Dreams and Memories | Mike Stone | Sunday Brunch Tuesday

Saint Yellow’s Gate Revisited


Mike Stone


Raanana, March 24, 2017

Through light Saint Yellow’s gate I’ve fled
Leaves long fallen, trees long dead
To come full circle as she said
No meaning, only clues instead.

Clues pointing to eternity
Open graves to see through pity
Stilted men walk through the city
The death of rationality.

What say you now of dreams my friend?
Succubi make love pretend
Climax waking in the end
Nothing left to comprehend.

St. Yellow’s Gate
digital landscape from photos
©2017 Michael Dickel

When I Was a Kid


Mike Stone


Raanana, March 30, 2017

When I was a kid
Everyone round me was larger than life,
Only my sister and I were the size of life
Or maybe a little smaller
When I was a kid.

When I was a kid
Magic was the color of the rainbow
‘Tween green and blue,
It was time that lasted all summer
When we stayed at my grandma’s,
It was a foregone conclusion
More certain than physics
When I was a kid.

When I was a kid
The girl across the street was a goddess,
The fate of the world rested on her careless glance
And feelings were far too big for words
When I was a kid.

When I was a kid
The past was gilded like summer
And the future was stark and wintry
Like our dying
When I was a kid.

When I was a kid
Dreaming of adulthood was so unlike
Dreaming of being a kid when I was an adult
That they never collided
In the vastness of dreaming
When I was a kid.

When I Was a Kid digital landscape from photos ©2017 Michael Dickel
When I Was a Kid
digital landscape from photos
©2017 Michael Dickel

Holocaust Memories


Mike Stone


Raanana, April 22, 2017

They pound impatiently on the door,
Not at all like the soft knocking
Of people who don’t want to disturb.

There is no need for politeness
When you have death in your guns and rifles.
There is no time to waste,
There are many doors that need pounding tonight,
No time to waste.

Death plays hide and seek with the children
In the floors, the walls, the ceilings,
In the streets, on the tracks, in the smokestacks,

Death solaces the old.
It will be denied,
But never betrayed.

Holocaust Memories
digital landscape from photos
©2017 Michael Dickel

 


Image: Mike Stone
Mike Stone

Mike Stone was born in Columbus Ohio, USA, and graduated from Ohio State University with a BA in Psychology. Since 1978, he has lived in Raanana. He served in both the US Army and the Israeli Defense Forces. He has been writing poetry since studying at OSU. He reports that he supports his writing habit by working as a computer networking security consultant.

Mike Stone on Meta/ Phor(e) /Play
 Hiding Under Desks
 Fog Poems
 An Idea for a Short Story
A tear drop falls

Read more of his work at Uncollectedworks.


 

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