too much coffee, too little sleep, a love of words…
From my porch
I watch thunderheads
battering high noon
into bruised twilight.
I see you climb
from under eaves,
awakened
by a pressure change.
As the storm inhales
you leap and spin,
leap and spin
your web — knowing
your time to build
is fleeting.
Ryan Stone
so dark
each winter night,
then dawn
Ryan Stone
Full moon
to you I sing
this tune—
bright streams,
hidden dells, clouds
and dreams
sublime.
Ours to share, for
all time.
Ryan Stone
on silvery trails
thru the night
we tripped,
past the wall
into the sky—
swallowed by infinity
Ryan Stone
Fleeting
In bed
their tattoos met
and bled.
Ink-kissed
lovers, knowing
their tryst,
night-born
would live to die
with dawn.
Ryan Stone
Outside, in the distance
a wild cat did growl
two riders were approaching
the wind began to howl. -Bob Dylan
Hoofbeats on the tundra!
Beneath a mage’s moon
she draws her shutters closely,
prays morning finds her soon.
Thunder shatters silence,
a rapping at her door
tears the night asunder–
a wild cat’s chilling roar.
All along the cornflower
rows, shadows dance with glee,
seeking answers as the wind
howls by a lone oak tree.
Dawn finds an empty homestead–
bleeds in through broken panes,
across spilled dill an’ fennel
and spattered, rusty stains.
Ryan Stone
first published by Poppy Road Review, August 2017
Over the mountains
and down to the sea,
you must come now
if you hope to break free.
No time to mourn
for Autumn’s red bowers;
the light we once made,
now darkness devours.
I can play you
the rhymes of the kingdom,
I can sing you
the songs that you know;
but we must take wing
from this darkened halo –
we must take wing
for a devil wind blows.
Break from your prison
of urban malaise;
run to the ocean,
fly from your home.
I offer no promise
that we’ll make it –
but take my hand
and I’ll never let go.
– Ryan Stone
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
Ingénue
Raindrops –
steel drums, belting
roof tops.
Loud beats
unheard beneath
white sheets
where two
hearts shed one last
taboo.
Ryan Stone
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
and the grey morning is close
and mine alone.
Ryan Stone
days of stone 