Saturday, 24 July 2010

Have you ever been in Love with an Obscurantist?

Have you ever been in Love with an Obscurantist?

Have you ever been in Love with an obscurantist?
each time they tell you the truth, they are looking at the floor!
you look into there eyes for a flicker of hope, but you get the gist,
because in secret they are really showing you the door.

And somewhere deep inside you know what's coming next,
but you waver, like that sickening feeling in your gut,
as you hear some more half truths masquerading as subtext,
so they slip away, leaving you stuck in your forlorn rut.

Then you fool yourself on a daily basis just to cut them some slack,
hoping against hope that the silence that's descended in your life,
is a communicable blip, hastily surrendered as they wander on back,
yet at heart, you know yours is the only one in strife.

The worst thing about it all is, that road to Hell, Yes!
just like the saying, is paved with good intentions,
which is why you love them in the first place I guess,
but you know there won't be any divine interventions.

Sometimes you just pray that they would tell you the truth,
but because your hearts involved you wish they never do;
your heart, gashed, like those bloody knee's in your youth,
sickening your soul to the quick, as it turns black and blue.

The vagaries of distance, always kept at arms length,
the immaculate deception, the show and tell of the stage magician,
all the while this yearning continually sapping your strength,
as your heart shrivels and wither's, waiting for their fateful decision.

Then the devastation and destruction as the bombshell's burst,
wreaking soulful havoc, wrenching your heart from its corpulent abyss,
smashing your mind into fragmented ragged bits of verse,
contemplating in bewilderment why its them that you'll miss.

Sometimes a little honest bluntness at the start,
can help to ease some snowballed agony inside,
and save a soulful person a painful heart,
so try to detour around the obscurantists little ride.

© Richard Michael Parker 2009

Friday, 23 July 2010

The Butterfly

The Butterfly

Natures great translucent filigree,
nurtured by Leto's twinned loved majesty,
blown by ethereal winds of change,
times turned to passing remnants rearranged;
Engorged transcendence.
Spun upon a silken spinnerets design,
cocooned in depths, exquisitely refined,
fluttering splashes of Helios bright,
waft upon these rainbows of sweet delight;
Heralds a transformation.
A token that we too may transform,
to rise like some golden phoenix reborn,
returned from the ashes of some eternal rest,
gently to unfold delicate wings of flighted quest;
These tickling sensations,
tremulously tasting the currents and emanations,
until adorned with garments divine,
flashings of light that play across this line,
we enjoin with warm airs in sunlit delight,
shrouded in life's mystery,
an epiphany of history,
this resplendent metamorphosis takes flight,
and all the world wonders,
as this Butterfly flits and thunders.

© Richard Michael Parker 2009

The Watchtower

The Watchtower

Let there be Thunder!...
as if the very bowls of hell had burst upon the world.
Let there be Lightening!...
the flashing vengeance of heavens fury unfurled.
Woe....Woe to every beast,
caught between the hammer and the anvils fiery feast!

...And in the chaos i heard a rumbling,
the sound of order construed,
exuding into formlessness,
a simmering virtual stew.
Birthing all that could be,
all at once, within me...
and at the tumults end,
there was you;

Born of a whispering breath,
a tidal constancy of birth and death,
dashed upon the rocks of despair,
flung into the very torment there,
swept into a torrents raging might,
a formless frightening pitiless sight;
Seething from within, without,
this fomenting rancorous din.

I held my breath,
and all at once, the void descended.
Yet, risen like a lark befriended,
this Sun, born anew,
did pull you from that fire,
the flaming mystic hallowed light,
his only hearts desire.

Two souls enjoined immortally,
to stand upon the very edge of that priapic sea,
inseminating all eternity.

The lightening rod of Gods new brilliance,
shone upon the witnesses, born only to convince,
the mass of huddled sparks,
that were drawn from out that hearth,
to join with all again,
and dance upon that path;

...And Thunder echoed on into a dazzling night,
the iridescent peels,
the flash of blinding light,
did come to me upon that watch,
a newly risen dawn,
the herald of divinity,
resplendently reborn.

© Richard Michael Parker 2010

Wednesday, 21 July 2010

I Got Lost

I got Lost....

Crammed into a thousand tiny spaces
by a million different faces,
getting off the tube at Oxford St
during early Christmas shopping...
everyone walking like penguins to the beat,
swept along, crushing dreams under timeless feet;

After a while i simply felt emotionally exhausted...
so I let the meeting go,
as I was an hour late anyway,
and walked around the back streets for a while,
soaking up the late October air,
full of its drinking house ambiance,
intermixed with the changing guard,
the dash of late shoppers,
mingling with the retreating business folk.

I wandered into Embassy lane, and sat quietly,
in front of a 13th century Indian cloth batik,
depicting the dance of the adoration of Krishna.
The walls full of prints from India;
and felt my energy come back into balance...
in that quiet space,
the silence in the Unity of Grace.

Two Prints in particular took my eye,
one, 'longing during the monsoon season',
full of peacocks, and blue waterfalls,
seemed like a song on the wall...
so i headed back home, alone,
singing it in my minds eye,
as the memory of that place,
passed me bye.

Time winnows us all through its great sieve,
and Shiva's dance destroys even the fleeting memories,
wrapped up in past joys,
and tied in the bow of contentment.
All that's left us are the token gestures in a stream,
passing endlessly before us.

A tipple from a draft of the ever fluid past,
slipping in sips, through the rivulets of your mind.
When even memories, become mixed and mingled,
will you still recall the moment of our calling?

or..., like the passing throng,
washed endlessly along,
will the memory simply pass you by,
swept aside, Lost...
like all those feelings, laughed or cried,
until at last, I too become lost,
a remnant of the past, an unremembered cost.

© Richard Michael Parker 2009

Tuesday, 20 July 2010



Was i such an evil man
that love treats my heart this way,
crashing through my soul and washing it away,
leaving me the hopelessness,
like some cornered frightened prey.

Was i such an evil man
to have dreamt of love divine,
to have witnessed every cruelty,
then hung out on the line,
leaving me the torment in my body,soul and mind;

was i such an evil man?

Courage my soul!, courage my heart!
Courage this love immortally to start!
Courage....take hold, and every dream let it unfold,
a sparkling effervescent dew,
a light of dazzling splendid hue.

There never was a task worth taking
a sacrifice, a heart worth breaking,
that didn't temper its fine steel,
or wrought the fiery souls that feel.

Was i such an evil man
who dreamt of such a crazy plan,
that we could one day live in peace,
united in this hearts release.
when will we out law war?

was i such an evil man
an ache to love and be loved,
to know the simple touch of heart felt lips,
the eloquence of gentle finger tips,
the supple sinew of my lovers hips;

was i such an evil man?

Courage my soul!, courage my heart!
Courage this love immortally to start!
Courage!....take hold and every dream let it unfold,
a sparkling effervescent dew,
a light of dazzling splendid hue.

For though it seems you are alone,
and all those dreams of yours have flown,
take courage with you in that night,
lest you forget that second sight:

Was i such an evil man?
With such an evil plan.
To Love and be loved.

© Richard Michael Parker 2009

Monday, 19 July 2010

A Cautionary Tale

A Cautionary Tale

A cautionary tale,
of Loves beguiling ways,
not set in golden times,
but resounds in future days,
where men believed themselves,
beyond the pale of Gods,
and sought to prick,
then poke and jest,
careless of the odds;

As ever in the tune of men,
such pride did sound aloud,
and echoed out a battle cry,
for powers disavowed,
the fortunes of the heralds torch,
was silently returned,
and doused in haughty revelry,
this peace it now was burned;

The messenger was sought on high,
from realms set far aside,
delivering up such terms,
as to quash this hurtful pride;
a gift from each to help this quest,
was rendered unto he,
then off he sped on winged feet,
with heartfelt entreaty;

He landed in a pit,
the Vipers tongue's did sting,
that mangled bitter soul cast down,
in endless wandering,
those early days beset to test,
the brittleness of soul,
but always in his deepest heart,
he cosseted the goal;

A passion pot in fiery hearth,
was buried in a sleep,
a slumber in a mantle hard,
whilst angels wail and weep,
until at last in pleasant days,
awoken to his task,
he stretched his arms,
and rose within,
uncovering his mask;

But all was not as it would seem,
above this nestled calm,
for powers yet untold, unseen,
rankled without qualm,
For Love had vanquished many men,
and set their hearts ablaze,
then set aside in fitful state,
Her deft beguiling ways;

She was bemused,
and sent her own dear messenger abroad,
to silently reprove her host,
and more, convince her Lord,
That she not he,
should herald dawns of newly transpired grace,
and help these fledgling little souls,
so called the Human Race;

And so it was throughout this life,
both messengers did vie,
and fought a fateful joust,
whilst all above did cry,
until at last hermetically,
the fight was called to halt,
the arrows ceased their fateful track,
the feet their winged jolt;

Beloved Psyche stepped between,
these two consorting towers,
reproaching each,
for all the reckless wanton wasted hours,
and offered up as supplicant,
to those that viewed above,
a truce between each messenger,
regaling both with Love;

"What good it does my long lost kin,
when Gods do fight this bout,
and send there awful rancorous din,
amongst those lost in doubt,
we ask that they do grow in spirit,
born of divine grace,
and yet we show them only,
mighty torment in our face"

"I ask that you do set aside,
this anger and dis-ease,
and think upon those words writ large,
in ancient times that please,
that always it has been the truth,
like parents born to raise,
that children's health and welfare,
overrules self-serving ways"

"'The Message trumps the Messenger'!,
in every single way,
so heed my plea i do beseech,
and Humbly do pray"
The words they cut them to the quick,
unfolding all their ties,
and travelled upon zephyrs wings,
into transcendent skies;

On hearing this appeal,
the holy council met,
and made a resolution,
that none would soon forget,
Both Messengers would stay the course,
and twined would cast about,
this consort of divinity,
would get the message out;

So as you grow do not forget,
this cautionary tale,
do not dismiss Eros, or Love,
or else your task may fail,
and squandered upon fateful rocks,
your well thought out device,
may fight immortal foes within,
- without, some lonesome vice;

A balance can be struck in time,
to settle all these woes,
and freely entertain each part,
in which your future grows,
so do not play a power game,
lest you be found alone,
for in the end we all will reap,
the very seeds we've sown:

© Richard Michael Parker 2009 

Sunday, 18 July 2010



The Moons corona painted us,
as dust upon a planet smitten,
dancing clouds surround,
in loves dark halo, soft and given;
I lay with open arms and play,
whilst oft you bucked, yet fell away.
On sandy shores I heard the warbler,
herald another dawning,
one in which the even's song was mourning;
Yet, in quiet solitude I rest,
and fracture hearts past loves at best;
For here the days great gift is given,
to live in union I am driven;
and does it not give credence to,
the old, the now, and the new;
to carry with each risen heart,
the leap of faith from whence we start;
For when in loves death throws we toss,
the hopelessness, and the cost,
T'is best we do recall outright,
the perfect beauty of that night,
where swam our dreams upon a shore,
with joy, and hope,

© Richard Michael Parker 1994