Mother’s Hands
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 Lune.
They’d curl through each long evening
around her only vice, in a holder
like Audrey’s, that never left her side.
I’m thinking of her hands now–
strong and wild and free; missing
her hands now, as I watch ashes
blow to sea.
Ryan Stone
Written for the 20 poem challenge at Ekphrastic, September 2016.
First published at Ekphrastic, September 2016
Stuff Cops Know
Lunacy lives in the full face of the moon,
blood has infinite shades of red. The perfect crime
doesn’t exist. Every contact leaves a trace.
When there’s nothing to gain, people can still be evil.
When there’s everything to lose, people may surprise you.
Occasionally there is honour among thieves.
There are multiple truths, perspective is all. Sometimes
there are only questions. Everyone has a price,
I’m not talking money. Life is unfair. Trust me
means don’t. The sins of one moment can reverberate
for a lifetime. Love is the very best
and worst of things.
Ryan Stone
For dVerse prompt, May 11, 2017 – a List Poem.
The Walk
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
Like Grass
I’ll bend, you know.
Each time you kick
or stomp me underfoot.
Though sustenance
is rare as winter sun,
I’ll thrive, you know
and grow to cover
every corner of the meadow
where you lie.
I’ll rise, you know.
Rise and rise–
I’ll rise.
Ryan Stone
Divorce
From this bridge of sighs
They watch the chasm sunder
Here, where dreaming ends
Ryan Stone
Reflection
Above the still lake
A smoke and pepper patchwork
Birds entering clouds
Ryan Stone
Owl Song
Full moon
to you I sing
this tune—
bright streams,
hidden dells, clouds
and dreams
sublime.
Ours to share, for
all time.
Ryan Stone
After
funeral flowers
wilting in quiet corners…
so hard to let go
Ryan Stone
When Love Fails
Adrift in deep space,
an astronaut lost, no wind
to feather still sails.
Oblivious world
uncaring turns, in silence
as oxygen fails.
Ryan Stone
days of stone 