Val's Poetry Page


The ever changing poetry selections of AP Ashley.

I am moved by the emotion muse and write to get the words out of my head. I do not have any training in the field of poetry and do not consider my humble efforts at such to be of any consequence. I merely share what I write because I am interested in the opinion of those who read them. I request and welcome all comments. Please do not hesitate to share yours. Sincerely, AP
Please feel free to make your comments to AP Ashley
The poems on this page have a copyright 1997 by AP Ashley. All right reserved. No part may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
Contact AP Ashley for information on his Books of poetry.
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 I Love You
In quiet,
peaceful moments,
when a man
doesn't have to be
a man.

When feelings
are at the surface,
and the facade
 of solidity and strength
is at rest.
When nerve endings
are vulnerable,
their callused exteriors
folded and lain upon a shelf.

When the ache
in a heart
can be acknowledged,
and a surging emptiness
tugs at the soul.

This is the time when
the pure joy,
and passion
of true love,
can be savored.

The time when I understand
how deeply my love for you reaches;
its roots cradle my aching heart,
and caress my exhausted spirit
with eternal comfort.

Thank you...

I Love You! AP
 

Slipping Away

The fireplace glows-
warm,
crackling,
dancing;
its romance
escaping
up the dark tunnel
into the night sky-
lost,
like the few
precious moments
of our time together. AP
 
 

The Little Girl

White satin,
beads, lace,
and sequins,
without
chocolate, Popsicle,
or spaghetti stain;
no trace of
the little girl.

Not so straight teeth,
now an even row
of pearly white,
the dusting of freckles
gone;
not trace of
the little girl.
The face beans
radiant,
her mother sees
herself,
remembers her day,
when there was'
still a trace of
the little girl.

But look close,
into those shining eyes,
the mischief,
the wonder,
the joy!
There she is;
the little girl.

You can't see it?
Then look through
her fathers eyes,
he sees
the little girl,
now grown into
a beautiful bride.

Something
in his eye.

He has always suspected
that he is allergic to,
wedding flowers. AP
 

The poetry on this page will be changed from time to time. Please check back soon.


Last Updated March 2, 2001 by Karen Merritt