"A collection of my thoughts, feelings, and emotions, to the world around me"
I love experiencing something that I forgot I missed. Like the smell of the ocean, the call of seabirds, and standing in the picking rain while I drift. I call them triggers when they happen. Triggers that I’m not living my life the way I was meant to. Reminders that there are pieces of me that need replenishing. – Ash
no idea where I was going
where my footsteps were taking me
not long off the bus and my bags still hanging off the borrowed bed
I’m running toward something
my faith in a girl next door relationship
built on the stock of only a few summers
we were school break friends and I just had to see this
according to everyone
and everyone was going to be there
that was the promise and with a pinky swear
I was a nervous boy in a foreign land
on loan from thirteen-year-old best buds
speaking only the language of the shy and quiet ones
making what would become a beautiful memory
under the bright big moon
along the sparkle-kissed river
surrounded by the sounds of the teenage
on a warm night in August
by the trestle bridge
You are a flower
a flower long picked from the garden home
with just today as a reminder of when you began to grow
seasons pass and nothing else seems to want to flourish anymore
your bloom was what kept these old roots alive
now, the rain never comes backs
the sun only hurts
the moon listens, but that’s all
the wind is gone before I know it
not one thing about life is life
in this garden home
without a little flower
We should not worry about how long we will live? But, rather, how do we live? Quantity of life is a one-time blessing. It’s the quality of life that provides forever bliss. – Ash
When something catches your eye, it’s probably already made it to your heart. – Ash
When I was a young boy, my grandmother would always tell me that I was bound for something great. Glimpses of me behind a desk somewhere with a pen and paper. No more substance than that. Just that nothing else would fit what mould she had envisioned for me. She would tell me this with a smile and pride in her voice. It would instantly make me smile too. But, for years I wondered what that meant. Now, as a published poet and six years deep into my blog, Earth to Ash, amongst creating every single chance I get, this is what she had seen. This is what she knew was coming for me. A future with writing. Sharing my thoughts, feelings, and emotion to the world around me. Like I have said from the start. I don’t consider myself to be a great writer, but I am enjoying the journey of someday becoming one. And when I reach that goal, it will forever be because of Theresa Douglas. Nan/Mom, if only you could read those words you seeded inside this soul of mine that writes to connect forever with yours and the world can take a peek too. – Ash
I went for a walk just now and, along the way, I saw this single leaf still fixed to the tree. Standing there, I thought about if this symbolized anything. Maybe there was a meaning. Then, in a moment, it came to me. Somedays, I may be fragile. But I am damn strong when it matters. Anyday. I can, have, and will weather any storm. I will always hang on. – Ash
I try not to worry about tomorrow when there is still so much today left. – Ash
One Saturday
an old used-up weekend in my life
back when I was a small boy who took shortcuts home
I remember that Saturday and how golden was the hillside
how the fences cast shadows through blades of long grass
while it danced when the wind played the lead
along the way I ducked clotheslines with flapping white blankets and wool socks
that made dogs bark for no reason
almost home I stopped to take a drink
from a cold stream with those floaty things
a puttering engine in the distance pulled me up for a look
when I do I see a fishing boat breaking the glass harbour
I become lost in the triangle wake of that trail the vessel leads behind
as its crew steams toward their living into the greying eve
while seagulls give chase for little company
it stretches a few seconds for me for some reason
captivates me, holds my breath, takes grip of my soul
until the lighthouse steals away the attention
enough to break my trance
in time to hear the voice of my grandmother who sings my name
through the hills
beckons my return from the adventures of my childhood
it won’t be long now, just cross the torn bush garden and the triangle stone
like I remember…one Saturday
