Riders in the Night by Ryan Stone

Outside, in the distance
a wild cat did growl
two riders were approaching
the wind began to howl. -Bob Dylan

Hoofbeats on the tundra!
Beneath a mage’s moon
she draws her shutters closely,
prays morning finds her soon.

Thunder shatters silence,
a rapping at her door
tears the night asunder–
a mountain cat’s wild roar.

All along the cornflower
rows, shadows dance with glee,
seeking answers in the wind
howling by a lone oak tree.

Dawn finds an empty homestead–
bleeds in through broken panes,
across spilled dill an’ fennel
and spattered, rusty stains.

Ryan Stone is a freelance writer from Melbourne, Australia.  He shares his home in the Dandenong Ranges with his wife, two young sons, a Ragdoll cat and a German Shepherd.  A selection of Ryan's poetry, prose, haiku, and flash fiction can be found on his blog - www.daysofstone.wordpress.com.

Adrift by Ryan Stone

The last leaves are golden, 

most have already flown. Branches 

hang bare beneath ashen skies.

Not so different from when you climbed,

hand over slow hand, waging a war

inside your young mind. One leaf

breaks free, hangs on a moment,

before leaping into the maelstrom.

I imagine a short fall, 

sharp jerk and silence;

but it's only a leaf and spirals away,

no note to mark its passing.

Ryan Stone is a incognito poet from Melbourne, Australia.  He shares his home in the Dandenong Ranges with his wife, two young sons and a German Shepherd.  His poetry has recently appeared in Writers' Forum Magazine, Black Poppy Review, Napalm and Novocain, Poppy Road Review, The Houseboat and Pyrokinection. 

Self-Portrait by Ryan Stone

And these are my failings: 

a wild smile always leads my mind 

to the kiss hiding behind it

and sometimes to plot

the shortest route there. 

Did I say sometimes? I lie a bit, too. 

And I tend to zone out to small-talk 

like there aren't already enough 

idle words in the world. I often wonder -

where do they go, those wasted words 

once they're spoken? 

And I can't warm to people, 

despite how I try. I'm lying again -

I don't try at all. I'd much rather hide

with Lana or Bruce, in track pants, alone,

drinking vodka; 

ignoring that night in my fourteenth year

when my father got drunk,

made me drive his ute home -

the soft bump and loud bark,

the crimson accusation, 

coagulating on his tyre

next morning.

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.  On daily walks through his forest surrounds, he often peers down rabbit holes. His poetry has recently appeared in Writers' Forum Magazine, Black Poppy Review, Napalm and Novocain and Poppy Road Review.

Sneewittchen by Ryan Stone

Ten small moons

blank as bone,

not bright enough

to guide her home.

Five above, and

five below

in the land of Fae,

where cold winds blow.

A coffin, glass,

her beauty case;

asleep at last,

the maiden, chaste.

A mirror's truth

first planted seed,

from poison springs

doom's apple tree.

Cloaked in night

her hunter lies;

a queen deceived

by fourteen eyes.

Grim tales weave

through bloody looms.

In royal breast

a thawed rose blooms.

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

The Darkest Night by Ryan Stone

The mind has many defences, she wrote

in her award-winning essay. Glowing,

she stood in front of her school;

movie tickets her prize. 

Painted in shades between girl and woman

she kissed me goodbye with bright red lips

and joined her friends in line.

The mind has many defences, she wrote. 

Maybe that's why, in police reports,

many claimed they'd heard fireworks.

Odd in a cinema; the alternative

too grim to believe.

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

This House by Ryan Stone

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 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