Graham Stone Poems

Can you bring a conscious face to the mirror?
Is it swollen when you see it?
Is it aghast, agape with shock or love?
What stares back at you when you look?
...

In amongst the thick and thorned bushes it lays,
Biting bitter berries; whiling the day away.
It dribbles juices in bleeding streams from its lips
As it masticates the drenched saliva-clad fibres
...

A shallow coat and no hat
To fight the bitter weather,
I trudge out into the pale dark,
Numb to the cold,
...

(Acknowledgment of a Faceless Angst)

The sky wallows through a broken blue,
Bruised only by the silhouettes of hanging clouds,
...

Flaking debris fell from a forlorn, forgotten tree
That stood so so sad upon a flanking bank of utter misery.
Winter set and screamed the leaves away from the twigs,
And left naked the branches,
...

Of late evening once,
I clambered down my winding stairs
And thus here was confronted.
My cat, beaming with ill lit glee did sit, purring,
...

Haunted by the thought of sleep
I refuse to lay my head to the pillow.
Instead I leave a dull lamplight on,
Its blunt birth of light bursts pathetic lurches of illumination
...

Wheels roll over rust-run steel,
As they slip along the beaten tracks.

Reflections fly past, a blur,
...

I know no shrub,
Nor tree or blade of grass,
Of shrunken stub scarcely strewn
That isn’t a mere misplaced mass,
...

Chaff on the wind I float
There is no direction in me
And on me shall nothing dote
The current carves my path
...