Ashes

The wind
remembers how
we sinned

through days
of searing heat –
a blaze

too strong
to fade. Cruel wind,
so wrong.

Ryan Stone

image

Advertisements

Williamstown Night

Fireballs on the harbour,
electric, neon light,
laughter floating on a breeze –
seductive voice, a Williamstown night.
Each flame a lifetime’s story;
kaleidoscope of dreams,
lovers and stolen kisses,
beggars, kings and queens.

A yacht sways on the ocean;
freedom opens her eyes,
seconds linger infinitely,
the moment comes alive.
Knowing eyes speak wisdom
and hint at the joy of living
the free life of the daring,
of a need so carefully hidden.

Ryan Stone

Click here for audio

image

F = Gm1m2 / r2

‘It’s gravity, baby’,

and that’s how it started:
three whispered words
under the bleachers,
two bodies
pulled into orbit.

From tongues of flame,
halting caterwauls
               breathlessly
                              stumbled
before flicking faster into long, thirsty nights

of lying thisclose, seeking new worlds
and unexplored places;
the smoke on your breath promising
freedom and danger.

A nevermore season of quicksilver moments
beneath a peeping-tom moon
suddenly ended, just like it started –

there’s a point during free-fall
where you pause to consider
whether to brace or just to surrender.
For a second or two
you feel like you’re floating
then the ground rushes up
to show you how endings
can sound like beginnings
but that
is just gravity,
baby.

Ryan Stone

image