Tag: sleep
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Shaping a Poem
It’s a quiet thing, a word foundin the stillness of dawnwhile dreamers slumberand the new moon succumbsto day. A fading thought,soft intake of breathin the long pause between sleep and wake.Sometimes it’s hopeenduring wildfire, flood,or the dusts of time.Maybe dinosaur bones,a lost tomb, or scarecrowsguarding lavender fields. Perhaps a dew-drizzledcobweb, a jonquil, cloudor song. Most…
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Night Leaves the Latch Open
The sky forgets its thunder,clouds fold their arms—somewhere,a moth dreams of moonlight. Your breath slows.The world blurslike ink in rain. Stars peerthrough curtain cracks,gentle voyeursto a silenceall dreamers know. Let clocks keep timewithout you.Let the weight fallfrom your shoulders,like moonbeams. You’ve done enough. Close your eyes.The dark knows the way.It will carry you now,wherever you…
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Tōrō Nagashi
Your flame flickers briefly— a parting whisper. Some trick of the river mimics your laughter. We stand apart at sunset, lost in natsukashii, come together in darkness, to watch the dead pass on. Your light has fallen now to shadow beneath the bridge. Ryan Stone First published on Napalm and Novocain, January 2016 Published at Poetry…
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Sleep
on silvery trails thru the night we tripped, past the wall into the sky— swallowed by infinity Ryan Stone
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In Passing
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,…
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Depression
Pitch black, careening down a track in vain before a dark freight train blasts past. Underneath, peace at last. Ryan Stone
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Sneewittchen
Ten small moons blank as bone, not bright enough to guide her home. Five above, and five below in the land of Fae, where cold winds blow. A coffin, glass, her beauty case; asleep at last, the maiden, chaste. A mirror’s truth first planted seed, from poison springs doom’s apple tree. Cloaked in night her…
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The Grey Mornings
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…
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Graveyard Shift
A new sun rising I follow the moon to bed Kookaburra dawn Ryan Stone
