Ashton John Fischer Jr.

New Orleans, Louisiana

Fischer Jr., Ashton John, (b.) November 24, 1952, New Orleans, LA; (ed.) Tulane Univ. B.A.; (occ.) Self-Employed; (memb.) Poet's Guild. Who's Who in the South and Southwest (1995/1996). Who's Who in America (1997). Southern Poetry Assoc. Who's Who in the World. The Academy of America Poets.; (hon.) The National Library of Poetry. Illiad Literary Awards. International Society of Poets; (a.) New Orleans, LA.

Cynicia

There is beginning of my end again.
I follow Cynicia, my right eye.
Together we go somewhere, stumble lame
For fourteen times and do never know, why?

Nor even, why not? There's all the answers.
It is hard to return and I am soft.
My ears ring resoundingly. The rest were
Callow human creatures, these we lofted.

Eyelessly, I've discovered there's no cause.
But merely is, another five red years.
Look, profound philosophy, my meta laws
Of Cynicia who knows me and fears

Concluding couplets, now and even then
A rhyme scheme of the truth, sneeringly lends.

Nihilia

She has taught nothing but never denied
And bemoans that I am one-eyed, I think.
Altruistically, she hasn't lied,
Nor told truth, and like a stone does sink.

My sky is angry again, and why not?
Beneath it are creatures that crawl and creep
And don't have anything in reason but
A great deal of nothing, a dreamless sleep.

I wish to be shallow, for deep is dark
And there is the beginning of my end.
Nihilia, scared and scarred, badly marked
Stood upright, stared nodding, within her bend.

There, another couplet of the rhyme scheme.
She has plotted nothing, that's what it means.

Fourteen Lines Of Life

This is not the first time, but 'tis the last,
For my ends are always new beginnings;
And only I can ever know my whys,
Wherefores and withers, and even why nots?
It is what she grasped in her hand once and
Yet hasn't let go. It's not what she thinks:
Not future or family nor reason
But my right hand which she held, not the left.
They're best left alone, but the right fingers
Are finally right to grasp. Don't let go.
The rights are correct. Others merely left
Wrongly. Take my hand, the one that is right,
For the wrong one shall leave. You would be left
Unrighteously. Grasp the right one. Hold hard.

The Sonnet Of Oblivia

It is now the beginning of the end,
A finish that I have known for so long.
There is no reason, only rimes which lend
And mend our existence, 'though we are wronged.

The sky is weeping. I do see the tears
And have known the moors; there's no more I need.
Belief comes creeping. Sentence, I do fear.
When the fog there lures, my wounds shall not bleed.

I do fear every mirror, for they,
My maggots, howl with laughter, others weep
For yesterdays dazed, years sorrowed, and may
Put me away now in my coffin. Peace sleeps.

There, I have spent minutes; knowledge is gone.
My blank verse does rimes and drags me along.