tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-74150154014058097402024-03-05T07:17:31.304+00:00Of Bloody Reflections...Ashley Foxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12046908197617971867noreply@blogger.comBlogger81125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7415015401405809740.post-2526869869125120272019-04-30T16:11:00.000+01:002019-04-30T16:11:52.673+01:00Leaving<br />
<br />
I don't post here as much as I should. I'm busy, you know? Crazily so (but not literally).<br />
<br />
Still writing though. Of Bloody Reflections has had a few tenative submisssions and been left to languish for a bit. I've written the opening scene of the second and concluding book, Refractions of Fire. And poems and little written things.<br />
<br />
They tend to appear here, or in performance.<br />
<br />
That's where I let my hair down now a days, get a little moon drunk, let slip a little of the dark.<br />
<br />
I feel more confidant now, having had a bit more experiance and got to know those fellow poets who float around on the scene, in person or those odd glimpses online. Though it was a friend who first pushed me from public prose to revealing a secret lyrical tendency (perhaps, in all honesty, not that secret given my florid critisms. um), Moden is a wordsmith of note: pay heed.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Ashley Foxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12046908197617971867noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7415015401405809740.post-75675920734339093662017-01-03T03:52:00.003+00:002017-01-03T03:52:47.009+00:00The First Rule of Feminism: <br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">To seek equality for all.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Inherent in this is an individuals right to autonomy, both of the body and of the mind, and expressions of and opportunity to such.</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Criticisms</span>: devils advocate, common form of posed debate qs to antagonise friction and lend to argument of <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">annihilation</span> or subversive support of patriarchy.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">T</span>he cost of silencing. Broad perspective vs limited/hyper focus. Ignorance rev<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">i</span>les, silence perpetuates.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Trans issues within feminism</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">the external, personal liberty, rights to be free from violence and subdigation, to be held equal in the law and day to day life. Toilets!</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">The internal: gender <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">theory</span>, <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">labeling</span>, socialisation vs biology, stereotypes.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I</span>ntersectionality not only allies to overlap in harms for <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">different</span> labeled sectors of <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">minorities</span>, but also to how injustices are enacted within <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">society</span> via law, <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">politics</span>, media and opinion. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Every thing is a shit for an awful lot of people, rise of the far right and nationalist attitudes</span>.<br />
<br />
key areas<br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">E</span>ducation<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">;</span> more about pretty little league tables than actually educating children and ya in politics, un-biased history and the <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">relevant</span> sciences, on how to formulate and write an argument without embracing the modern mode of snark and quick, dismissive, one liners.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">______________________________________________________________________________</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Another random snippit found, written in an insomniac haze, after reading a letter in the guardian relating to free speech and trans rights. There was a lot of drama at the time and it rather annoyed me. Equality is equality. We have far to go and biting each others throats helps none.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Interestingly since this there has been a small but steadily growing awareness and acceptance of those who identify as trans* particularly in schools. These stories have reached main media, with an awful lot of hate too, but there is education. My son, when he was about six, really enjoyed a documentary style show on cbeebies. He was admittedly a bit miffed that anyone would have an issue with such a child at all, and quite admired his haircut. It just kinda made sense to him at that age when all children are thinking about simple ways to express their forming identity.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">We adults understand that it is more complex than that, there is a long history to overcome. And yet it is also that simple. People can just be who they want to be, and we can except one another, support, and be better people. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">We can actualise the future we are fighting for in such acceptance and guidance in the methods we use to achieve it.</span></span><br />
<br />Ashley Foxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12046908197617971867noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7415015401405809740.post-46071879219637027402016-03-27T00:39:00.001+00:002016-03-27T00:39:36.038+00:00Anniversary<br />
<br />
It's been a year, its been a year<br />
since they took you<br />
shall I count the days, the minutes<br />
the hours and seconds? no<br />
you already know<br />
all the lost stories at bedtime<br />
and snuffles at night<br />
and smiles in the morning (from you<br />
I always grumbled, and we traded<br />
roles in the afternoon)<br />
<br />
It's been a year, it's been a year<br />
since they took you<br />
shall I speak of the grief, the anger<br />
the shock, the hungry fear? no<br />
you already know<br />
all the ways I miss you<br />
and love you dear<br />
and want you here (safe in<br />
my arms and talking in gestures,<br />
our lifetime language)<br />
<br />
its been a year, its been a year<br />
since they took you<br />
and I will get you home again<br />
will get stronger, will brave on<br />
you already know<br />
....I hope, always,<br />
I hope for you<br />
<br />Ashley Foxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12046908197617971867noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7415015401405809740.post-3009755941170516042016-01-20T05:55:00.003+00:002017-01-03T03:31:41.430+00:00Can't Sleep #1I've been thinking about the publishing market a lot lately, for obv
reasons.<br />
<br />
I'm disturbed. I'm worried books are going the capitalist way. Big
trends, blockbusters, digital saturation. Dwindling midlists, less
risks taken, a saturation in ebooks, with little quality control. Spinning out repeats of the same blase story, with different character names and slightly different plot arcs, because the original was a hit. Or as more recently seen purposefully publishing so-called celebrities, read bigots, because there is perceived profit in the making due to the Edge, or scandal, factor. Meaning that imprints that once held a good reputation are falling beneath the political shift to the far right and marginalising their readers and authors by aiding the propagation of hate.<br />
<br />
<br />
When they should be fostering the intimate relationship between writers and readers, symbiotic.<br />
<br />
Pubs considering new tactics from offering a range of publishing packages to writers, often set at high prices that treat writers as just another source of income, to subscriptions for ebooks. Looking for innovative ways to redress the balance after technological shifts and economic recession. After it is seen more clearly how the market was not damaged by ebooks but actually expanded and redefined as readership grew and each reader choose their preference, or often still reading both print and ebook. Print, particularily hardbacks are seen as inestments or collectors items; ebooks more chance bought. This gives ebooks more flexability in publishing choices, as well as their very cheap production costs. This can be good, leading to signing more up and coming writers and testing the water before investing in hard copy and a hard marketing push, or can lead to risk if this option is only taken for a soft sell of multiple similar products; taking advantage of the "check out" spur of the moment purchase. Like chewing gum, to be chewed up and spat out.<br />
<br />
Branding power of imprints is underused. And here is where the corporate needs to fade and...I dont know what to call it. That feeling you get when your forced to talk to some random person, then they mention a book you love and you start seeing them, and that moment as something other than mundane. Or when you walk into a library out of the rain. Or carefully open some crumbling tome at the back of a hidden shop, or crack the spine of some fresh printed novel, inhaling all the time. And the anticipation, always. That. Book people. Stories, words, poetry.<br />
<br />
Those people, who have that, are the ones reading and reviewing and speculating, tweeting, blogging, publishing articles. It's fun, and to some extent it is where some of the quality control comes in. From recommending good stories to critiquing representation in relation to diversity. <br />
<br />
Use pool of ebooks to trend hunt, cherry picking the best, either from the popular ebooks or from agented subs that fit the bill, to provide the blockbusters. In process there is also more structure imposed, offering easier access to readers and greater visibility to a relevant audience for authors. But also seek the stories that deviate, that are fresh, the voices of writers that are often over looked. Ebooks offer the chance to develop writers in anthologies, or with subscription models, rooted in a firm online readership. Dont just look at what is trending now, but use the data to see what ideas or gaps are pending. This is old advice to writers, from publishers, and it would be good to see it taken too. Print is wonderful, and often the dream of a writer, why just keep printing the same...push the boundaries, make publishing more accessible and forward thinking; keep looking for that gold.<br />
<br />
<br />
_______<br />
<br />
This post was actually written in a bout of insomnia some time back but I dusted it off whilst poking about and it felt relevant so it's here for curiosities sake.Ashley Foxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12046908197617971867noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7415015401405809740.post-13140602799862274462015-12-12T22:28:00.000+00:002019-04-30T16:10:28.720+01:00Unexpected Love<br />
<br />
Like running up to someone, fog thick and smeary, screaming,<br />
"my life is ending!" and they reply in much the same intonation,<br />
"So is Mine!" "What do we do?" and, of course, being<br />
foibled and spun of mortality, the answer is to fuck.<br />
Fierce and full of belly grumbles from<br />
sustenance slipped by missed in sweated kisses<br />
or held all sweetly in tingling finger tips.<br />
<br />
Then, when the fog clears and time swells golden<br />
in sated sorrows and salted letting go,<br />
in coffee and cigarettes offered in acceptance, then,<br />
at who knows what time, you are hating yourself for soliloquising<br />
in the living room as shaking arms encircle<br />
the stone of sobs you have somehow swallowed.<br />
<br />
But a new moment grows, under the quiet stars<br />
and in the candlelight, by words and gestures<br />
that alight with gentle knowing,<br />
all fruitfall hope growing<br />
amidst the adverse aridity.<br />
As weeds growing through cracks in concrete.<br />
<br />
"There was nothing." One would say.<br />
"There was never nothing." the other would reply,<br />
both owing of beauty and giving,<br />
letting roots run deep with minds<br />
on the now and an eye on the future.<br />
<br />Ashley Foxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12046908197617971867noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7415015401405809740.post-81984189604846659472015-12-12T00:54:00.000+00:002019-04-30T16:11:17.052+01:00Rewritten Narrativity<br />
<br />
You thought you had one line<br />
but really you have four<br />
at least measuring half<br />
your height and a scraped knee<br />
is stinging, mother hugging<br />
<br />
looking at celestial clocks and glimmering<br />
fir tress dressed in gold and glass<br />
to distract the sobs that perhaps<br />
a little contrived to extend<br />
that loss of comfort.<br />
<br />
But words are forgotten by the fire<br />
chewing burgers and chips and quick quips<br />
littlte sips, slow steps, jests boredom<br />
<br />
you reveal a new tale: Jesus stolen forwith<br />
from the manger, but no danger as<br />
super donkey flies hoof raised to the sky,<br />
the sheep are the baddies you see.<br />
<br />
I teach him to project his voice,<br />
brace myself, smile truely,<br />
he mimics a volcano of words almost silently,<br />
our eyes meet, I tell him I love him,<br />
he does not reply<br />
we hug before we part.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Ashley Foxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12046908197617971867noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7415015401405809740.post-26159143411443629892015-12-12T00:24:00.002+00:002019-04-30T17:33:12.082+01:00The Rose Key<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1bHXzgF0oKUFT0ASkTcJSEsk50oZqEzycMYvlIvUQvXxFu3bvgXupCoynYXGcZhf5DohmaSTUb8qlJzxMBDtJbejRjFCKKCzYi1uBBFXhPxsKZr6XKQuS9WKt69pFLAuNfpcroi_DlWcu/s1600/rosekey.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1bHXzgF0oKUFT0ASkTcJSEsk50oZqEzycMYvlIvUQvXxFu3bvgXupCoynYXGcZhf5DohmaSTUb8qlJzxMBDtJbejRjFCKKCzYi1uBBFXhPxsKZr6XKQuS9WKt69pFLAuNfpcroi_DlWcu/s400/rosekey.png" title="TheRoseKey" width="257" /></a></div>
<span id="goog_45085518"></span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Open-OTHERSIDE-Ashley-Fox-ebook/dp/B074V6HD33/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8" target="_blank">Open</a></div>
<span id="goog_79163117"></span><span id="goog_79163118"></span><br />
<span id="goog_79163117"></span><span id="goog_79163118"></span><br />Ashley Foxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12046908197617971867noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7415015401405809740.post-2190750846428694962015-12-12T00:16:00.002+00:002016-04-26T01:30:28.416+01:00Only Feminine #?<br />
its the loss and the lonely time,<br />
no holly wine quenchedparchedtongueholy<br />
tasting past love spent in regretting<br />
a world gone awry, all unjusified axis<br />
axeing ropes of fragile hopes<br />
<br />
Yet all our hearts still beat (but for those that don't)<br />
born of relatively free feet, wheel, wing, string<br />
voice<br />
<br />
and weeping tears, all ears dears damning<br />
a cresting wave of hurt, rotundled yon fronds<br />
of tangle weed knowing<br />
Un tongue<br />
<br />
Unfurling, love.<br />
<br />
Still.Ashley Foxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12046908197617971867noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7415015401405809740.post-24717072794340139622015-12-11T23:55:00.000+00:002019-04-30T16:14:11.407+01:00Only Feminine #?<br />
<br />
You may distract me with<br />
7<br />
Lots of things<br />
3(-1)<br />
But I hope you see<br />
7<br />
the themes<br />
3(-1)Ashley Foxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12046908197617971867noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7415015401405809740.post-58750383716651882902015-10-05T00:50:00.000+01:002019-04-30T16:13:36.312+01:00Reckless<br />
I being reckless, you see<br />
forgetting what it means to be<br />
small<br />
little mouse, all grey and eaily lost<br />
in shadows, cobwebs, broken seeds<br />
that should have helicoptered like whisers of<br />
philosophy in autumn<br />
<br />
when it was too late and all already undone,<br />
punctured twice,<br />
and, twice,<br />
shy.<br />
Bitten words in golden silence. like the nuns.<br />
like the bats, how they swoop<br />
like dragons<br />
fear the flies, they come with<br />
death<br />
<br />
I just climbed too many trees, read<br />
too many books, leafed through paths<br />
of old and longed for dust<br />
and bones of anciant stories<br />
still felt like the brush that sweeps and<br />
reaveals, or clay that clings<br />
till it hardens<br />
in the sun<br />
the golden light<br />
the beams that alights petals, roses,perfume,freedom,lie blown glass through the<br />
leaves, just leaves<br />
and whispers<br />
and silence<br />
and<br />
betrayel<br />
<br />
Worst, at such a tender age, i already knew<br />
as far as such knowing ever<br />
knows nothing<br />
know nothing<br />
but whatcan nothing shelter against but cold and quicknowing, all themore<br />
brutal for the not and the until and the then and the after and the next time and time after until<br />
the break, the light, the gleaming, the cunning, the wild, the flight, the fight<br />
the half step shuffleonto apath where you<br />
survive<br />
where you maybe dont get hurt<br />
where, with strive, you maybe more than<br />
survive<br />
where maybe you maye able to save the only<br />
one worth saving<br />
<br />
all the truth spindled up <br />
<br />
if the cogs dont chew you up first<br />
of courseAshley Foxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12046908197617971867noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7415015401405809740.post-47689023754953712552015-09-19T00:53:00.001+01:002019-04-30T16:13:50.110+01:00In Court<br />
He's come for me.<br />
The Man.<br />
Fat, white, finger pointing in uncaring lust<br />
"You're delusional! Paranoid!"<br />
The contempt of the mad, poor &<br />
destitute curling lip "You're sick!"<br />
<br />
Around me the nest,<br />
composed of bent twigs & crumpled leaves,<br />
barest remnents of a fairie feast,<br />
illusion stripped and empty<br />
awaiting the hammer.Ashley Foxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12046908197617971867noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7415015401405809740.post-54463482229844421782015-08-06T18:13:00.001+01:002019-04-30T16:13:09.815+01:00Hazards <br />
There, my love, help me take off<br />
my armour, all tarnshed<br />
<br />with old scars and lost blood of innocence.<br />
It aint mirror-like, this<br />
but then, perhaps it is.<br /><br />Here, my love, let me take up<br />
your chain, broken links<br />
<br />
with arrowed heart and fire of new knowing.<br />
It aint peaceful-like, this<br />but when, perhaps it will be.<br />
<br />I saw him again today, my boy,<br />
in the yucca leaves painted<br />
Tardis blue, my love.<br /><br />We shared in brief dimension,<br />
through the portal to the garden.<br /><br />The world is eclipsed, turning<br />
but these moments are ours<br />
and we must lift our eyes<br />to see.<br /><br />Allowing the only subjugation to be<br />one with love.<br /><br />Ashley Foxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12046908197617971867noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7415015401405809740.post-44214579410525125282015-07-30T00:46:00.002+01:002015-07-30T00:47:15.162+01:00The Book<br />
Of Bloody Reflections, has been leavening in its file since the equinox/eclipse. I've hardly poked at it all, see, last time I finished in 2013 I was all caught up in project completion and I submitted too soon. Way too soon. I committed a cardinal sin, one which must clog up the slush piles of agents and publishers world wide. Sorry about that, dears.<br /><br />Thing is: I'm serious. This is my career. I am going to, after years more to come of building audiance and polishing voice and skill, make a living. This takes time, and wit, and luck.<br />
<br />
I aint got luck. My wits are healing. I'm giving it time, I'm working on my patience. I listen to advice.<br /><br />In this time I've let the poetry flow, on paper, in performance, and read others, and worked on marketing ideas. I've created a bit of promo material that people responded well to but needs further development. I've been poetry busking and made £35 in a couple of hours, leaving me with an actual profit from poetry (astounding). I've met a lot of wonderful poets, writers and storytellers. I've jammed poetry with musicians.<br /><br />I've begun the second and concluding book, Refractions of Fire, and worked more on the synopsis for that and pondered the themes.<br /><br />I've drafted my submission package. I've begun to draw up a list of suitable agents.<br /><br />Now it's time to open that file again. To give it a thorough, critical read through. To tidy up loose words and threads, and I suspect to pull The End into a better alignment. To ask myself honestly and without fear of failure or narcissistic grandeur: Is it ready? Is it viable?<br /><br />Events in my personal life have left me with little confidence but I can not and will not let that hinder progress. Resilience is a major factor of success.<br /><br />Then it will be time to polish that submission package and get rejected again...with hope, with acceptance, with a willingness to get stronger.<br /><br />It's almost time to burn.<br />Ashley Foxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12046908197617971867noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7415015401405809740.post-77913158752902633322015-07-04T21:13:00.001+01:002015-07-04T21:13:33.637+01:00Body in the bath: Meditation #2<br />
<br />
I make rainbows of my self.<br />
In the water.<br />
In the sunlight.<br />
Lips bitten and words<br />
dripped in kisses.Ashley Foxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12046908197617971867noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7415015401405809740.post-26461253619502699112015-07-02T17:42:00.001+01:002015-07-02T17:42:52.602+01:00Pain Management: Meditation #1<br />
<br />
Do not fixate on any one thing.<br />
Fixate on nothing.<br />
Be the one in nothing<br />
Until the one in everything.Ashley Foxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12046908197617971867noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7415015401405809740.post-45375052756736873962015-06-28T20:01:00.000+01:002019-04-30T16:13:09.761+01:00Small Hand<br />
<br />
Most days I feel I'm living<br />
half a life<br />
lost out on those moments that make,<br />
the sacrifice of worth,<br />
pending through the doubts,<br />
the asinine assumptions and abuse<br />
that empties the damned cup<br />
with nothing, of nothing.<br />
<br />
<br />
A life half loved and longing,<br />
for that something that brings<br />
the laughter to lightning,<br />
to resume my mantel of motherhood:<br />
not to bow beneath this<br />
ceaseless weight.<br />
<br />
Waiting. Pending.<br />
Not to break beneath silence<br />
but in stillness sense<br />
the path<br />
back to you, back to me.<br />
I tried. I lost. I love.<br />
<br />
<br />Ashley Foxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12046908197617971867noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7415015401405809740.post-10420197589867767332015-06-18T23:25:00.000+01:002019-04-30T16:13:09.679+01:00Love Poem(swapping poems, Pablo Neruda came and I read his words for hours for a reply, but inspired this instead...)<br />
<br />
Though the world met me with cruelty<br />
and I turned my face away,<br />
in drear dim days,<br />
you summoned a light there<br />
once again<br />
blazoned fitful flames<br />
and hope<br />
and hands<br />
touching the new smile you found there<br />
and I met you on the shore<br />
and saw the lines of grief<br />
in your palms<br />
in your quick chewed nails<br />
so I kissed your lips and<br />
we held the truth<br />
between us. Ashley Foxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12046908197617971867noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7415015401405809740.post-36652665250292543602015-06-18T03:31:00.001+01:002019-04-30T16:16:09.811+01:00Sighs of softness in the chaos<br />
My life has very much gone through the rabbit hole, the reality of which is grim.<br />
<br />
Dawn is approaching, the sky lightens as the witching hours fade.<br />
<br />
I have intentions.<br />
<br />
I need sleep.<br />
<br />
The world is turning change.Ashley Foxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12046908197617971867noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7415015401405809740.post-20476510925208512212015-05-09T16:31:00.001+01:002019-04-30T16:14:33.299+01:00Cusp<br />
Moon kissed music, skin taunt<br />
ing surface strung on violins,<br />
mellow autumn made melliflous in<br />
sping's zing, all made up of new tings<br />
and smoke rings.<br />
<br />
Dropping beats in convo, echos of ghosts<br />
conversing in daisy decked grasses<br />
as something surreal slips past,<br />
mundane made sane against<br />
small things.<br />
<br />
Sun's chords dispell illusions of<br />
created chaos, the frequency to which<br />
mystics and scientists attune, the music<br />
to which the spheres turn, observing teachings<br />
<br />
and reaching.Ashley Foxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12046908197617971867noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7415015401405809740.post-40763849491653850032015-05-04T23:18:00.001+01:002015-05-04T23:18:32.921+01:00Hearth<br />
It beats like this, my heart<br />
with the light of a hundred sunsets,<br />
a thousand stars,<br />
with the sound of childish laughter twisting<br />
on sweet humours, in a face<br />
that mirrors my own, but brighter.<br />
<br />
It beats like this, my heart<br />
with the love of a hundred hugs circling<br />
a thousand gentle kisses,<br />
with the sound of soft words from my love's lips,<br />
in brown eye's welling truth <br />
that mirrors my own, but surer.<br />
<br />
It beats like this, my heart<br />
with the hope of a hundred pleasant days,<br />
a thousand gentle nights,<br />
with a garden and a kitchen to share,<br />
in a family forged in kindness<br />
that mirrors us in bliss.<br />
<br />Ashley Foxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12046908197617971867noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7415015401405809740.post-15055493264496523272015-05-02T02:37:00.000+01:002019-04-30T16:14:51.757+01:00something almost, there.<br />
<br />
I spit words like they have no meaning.<br />
its just paper, ink, its just tipping<br />
tapping at the doors of<br />
my heart.<br />
<br />
My heart. We broke the honour,<br />
we fled the truth and in<br />
finding made something new<br />
Something to flee from<br />
<br />
But the crows know, the kingfisher knows<br />
the humming bird told us so<br />
<br />
It hurts though, so, so, it hurts<br />
though.<br />
<br />
But there's no just, there's no justice<br />
there's no just<br />
<br />
And they do though, don't they?<br />
It just revolutions, revolution, rebellion<br />
It's the fire, the flow<br />
And I want you to know<br />
<br />
Though, though<br />
<br />
I fear, the meaning, it trembles,<br />
it shakes me all up like those cocktails your angel makes<br />
bitter but true.<br />
<br />
I spit the words, I say more than I should,<br />
It's just paper, ink, tipp- tapping<br />
whispering.<br />
<br />
I'm sure I'll start shouting soon, shooting<br />
soon, at the stars.<br />
<br />
I'll start shouting soon.<br />
<br />
so much soon.<br />
<br />
<br />Ashley Foxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12046908197617971867noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7415015401405809740.post-22061909865982642162015-04-29T13:10:00.000+01:002015-04-29T13:10:44.846+01:00The Scorpion King<br />
Inside me you slept and dreamed of who you<br />
would be, and<br />
in awakening would stretch against my<br />
ribs and turn cartwheels, eager to be.<br />
<br />
Born, strength spent and oh so mortal,<br />
you sat between my blooded thighs,<br />
perfectly round, without breath yet and<br />
our souls love sumoned between<br />
our locked eyes.<br />
<br />
Time stood still in the knowing<br />
that beat between our hearts,<br />
my son, sun, my stars, I'll be the moon<br />
to guide you.<br />
<br />
From the singularity to inifinty,<br />
through all the love that seeps in the<br />
inbetween spaces.<br />
<br />
You grew, oh you grew, so swiftly<br />
and words gained new definitions;<br />
Brave beauty, canny smile, quick fingers<br />
and kind heart.<br />
<br />
Leaving me in a haze of delightfully<br />
amazed exhaustion.<br />
<br />
I will protect you.<br />
No matter what ill winds blow.<br />
No matter what hardships, what takings<br />
take place.<br />
<br />
I have the patience to watch and wait.<br />
I have the will that will not break.<br />
You have my heart and all the grace of<br />
my love,<br />
my son,<br />
my Rowan.<br />
<br />
Soon.<br />
<br />
<br />Ashley Foxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12046908197617971867noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7415015401405809740.post-58087385220874234512015-04-20T22:24:00.000+01:002019-04-30T16:15:50.784+01:00In the fleeting moments.<br />
Gold adorns the water.<br />
Silken petals of tulips and the juice of strawberries<br />
staining lips.<br />
<br />
Hafiz, oh Hafiz, I have not sipped love,<br />
light is lost and flesh taken<br />
but mind and soul are mine.<br />
<br />
A man approaches, limping, white shirt, and<br />
pain in the dark eye. A wanderer<br />
blown by winds we both know.<br />
<br />
Numbers spin on facts, history unravels.<br />
We do not touch but speak, ruminate,<br />
Khalifa, what have you seen?<br />
His belly grumbles, hands gesture,<br />
but he does not take a strawberry. <br />
<br />
It is thought that transpires, questions<br />
I cannot answer, but he listens anyway.<br />
Here, over there that is a good place to eat,<br />
the ships once sailed, the land once<br />
was whole<br />
<br />
the water is both salted and fresh,<br />
moving to the moon's will.<br />
The land is fertile, the people stagnant.<br />
Do they come here to fade?<br />
<br />
Another man approaches, young, virile.<br />
We do not touch, we do not speak.<br />
A couple, still dressed for work,<br />
talking quietly, touching newly.<br />
An old man captures the moment and<br />
peers at the compass.<br />
<br />
I take a bite and my hair tangles in my teeth.<br />
A cormorant flees.<br />
I feel sick from the strawberries.<br />
I feel sick from the loss.<br />
<br />
The water is golden, and it has turned.<br />
The ducks gather their kin, but cawing the<br />
gulls crowd and drown their ling.<br />
<br />
At a distance, hidden under hat (like me),<br />
glasses, another man watches all<br />
creeping closer<br />
<br />
Insects adorn me and I am still,<br />
though the river rises, fed from the sea.<br />
I am thirsty, Hafiz, so thirsty.<br />
<br />
<br />Ashley Foxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12046908197617971867noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7415015401405809740.post-58460113462226225422015-03-11T21:01:00.000+00:002015-03-11T21:01:57.468+00:00Done, dun dun!<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Well then. For once I get to post something positive!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Of Bloody Reflections is finished. Again. Rejection advice, beta feedback and recovering brain function has all been assimilated, the creases and errors ironed out, and...</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I think it's good. I think it's there.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I'm feeling something close to relieved glee, mixed with nervous dread.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">But that's cool because this last year has been fucking hard, I've worked fucking hard and I think it's paid off.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Of course it still has to run the gauntlet that is publishing professionals and, of course, audience. Which means that no matter how often I claim finality, there is likely to be more work ahead. But I think it will be the small stuff now.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">This is just a small post because I'm all excited but I will be posting more about the process and giving a sneak peak at the opening chapters, and maybe even an artwork or two.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">So don't stray too far, eh?</span>Ashley Foxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12046908197617971867noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7415015401405809740.post-52858905561565793222015-02-21T00:09:00.000+00:002019-04-30T16:15:50.735+01:00"..."<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">The plate is increasingly full, fat sparse,</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">the tree that cradles the family nest</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">is mournful creaking.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Beneath, a dark shroud over</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">snow pierced with crocus...</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">The new moon soon </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">calling Cornflowers to be sown;</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">for peace.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">We sway, this way-</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">that way, made of stars</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">glinting hope over crass hate.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">...cigarettes smoked in silence,</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">alone, between tar stained fingers,</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">no time for tears, fears but</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">calm</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">(and cussing).</span></span><br />
<br />Ashley Foxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12046908197617971867noreply@blogger.com0