never recovered from the storms of ’93
when lightning stroked shingles, shorted out circuits;
left one side wind blown and sagging.
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 now broken and rheumy.
I gaze over fields at a familiar view,
distorted by windows now broken and rheumy.
Ryan Stone is a freelance writer from Melbourne, Australia. He shares his home in the blue Dandenongs with his wife, two young sons and a German Shepherd. A selection of Ryan's poetry, prose, haiku, art and flash fiction can be found on his blog - www.daysofstone.wordpress.com
A brilliant poem, Ryan. "...windows now broken and rhuemy." Perfect!
ReplyDeleteThank you, Sarah :)
ReplyDeleteLovely poem Ryan
ReplyDeleteThank you, Geetha :)
ReplyDeleteEnjoyed this poem tremendously. You allow me to be there with you. Thank you.
ReplyDeleteNo, Rose - thank you.
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