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Ashley Abraham Poem
Snow creeping drifting down
Falling slowly toward the ground
As October skies turn gray
Growing colder along the way
Silence haunting in the night
Wolves baying giving a fright
Hearing footsteps in the wind
In the darkness it begins
A chill running down the spine
An eery wind blows through the pine
A figure forming in the distance
He who chases with persistence
Getting closer with every stride
His eyes glowing with determined pride
Shaking feet paralyzed with fear
Watching weary as he draws near
Finally catching his elusive prey
Too late to try running away
Surrendering to this evil man
Without a fight taking his hand
Still freezing as we leave
Promising no warmth upon this eve
Copyright © Ashley Abraham | Year Posted 2012
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Ashley Abraham Poem
Some folks believe it. Others do not. The legend told in the Bayou Cannot. The only witness who can swear that it's true, are the creatures who live in the bayou. The owl told the gator, the gator told the frog, about the horror filled night that changed their home in the bog. Far off on the mainland, miles from the marsh, in a large city, where living is harsh. A man's world invention sprang into life. A breath of fresh air to man's world of strife. A new deisel engine, queen of the line, would make it run for the very first time. The sunset limited it was aptly named. Gleamed in the station waiting its moment of fame. Boarded by folks going south, some headed out west, none mindful of anything, but each's own quest. New York to L.A. via the southern run. So it was, the trip had begun. Back in the bog, things were happening too. A barge made its way north with its captain and crew. The day had been hot. The night had turned cool. The fog roiled in, with its blanket of dew. The captain steered his tug, painfully slow, caution was key to safely deliver the tow. All of a sudden there was a scrape and a jolt the barge floated free, not held by a bolt. Panic seized the crew! "We've lost the tow!" "MAYDAY!" screamed the captain over the radio. Amid the chaos and moans of disdain, another great jar, "We've got it again!". Back on land not far down the track the Limited sped with a clickety-clack. Approaching the tressel no one noticed the shake. Who could blame the poor folks; the hour was late. Midway over the bayou came the tressels demise. A great shiver another great quake, tons of speeding steel, folks met their sad fate. Days went by weary and sad. Rescuers agreed none worked a wreck this bad. Twisted and bent the engine was pulled from the muck and the slime. "102" came the final count, the coroner spoke and noted the time. A weary voice shouted "Wait!" "Sir, I disagree!" Tired eyes turned, what did they see? A weary man held in his arms a child about three. Today believers say "an angel wanders." "A tiny spirit" Others agree. On foggy nights when no moon can be. A tiny light flickers so you will see. "It's a firefly!" Say the skeptics of haunt. The creatures disagree and murmur their taunt. They know the spirit of the child now lives in their swamp.
Written by my grandmother Sandra Burch
Copyright © Ashley Abraham | Year Posted 2012
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Ashley Abraham Poem
On a raft in the river tied to a tree, lived in an old woman of whom most folks made fun. She didn't talk much, most thought she was dumb. Kids being curious, and the summer being hot, the cool of the river drew our disobedient lot. We kids soon discovered the crude raft and the tent. We oddly made friends with its strange occupant. Tried as we might to find out her name. All we got was a smile from the toothless old dame. One thing for certain we kids soon found out. Social graces she lacked, but her kindness made up for that fact. Times being tough and money being tight, often we kids confided our plight. She didn't care if we were dirty or poor. She loved her little friends all the more. We didn't mind her fashion was lack. She wore a dress made from and old "tater sack." What troubled us was she didn't have a name. We didn't care from where she came. One day as we sat on the bank, a thought came to mind. We were disgusted with folks being unkind. "Everybody's got a name," said one. "Let's call her 'Tater Sack Annie'", said another, so it was done. Annie smiled at us. She liked her new name. She didn't say much, just smiled again. She motioned for us kids to her camp for lunch. She always fed our whole bunch. Fried taters, catfish and greens. All of us believed she was a woman of means. Several summers went by. One year the fall came. A saturday night, folks out for a lark. Didn't see Annie walking home in the dark. Somebody sent, and a somber Sherriff came, "Anybody her know her name?" He spoke to the group. Two boys stepped forward, both knelt to a stoop. "That's our 'Tater Sack Annie'", they spoke in a low tone. Both their faces ashen and as white as bone. Today in a churchyard no monument gleams. Only a simple stone reads, "Annie a lady of means."
Written by my grandmother Sandra Burch
Copyright © Ashley Abraham | Year Posted 2012
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Ashley Abraham Poem
To feel the heat against my skin
To fuel the fire that is within
A burning sensation blown by the wind
A raging desire outward-in
Burning flames from the ground
Consuming all that is around
Silence-nothing there is no sound
Everything lost; nothing can be found
Leaping fire all through the night
Inside-out; nothing in sight
Darkness; cannot see the light
Fires within; holding me tight
Copyright © Ashley Abraham | Year Posted 2012
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Ashley Abraham Poem
Death I will be Your lover
Be true to me and
Love no other
Pull me close and
Hold me tight
Throughout eternity
Stay by my side
I will be Yours forevermore
I will walk with You
Through the door
Promise to love me
My Angel of Death
Keep me enamoured
As You steal my Breath
Copyright © Ashley Abraham | Year Posted 2012
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Ashley Abraham Poem
Waking up in a dream
Twisted faces is what I see
Silence holding me, I can't scream
Feet paralyzed on the ground
Red eyes gnarled hands twisting round and round
Reaching from the back front and all around
Darkness permeating from inside
Reality twisting, turning; I can't hide
Now I'm stuck forever in distorted time
Copyright © Ashley Abraham | Year Posted 2012
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Ashley Abraham Poem
Looking at the clock; waiting for time to fly
We watch the world go by; flying so high
We spin all around; waiting for time to heal
Knowing what we feel; less of more is real
In our world of colors; waiting for more control
Knowing of our role; we fight for our soul
Copyright © Ashley Abraham | Year Posted 2012
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