Boys in the Park

With the abandon
of two small dust devils
they swirl around me,
laughter and squeals,
before blowing past
and away. Twigs hug
their hair, one has sand
on his cheek–they’ll need
baths later–but for now
life is seesaws and smiles.
They tumble together,
mischief and giggles,
and the sun breaks
through clouds
for awhile.

Ryan Stone

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The Roaring Forties

Glass, old and rheumy, like a mariner’s sea-worn eyes;
paper, yellowed and brittle, from many long years
inside. A scrawl of swirls like deep-sea shells,
from times and lands unknown, writ by a hand
bleached clean by salt, down by Neptune’s throne:

My one true love, to cold embrace,
this ocean calls me now. To frigid sleep
in chambers deep, I soon will ferry down.
My ship is stilled, yours must sail on
to daybreak, happiness and wonder
beyond. My love for you, with final breath,
shall endure, I swear, through life
and past death.

A pale sun kisses Sorrento sand, as gulls swoop
to play amongst foam; a bottle borne
by indifferent waves, carries its burden home.

– Ryan Stone

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