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
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
In the night
like a ghost
nothing is ever seen
premeditation a superpower
skewing the real, while dancing with the devil
visiting worlds very far apart
the sky in one, a sky
the other could be anywhere envisioned on the spot
in the sweat, in the sins, in the climax
flying close to the sun
is a high like no other
a racing heart is a drug buried deep in the same shadows
but one beam of light and it all goes away
the curtain comes down
no more beautiful horizon
no more escape
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
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
Ah, the Christmas argument. What’s a Christmas without a good go at it over gift ideas, and decorations, or how much does that cost? This time of year can bring a lot of holiday cheer but unfortunately, it also brings with it some holiday jeers. For example, last night while shopping I happened to find myself within earshot of a full-on couple spat one aisle over. You could tell it was one where both parties were whispering and shouting at each other. A very awkward moment anyone could relate to because who are we kidding? We’ve all been there at some time or another during the weeks leading up to Christmas. Tensions so high that with one tiny mood swing, all of a sudden everyone is doing a quick about-face, ready to throw Christmas out the door and forget it was even happening. Enough of this, we’ve spent too much money already. Half of what is in this cart is the wrong gift idea anyway. So there. Now, I am going home.
Continue reading “Post of Christmas Past # 7 – The Christmas Argument”
Ah, the ruined Christmas gift. No better way to sabotage your own built-up magic spirit of the holidays than tampering with the biggest most wanted item on your list. I was about six or seven when I began to get to the bottom of this Santa break-and-enter gimmick. As each year went on, the more cognizant I became of the sneaking around my mother, grandmother, and aunt were doing during the weeks leading up. My senses became Santa sharp. I remember starting to spot cover-up Christmas things my family was doing to paint the perfect backdrop to a wonderful holiday to come. Welcomed, only I was on to them. I became keener on hearing Christmas code conversations that filled the cookie-baking nights of my grandmother’s kitchen. I knew, but the cookies were too delicious. And, one day, which turned out to be the beginning of the end of my belief in a man called Santa, was when I found peace a la resistance. I found the Holy Grail of childhood Christmas holiday wonder. I found the notorious and infamous gift hiding place. Yup, with all those particular sets of skills I had acquired, and with all the determination of a kid destined to ruin the only magical wonder he would experience in his life, I went ahead and spoiled my very own Christmas with one too many tears in the gift-wrapping.
Continue reading “Post of Christmas Past # 6 – The Ruined Christmas Gift”
I wrote a letter on a beacon of hope gave fate the return address but sadly, I still sit and wait for tomorrow and tomorrow maybe tomorrow but sadly, tomorrow never comes every day is a search every day a wish please please oh please but sadly, nothing is found or returned some days I see shadows some nights a mirage could it be could it be could it be but sadly, none of them are really you there are moments where I believe there are moments where I truly feel that I will see you again in time as it passes and passes and passes but sadly, you're still disappeared
Earth To Ash 