One Saturday

My home

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
 
 

Journal Entry # 227 – I Staged this Photo

There is nothing like keeping a deja vu in your back pocket. Easily triggered by the stimulus that surrounds you. Today, a walk to the edge of the harbour and my whole life flashed back. All it took was the smell of saltwater, the touch of a rains mist, and wonderful memories came flooding back as strong as the approaching tide. A picture is wharf a thousand words. – Ash

Me and the End of Summer

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Red sky evenings 
I remember them 
stretched highway at eight o’clock 
over the overpass to watch  
there is one last summer night coming out to play 
my pace quickens to catch up 
traffic flies by this one road boy 
who is wandering far from what he can recognize
adventure must be the same no matter where you are 
until I pass by an old train track that divided two kinds 
no friends from either so I move on
you could hear blades of grass keep a cool breeze in check 
slowing down seconds for teenagers of the land 
to win toys, steal kisses, and lose ice cream 
it is impossible to be this alone  
with Carnival noises filling the air 
but the lights threaten shadows 
the stars show up, crowds filter, I am lost
walking forever on the eve of September 
heading back to the red road toward home 

French Island

Photo by Ray Bilcliff on Pexels.com

surrounded in the francais
schoolboys like I, chase through stone corridors in jest
pass tank topped bread makers and
rum runners filling dark sacks
who was I to speak to the going-ons of this foreign land
take me instead to the countryside
in an hour less a half
share with me tales
let me sip wine
and pretend that I am a man





Ashback # 8 – Wolverine Gull

Hey everybody,

I received a comment on my blog this morning that was left on yesterday’s entry. It not only blew me away, but it also hyper-spaced me down memory lane. It was from an old friend of mine from my childhood. Scratch that, an old best friend of mine, and boy did it instantly put a smile on my face. I literally laughed out loud when I saw the handle that this person had used to post the comment. As you WordPress users already know, comments on your blog are sometimes left there by fellow bloggers, but sometimes they are left from email followers. I pretty much know all my email followers personally as they are mostly friends, family, and the odd coworker past and present. This person though, I believe has been visiting my blog for some time now and has finally made me aware of it in a very subtle way. Well, at least I’m 99.9% sure it is. I mean, it has to be. There is only a few living souls that I know on the face of this earth that would know the legend of the “Wolverine Gull”. (Dramatic voice)

Continue reading “Ashback # 8 – Wolverine Gull”