never recovered from the storms of '93
when lightning stroked shingles, shorted out circuits;
left one side wind blown and sagging.
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.
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 broken and rheumy.
I gaze over fields at a familiar view,
distorted by windows broken and rheumy.
Ryan Stone writes after midnight. His short fiction and poetry have appeared in publications including Eunoia Review, The Drabble, Algebra of Owls, and Silver Birch Press, and placed first in a number of competitions at venues including Goodreads, Writers’ Forum Magazine and Poetry Nook. He lives in Melbourne, Australia.
His wonderful words, visually took me up the old stairs and into the derelict house.
ReplyDeleteyou really paint a picture, ryan -
ReplyDelete