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Ash Slade Aug 2018
packed in the family car,
going slow down the smaller
roads. radio set to a classics
station. we talked about
the latest news, things
we've heard, how work was.
sitting in silence for part of
the ride, as we listened to the
wind from the sunroof and
windows.

the apple picking harvest
is back again. I can't wait
for supple afternoons with
a crisp breeze. drinking
sweet cider and munching
on powdered rounds.
walking orchard rows of
tower trees \plucking red
noses high and low.

sneaking bites in between
picks, juice dripping down
face and sticky fingers.
it's like you're a child again,
on slow weekend mornings.
dragging day passes on,
the parts tied in
conversations and quiet
moments. crack of twigs
a crushed creed

that fills the spaces of apples
falling to the floor, bruised
by a sharp hit. I pick them
up to look at, taking in the
dents and gray flesh. I
throw them back to the
compost beneath the fruit
tree. the pieces that escape
scars, I plop into my sack
that's gradually getting
heavier.
Ash Slade Aug 2018
traffic backup,
    roadwork signs.
drive down road,
    little houses
treed yards.
    brown leaves,
first sign of fall.
    kids about to go back to
school\parents
    return to work. rolling
on the seconds go,
    ticking by faster
each year so it
    seems.

cars piled up,
     to slow, won't go.
tiny dancers in the
     wind blow on to car
windows,
     another sign of coming
Harvest Season.
     people resist the clear
trademarks
     enjoying the fall,
but resenting the
     winter.

I can't understand
     New England birds,
you're housed in
     cocoons like caterpillars
that guard against the
     elements,
not freezer coldness
     that animals call home.
I'm not sure the memo
     reached you,
but this isn't the
     South.

trees like snakes,
     shed their
rainbow skins, as
    "Old Man Winter"
kicks in. the sound of
      leaves crunching, cold
on the floor under foot.
     Autumn's death has
no memorial,
     birds flying South
a eulogy.
Ash Slade Jul 2018
ice came down
mixed with rain
streaked windows
on this april spring day

thunderclap
struck the sky
bolted across
blanket white deck slick
greased up the skillet
stir up some eggs
fried, plated

bangs, knicks, scrapes
pushes on curb-top
pours into driveway
rips mailboxes from posts
in muck

like drums
rat-a-tat rat-a-tat
down it spills
beating on housetops, hose-water
streets

neighbors drive on
wash-out roads
a few speed through
riper to pass slow

folks losing electricity
trees fallen 'round
hibernating, little, town

colorless sounds clog up headset
on a mismatch sort of day

out-of-place ride-out
gasket blown
Ash Slade Jul 2018
Bruised bananas, oddball oranges

arranged apples/pleasant, purple, plums.

mouth suckers/sour, pucker footballs.


Scrumptious, seeded, spheres,

carved centers bullseye red.


Tiny, tangy, tangerines toying tongue

juicy joy lasting leisure

twisted, ****, grapefruit/paralyzing buds.


Spring strawberries dripping stain

white shirt brand new.


Green grapes, giant reds, sweet bursts

eye explosion.


Little lime sliced, ice in drink, slowly sipped

pretty pineapple rounds Christmas jellied.


Pulverized pomagranate splitter splatter all around

shrunken, squeezed, prunes/beet colored juice bottle.


Bitter bite, cold cherries/yuck yuck, they're the pits.
Ash Slade Jul 2018
through little roads tired car pokes
on the track to Ordinary Joe's
gatecrasher, purple shuttered, fort
between two white picket fence houses
tucked up half-pint box out of line on the line
in cold, squeezed, lemonade
sweet spring ambrosia to the lip
of deep green blanket children sit on, play on
running around shoes and socks
thrown on sidewalk hot as frying pan
crack an egg/hear it sizzle
dotted trees all the same side to side
rooms hide in cramped spaces like cubbies
slips of lip like butter roll off snake tongues
daggers pointed
circus act on display or an animal in the zoo
that doesn't fit in this topsy-turvy slide-show
called life
hackneyed stares glued in place on childish faces
like a match of heads or tails
cupped hands carry quarters for crank candy jars
at mall, or pick-up sticks snatched from floor
Ash Slade Jul 2018
Coming down, it all falls down.
let yourself fly away like free bird.
slow up your pace losing full speed,
lend your ears to things heard.
all gathered 'round please take heed.

Coming down, it all falls down.
trading this nightmare for a dream.
down on my knees eyes to sky,
carvings I read what do they mean?
I stare at the faces of passersby.

Coming down, it all falls down.
I'll move on to a place for only bards.
pushed 'n shoved idiots don't budge,
bang their gavels loud and hard.
people acting like a judge.

Coming down, it all falls down.
one day grins will turn to frowns.
hecklers claim seeds sowed,
in this clean shaven town.
no "X's" mark the spot or roads.

Coming down, it all falls down.
won't anybody put'em in place?
misplaced doubt and fear,
crooked smirk on face.
people stop and sneer.

Coming down, it all falls down.
you see won't rearrange?
that what you think
it never changes,
how can it be?
Ash Slade Jul 2018
thunder saw the eye of storm, it saw cutting
wind, hail crashing down hard. mud on streets,
snapped limbs swooped,
zig-zag bolted sky. slick night dash of cars.
things built of metal, left out turned to rust.
banging shutters tapping house like a drum, or
fingers scratching them like washboards in a
jug band.
listen to backdoor radio, jamboree of the night.
nighttime animal sounds on speaker, thunder
greeted broiling sky, lit-up like a firecracker
show. refuse flew in cloudless sky, rain
put out fire.crickets played fiddles in grass,
as wind blew panpipes. people heard nature's
chords as a eulogy to the snake-skin
of parted days.
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