Am I Write? # 49 – Where Do I Start?

I don’t realize how many blank pages there are until I start writing. – Ash  

My Feelings

that time in the evening
of a September day
is a feeling

a time when thoughts can drift
when sound stays quiet
the road a certain hue of grey
like the sky, maybe one shade away

sometimes I look down and count the patches
kick the broken asphalt
to the dirted sides

where the trees grow
the berries bush
and flowers wild

I look harder at things
appreciate that I am
then

remember someone
think of some time
escape back to a similar place

that time in the evening
I could see into kitchens
and all those moths swarming the post-office lights

hear dogs and guess which one
see cats and watch them go home
smell sawdust and smile

that time in the evening
of a September day
was a feeling

Am I Write? # 48 – Penned Up Emotion

Photo by Mister Mister on Pexels.com

Hand me a pen, and I’ll give you emotion. – Ash  

Let Me Practice Walking First

hot enough to split rocks
though, that July’s breeze was nice
so you were serious, London Dock and lemonade
because some dude at the dive bar last night said it was good
became our drink of the summer didn’t it

Continue reading “Let Me Practice Walking First”

The Dory Between Us

those days we spent in the dory
barely a word was shared aloud
our language was unique to only us
on the nicest of days that were just for you and me
no sun, grey skies, grey ocean…with a hug of a fog

you had no idea but I loved watching you
in awe…
of my captain
my grandfather, only different
when I did, I felt safe and sound
adventurous…like your first mate
catching our bounty of fish for dear Theresa’s table

Continue reading “The Dory Between Us”

A Shade of Ash # 50 – Just the Tip

Photo by Sam J on Pexels.com

There is more to someone than what’s on the surface. That’s why I never judge based only on what I see. Because when I look deep down, I usually find what makes them great. – Ash






Today, Tomorrow

it is 4:30…almost 5:00
a feeling of a brand new day
you could tell because the moon is starving for more darkness
after gorging on it since the sun went away
but it’s back now
because
colour is starting, gray and black dissipating
birds sing
dew drips
cats can’t help but stretch
a line of life stretches the morning like a pulled blanket
the night plans to sleep the whole day away
flowers root out of bed hoping for rain or shine
sound surrounds everything like a tantrum
sleep is long gone from my body
I clung hard but my dreams all ran in the opposite direction
ushering me toward awake
to be
up for today
up for tomorrow
what a beautiful day
what a beautiful tomorrow
I’ll take one
I’ll take another



In the Heat of the Moment

we used to catch grasshoppers on sun kissed Saturday mornings

between that and sliding down the hill on torn up cardboard our day was filled to the brim

laughing and carrying on in the void of time

taking trails and pathways in the forest to places we stored secrets and where monsters dwelled

sometimes, we’d blow kisses at dandelions sending them on journeys to who knows where

while shielding the sun from our brows to see where we should go off to next

my calculator watch blinks half past three, one hour til supper, still time to explore

the fish plant whistle sounds, and we look across the harbour just like the last time we heard it

this time a big boat captures our attention wondering what adventures they’ve had, how high were their seas and were there pirates

a seagull soars high squawking its return, coming back to us for a visit, it was never the same one….but we didn’t care

those days were hot, the ocean was cold, our little boy hearts warm

in the heat of the moment we thought the world stretched forever from the hillside where we perched and one day we would get to see the rest

for now, our world was big enough because our dreams were much much bigger

Carved for Attention – Haiku

his wooden narwhal 
sits in its place on a shelf 
I stare in envy 

Am I Write? # 47 – Find the Write Routine

When I am blocked, I’ll try any approach. Sometimes, the same approach as my physical fitness. Treating my creativity like an out-of-shape muscle. The more I worked on it, and fed it time, the more it would grow. Writing is muscle memory, now go flex your muscles. – Ash