Second Thoughts # 4 – Reely Missed

Relying solely on a section of the newspaper for a movie choice. The excitement of going down through the listings and reading the few lines of script that best described the movie with so few words. You’d spend extra time on the showings with an accompanying photo being most likely the blockbusters. Debate with your fellow movie-goer until the show times force you to pick. Shit, it’s twenty-to. We have to leave if we want to make the 6:00.

I’m telling you. It was a vibe, a feel, an event. I miss it on second thought and wish sometimes we didn’t have to go so fast. – Ash 

Earth to Ash Podcast Episode # 10 – Posts of Christmas Past!

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

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

Blueberry Hill

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









A Walk to Bartender

Photo by Dorte on Pexels.com

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… 
 
 
 

By the Trestle Bridge

Actual Trestle Bridge from Google – no copyright infringement intended

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

A Shade of Ash # 19 – The Write Start In My Life

My birthday gift Trixie.

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

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