
Those days of sitting on the curb with your childhood friends at the beginning of the warmest rain. – Ash
"A collection of my thoughts, feelings, and emotions, to the world around me"

Those days of sitting on the curb with your childhood friends at the beginning of the warmest rain. – Ash

my winter retreat was lonely
flurries turned into storms
dark skies seemed always
cold bit me every second
ice through my veins stiffened from life
sharpen gales to cut me away
I was polar from everything
sitting barren
until her voice
her light
all that warmth from beyond
chiselled me free of that void capsule
I am her sun
she is my days

Welcome back, join me and my continuing conversation about my thoughts, feelings, and emotions to the world around me.
In this episode, I talk about how thinking about the great Christmases of the past can make you excited for the Christmases of the future. Join me for a few memories with some of the backstories. Oh, and as always, I throw in a poem, no wait, a Christmas poem for good measure.
Happy Holidays!!

under this one light
in the amber hue, I have my portal to then
an eve painted in summer
teenage banter filled the air as crushes bloomed
and comradery flourished
cool breezes were another layer of skin
traffic and the passerbys provided background noise
like an orchestra playing a scene of those wonder years
time dared not show its face where we ran, we played
all of us together having no clue one day we would grow apart
as age banished our internal youth
but for that very moment, a looping memory was being created
for everyone, I’m sure, for me… for sure
against the fade of those nights that will stand the test of tomorrows to come
I remember because each second I stand here in the illuminated golden of right now
my heart minted in aurulent
keeping this memory where I leave it
under this one light

I run toward nothing
I have nowhere to go but I’m running
away from the person you think I am
away from the shadow you say I cast
my heart getting weaker the further I go
there is no voice calling my name
no soul missing mine
my blood is useless
it means nothing to anyone anymore
soon I will be far away
nothing will bring me back
life will have stretched the whole distance
from where I was to where you left me
a lifetime too late

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