Biography of Ashley Hawkes
Auckland based unpublished poet and performing artist.
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Ashley Hawkes Poems
High on desert winds they sail, sand blows in to fill their trail. As memories of the battle fade they hoist their flag in search of shade.
Sabre Tooth Tigers
Lie against his crumpled spirit luscious thing And pour your deepened, treacle love Over his quivering bod
Our Young Men Blew
A man works in a Northern field Where once there stood a meadow On his brow a dry straw hat Behind him lags his shadow
Beneath The Surface She Resides
I stared once down Through shifting mud To a cold, still woman And rode upon her breath.
Come Back To Me
Come back to me before the springtime babes, When Owairaka has her skirt tucked high into her stockings, So as to tip-toe softly across the platonic shelf
Harold was an evil child Conceived on a stolen train Born in a sack from a prostitutes back He had murder on his brain
Voice On The Stairs
As I crept down the stairs tonight I heard a voice call out. That same voice that spilled tears in the morning
I have heard great ships are coming today To survey this uncharted land I have seen great dreams dance on the brow Of the woman that sleeps on the sand
Auckland City Rangers
With a clink and a clank go the strider's Down the deserted street Trailing a rusty blade He slopes through the darkness
On Leviathan Lane by the old water tank, there lived a woman, a girl and her father who drank. The birds don't call on Leviathan Lane
Alone in the Slaughterhouse when the doors are locked And the lights are low and the blades turned off, You might see something that'll make you stop
He is born of the Sea And of it he will surely die. Though he is learned in many new ways
Getting Mugged For Christmas
Getting mugged for Christmas Christmas girls and boys We're getting mugged for Christmas Round yon virgin toys
The Quiet Crickets
There is a paddock near my home town Where grass and tree don't grow And in dizzy circles above the ground Flies the keen-eyed Crow
Voice On The Stairs
As I crept down the stairs tonight
I heard a voice call out.
That same voice that spilled tears in the morning
When it couldn’t find a favourite green dress.
That same voice growled me for over-feeding the goldfish.
And being all prickly. And begged for a story.