Each night
feathered wings gift
wild flight—
a slip
from chains, set free
to trip
and roam,
’til dawn’s siren
call home.
Ryan Stone
Dreamer
Dying Light
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
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
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
Sangria
the soft promise
of what today may bring
—mulberry sunrise
Ryan Stone
Sleep
on silvery trails
thru the night
we tripped,
past the wall
into the sky—
swallowed by infinity
Ryan Stone
Tempest
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
No One
dawn pauses, explodes
in a flash of carmine fire
flaring in the east
flaring in the east,
Icarus ascends his throne –
blazing flight of one
blazing flight of one,
Labyrinth behind, no one
makes it out alone
– Ryan Stone
Written for National Poetry Month 2016 @ The Music In It – Being Alone
Whispers
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
En Passant
It wasn’t a spectacular leaf:
rather drab, too long from tree.
Yet, the life it clutched
in its five trembling points
turned my strides into steps
into stasis. I watched
as it danced,
sucking more from a gust
than nearby leaves
better suited to flying.
It spiraled away
to a lazuline sky
while I remained rooted;
going nowhere.
Ryan Stone
days of stone 