Dr. Charles A Stone
Biography of Dr. Charles A Stone
Scientist, professor, entrepreneur, poet, editor, traveler, cook, husband, father and grandfather who wishes he could paint or sing.
Dr. Charles A Stone's Works:
Bureaucracy For The Innocent,2008 (nonfiction)
Preoccupied With Austin,2012 (poetry anthology)
Poetry (is not) for Nerds,2015 (nonfiction)
I (do not) Hate Poetry,2015 (nonfiction)
In the Rabbit Hole,2015 (poetry)
Dancing in Strawberries,2015 (poetry)
Between the Margins,2015 (poetry)
Up the Down Staircase,2015 (poetry)
Stepping Stones,2015 (poetry)
Days of Burnished Sun,2015 (poetry)
Bridging the Gaps(2016, poetry)
Bury a Silver Spoon,2017 (poetry)
When Time and Space Conspire,2017 (poetry anthology)
Dr. Charles A Stone Poems
The Beach At Moonlight Bay
on this first night of the harvest moon this evening when diana's resplendent orb rests upon the backs of broken clouds transfixed by the evening's brightest star
To Enchant A Garden
On a night the new moon is chased by witch-struck clouds, throw a rose into the air and bury a silver spoon
Childhood In A Garden
One day I'd whirl through the garden, fingers splayed in sunny rays above newborn buds singing.
There is only silence on the footpath I have traced to this ancient hearth - the hammering of stone upon stone has faded, just as the reds and yellows
A Rain In The Woods
It isn't just the fading echoes or galaxies festooned against enameled night skies that draws me to the wilderness.
No hand slips quietly into a body of water without sending ripples to every shore, just as no tide washes a beach without carrying sand away grain by grain.
Here Is Only Ev'ry Girl
here is only ev'ry girls and also little boysie to whom the world
Hoops Of Self
my mother leaped through hoops of self and jumped into the same of her as quick as now as slow as then she withered as a vine gone dry
I Couldn't Ask For More
If one day were added to my time on earth I would want to spend it with you. You wouldn't have to do anything special, just being with you would be my reincarnation.
Was there a promise when they met she might remember he wouldn't
I hear voices - everywhere in libraries - books speak to me tell me stories that are true - untrue that make me believe - or not
She yearned for something unpredictable something beyond the boring fragrance of perfectly triangulated composites in complementary colors and graduated height.
Each luscious berry is a vowel, ooh-ing and aah-ing on the tip of my tongue, shadowing my parted lips
Take small bites and it'll last longer, you'll enjoy it more. Nonsense!
Widow On The Beach
Tell me, Perdida, why you scratch
at the foam like a heron choosing crabs.
Certainly, you know the tide
will erase your calligraphy,
taking with it the messages
you have so carefully inscribed
with a bony finger in fickle sand.