when the blueberries come back…so do you
we’re together again
scraping and scrounging along the hillside
every three paces we fill our cups
the colour blue today is for happiness
its sweet taste…a reminder of your touch
as I hold a few on the day they first appear
the air is the same chill
trees with the same tinge of change
cloud shadows still pass over me like they did
I see them at my feet
I am seven again
catching up with your pace
as my bucket spills over
on blueberry hill
6:05 kicking rocks
every stride a pebble or two
summer hugging me the whole way
the sun was slowly packing up for the day
and the moon would be here in a few hours
Saturday so lazy dogs paid no mind to pesky flies
or to an orange cat nibble-ling a rickety fence
right there, in front me as my freedom faded away
6:06 I placed my gaze everywhere
taking in as much still time as I could
before drunkards beckon me
fill me full of lies, blow smoke in my face
tell me I’m cute when no one’s watching
and shout more regretful things
make promises…break promises
dance
sing
love
hate
take swings
jest
do it all past the pale of moonlight
or until clocks shoo them away
to the place they all knew my name
the walk to a bartender
was a rehearsal
for a keeper of tabs
a keeper of secrets
a keeper of ale
it’s 6:07
what can I get ya…
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
today, the air was different
I paid attention to the seabirds
watched the tide go all the way out
to my left, a boat hummed away from the harbour
to my right, lost sheep chew green grass into yellow
a car passes by and the people wave
while Jack the black cat sits still on a picket fence
and Patti, the old neighbour strokes the last drop of paint
…against his saltbox home
I am shaken by something I can’t understand
an algorithm of existing in a moment of my life
seeing clear because that life stopped me in my tracks
pushed my breath straight to my lungs
grew my heart for the love of living
filled me with the longing for more
I know now that there is something more to every day
my heart was smothered and my soul blinded
until my spirit had enough and awakened
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
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
Living in the past is OK every now and again. To bask in the emotional comfort of a triggered memory. But do not live too long in the days gone by, because you’ll wind up missing the days that go by. – Ash
Earth To Ash 