clot sunrise, I take a shot and miss. Life must hold more than this. Ryan Stone

  • The Walk

    The Walk

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    by

    Ryan Stone
    in

    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…

  • Stand To

    Stand To

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    by

    Ryan Stone
    in

    A silent witness crests the hill where bloody rain once fell. The sob and clubbing fractured now – hearts beat on distant shores where brothers wait with shaking hands to charge into the dawn. Across the Sea of Helle they came, from many different ports, to lay down cold on foreign stone, enlisted on some…

  • Divorce

    Divorce

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    by

    Ryan Stone
    in , ,

    From this bridge of sighs They watch the chasm sunder Here, where dreaming ends Ryan Stone

  • Numb

    —

    by

    Ryan Stone
    in

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

  • After

    —

    by

    Ryan Stone
    in ,

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

  • When Love Fails

    When Love Fails

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    by

    Ryan Stone
    in

    Adrift in deep space, an astronaut lost, no wind to feather still sails. Oblivious world uncaring turns, in silence as oxygen fails. Ryan Stone

  • The Journey Home

    The Journey Home

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    by

    Ryan Stone
    in ,

    She tells me her pain is a squall, sudden and vicious, like a flash storm whipping in from Bass Strait to batter King Island. Do you remember our Island, Garth? Her doctors build shelters; nurses batten hatches, but this tempest won’t blow over. She says her pain is a vulture now, circling the desert on…

  • Fleeting

    Fleeting

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    by

    Ryan Stone
    in

    Fleeting In bed their tattoos met and bled. Ink-kissed lovers, knowing their tryst, night-born would live to die with dawn. Ryan Stone