"A collection of my thoughts, feelings, and emotions, to the world around me"
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Frustrated because that momentum you have with writing has now been sabotaged by the process of editing? Stop and take a break. Allow some time for your creative session to cook. Even days. Fresh eyes are kryptonite to the backspace key. You can correct me if I am wrong. – Ash
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Yeah, that’s right, you heard me. There are two of them. Identical, except one of girls has a wound over her left collarbone, she’s been shot and now on foot. If we find and contain her first, we’ll have a better chance of drawing out the stronger one. She won’t risk another fight, her sister’s too injured. OK, we’re almost there, I need eyes trained on the treetops and more on that corn field over there. That’s her last known position. Stay sharp and remember, we don’t have a huge window to pull this off people. If the two of them are together for more than fifteen minutes, the wounded sister will heal. If that happens…God help us!
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
Today is a new painting, you are the brush, now go add some colour to your life. – Ash
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When I am battling writer’s block, I surround myself with all types of creativity. I read, I listen, and I watch. It is the inspiration of others that allows me find my own. – Ash
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Writer’s block is like being a marionette with clipped strings. The only way you are going to get moving again is to start putting together some lines. – Ash
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my lines are barren of words
no one pays attention anymore
I walk away to try and heal
change those emotional bandages
stop the bloody hurt
when my lyrics are finally gone so will I
like a blank page…empty
death poetic is where these sonnets will live on
for stanzas from the grave bare the richest fruit
it’s then you see how poison being alive feels to a poet
when from lips when it can’t be
turning to the cover to remember from a photo
remember how abandoned I was with an audience
how forgotten I would become
unless I use creation to keep me alive
I’ll always be alone with my words
even if they are never again repeated
don’t repeat them for me
When life waves at you, you damn well better give it the time of day and wave back. Live for those moments, live in those moments. – Ash
Sometimes we have to change our perspective to get the light back into our lives. It is OK to sit in the clouds, but never stop chasing the sun. – Ash
If you can’t make a habit of writing, make a habit of observing, then write about it. – Ash
