Graham Stone Poems

A stalemate struck,
Conceiving a stagnant state of affairs.
A putrid in-conclusion
Fuels a stubborn frustration,
...

Ashen sticks,
Propped, burning in the glass,
Acrid smoke and splintered wood crackled orange in
The smothered heat,
...

It’s late, I’ve lost track of time,
So enthralled with the novel at my hands.
I yawn, I blink, I pop the stiff bones in the crook of my neck.
I look over the thumbed paper pages,
...

'I think of it like a book,
I dont care for your self-authored words
...

Summer.
An odd time for me.
So used to the cut of wind and sting of rain
That my skin hardens
...

Another of life’s mandatory processions.
I lose rapid patience
With the portly vicar who speaks
As though she knew my uncle.
...

Remember, a sight I once did gaze in early dew and hum,
Bathed in beams and reamed in rays of early summer’s sun.
In that fresh cold glow I took a stroll in solace, and silence, and contemplated thought.
A walk along a beaten path; my feet trod on grinding earth and stone,
...

I remember all
The soft summer morns.
I remember all
The supple sweet suns,
...

I see not physics in my glass.
I know no equations or angles,
Nor technical terms for what I see.
...

My cat came bounding in one day,
As I heard the flap in the door
i too heard a sharp, strangled caw.
‘The hell was that? ’ I mused,
...