This house

never recovered from the storms of ’93
when lightning stroked shingles, shorted out circuits;
left one side wind blown and sagging.

Tufts of moss sprout from the bowed memory
of taut boards. A plague of crickets
lurk beneath stairs; creaking their arthritic chatter.

From a threadbare recliner in a ramshackle room
I gaze over fields at a familiar view,
distorted by windows now broken and rheumy.

Ryan Stone

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Pirate Queen at The Drabble

Every day I head across to one of my favourite sites – The Drabble. There’s something almost magical about being whisked away to different worlds all in the space of 100 words.

It is such a great site and I’m really happy to see another one of my Drabbles published there today – Pirate Queen of the Crimson Coast @ The Drabble

This was one of the first Drabbles I wrote and it spawned both a short story and a novella. Please head across for a look if you have time. If you haven’t visited before, it’s well worth exploring the site – so many great stories.

Have a wonderful weekend 🙂

Rishi’s Star published at The Drabble

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I’m excited to see one of my drabbles – Rishi’s Star – published at the wonderful site The Drabble.

For anyone unfamiliar with the term, Wikipedia offers this definition – “A drabble is a short work of fiction of around one hundred words in length. The purpose of the drabble is brevity, testing the author’s ability to express interesting and meaningful ideas in a confined space.”

The Drabble also has an excellent guide to what they’re looking for – What Exactly Is Drabble.

I’ve been writing them for awhile now and find it a great way to tune in my brain at the start of a writing session…and every so often I’m left with something I like.

Worth a try when you’re next faced with that dreaded blank page 🙂

Irish Fire

My grandmother called it
Irish fire, said it raged
through my father
hotter than Beli Mawr’s bum.
She was long dead
when it finally flared
fiercer than he could contain.
The embers of his eyes
scorched childhood’s
last leaves to ash,
left them smoldering.

Ryan Stone

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The Smell of Dead Things

Uninvited, he sits
as words surge past
to slice away years.

No flutter of membrane
betrays the presence
of three thousand simple eyes,
watching as dreams
are butchered below.

Perhaps he lingers to dine
on Shiraz, clotting
in the carpet’s frayed weave.

More likely he waits
because of his nature:
drawn by the smell
of dead things.

– Ryan Stone

First published in The Black Poppy Review, May 2015

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Lost Frequencies

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Next to ambitious colors of his image,
I remain amphibious,
lacking the sane view of reason,
embracing the alchemy of dreaming.

Pale and altered, her beauty,
grey strands of regret weave
through cornflower fields
whose scent I barely remember.

This past winter’s rime lingers in his eyes.
Droplets of subdued laughter
crystaled at the corners,
dipped in icebound summers.

Her worn out air of irresolution
hangs heavy; thunderheads
muster for battle, threatening
to blow me away.

Seeking hands belong to a stranger,
fervent perjuries to the crowkeeper.
Heart and mind adamantine,
enpierced no more by love.

I stand alone in shadow,
watching an Amaranth moon –
beautiful, undying; slipping
beyond my reach.

– a collaboration, written by Dajena and Ryan.

It was such a pleasure to have the opportunity to write this poem with Dajena from Moonskittles. I’m a huge fan of the grace, imagery and passion she incorporates into her writing and hoped some of her magic might rub off onto my own drab words.

I don’t know that my drawn-out writing process is particularly conducive to a collaboration, but Dajena was an absolute joy to write with and I enjoyed the experience greatly. If you haven’t had the opportunity to visit her site, please do so now – you will be blown away.