days of stone

Tag: poem

  • The Journey Home

    The Journey Home

    —

    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

    —

    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

  • In Passing

    In Passing

    —

    by

    Ryan Stone
    in

    After all the years, the heart-shaped promises, a Ponts des Arts love lock one Spring, it has come now to this — a sterile room, too-small-for-two bed, plastic flowers, faint urine smell. Standing bedside, she strokes and hums, remembers a warm night by the sea. The setting sun kisses white hair golden. Tremors become twitches,…

  • Depression

    Depression

    —

    by

    Ryan Stone
    in

    Pitch black, careening down a track in vain before a dark freight train blasts past. Underneath, peace at last. Ryan Stone

  • Hourglass

    —

    by

    Ryan Stone
    in

    We walk the tide line barefoot on the morning sand, your steps close by mine. Later, I return alone but no trace of us remains. Ryan Stone

  • Riders in the Night

    Riders in the Night

    —

    by

    Ryan Stone
    in

    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.…

  • Fourteen

    Fourteen

    —

    by

    Ryan Stone
    in

    I ‘m standing on the platform, waitingfor the school train, eating a vending machine donut.It cost 80 cents, my entire train fare, but no-onechecks tickets this early. A magpie hunts baublesin the trash can nearby, the moon grins faintlyin a pale, grey morning sky. Grown ups in dazes drift over the platform, heads buriedin newspapers…

  • Ghosts at Dawn

    Ghosts at Dawn

    —

    by

    Ryan Stone
    in

    Too thin – you now exist within a pause as dawn retracts her claws from day; you fade, while I must stay. Ryan Stone

  • Tempest

    Tempest

    —

    by

    Ryan Stone
    in

    Wind, blow – lift me high, don’t let go; fly me far, above sand and sea. Monsoon – take me, let’s chase the moon. – Ryan Stone

  • Queen of Nothing

    Queen of Nothing

    —

    by

    Ryan Stone
    in

    I barely remember how the hues of December cast sepia waves through her hair. Those words she first uttered: out here there be monsters, seemed a plea, not a thing to beware. A quick realisation: she sailed a maelstrom mainlining a vein named despair. Lost within dreams of heroine queens, I drew heart-shaped clouds in…