Ashley Hawkes Poems
|1.||My Masters Wreath||3/27/2006|
|2.||Car Coming Home||3/27/2006|
|5.||The Quiet Crickets||4/2/2006|
|6.||Getting Mugged For Christmas||4/2/2006|
|10.||Auckland City Rangers||3/27/2006|
|12.||Voice On The Stairs||3/27/2006|
|15.||Samuel Likes To Run With Scissors.||10/29/2006|
|17.||The Bogey Monster||7/16/2008|
|20.||Come Back To Me||7/16/2008|
|21.||Beneath The Surface She Resides||3/27/2006|
|22.||Our Young Men Blew||4/24/2006|
|23.||Sabre Tooth Tigers||7/16/2008|
Comments about Ashley Hawkes
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.
Camels loll like snoring hills
their heaving ribs soaked in the kill
the men dismount in need of luck,
the way home choked, their words dried up
Lips cracked and looking pale,
the bugle boy is feeling frail.
Helmet split and lost at sea
hallucination soothes disease.
Mercy, Mercy, Sweet Salvation
Deliver him his destination
As shadows stretch from the sinking sun,
the dark commando cocks his...
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.