Friday, 6 August 2010

Sweet Wind

Sweet Wind

You are a sweet wind, that cries foul
and whips the tempests woe into a brewing cauldron.

So long the sorrow has gripped your heart
tightening itself around all those dreams
the flight of remembrance.
...Sweet was that mothers milk
the succour of our first smarting.
the dear and the dead, departing.
'So long' tomorrow,
the sullen shadow of forlorn sorrow.
We only borrow time, Today.
Time enough to find a friend
a Lover, a moment in which to live again
to Build a world around a seed
a tree inside a garden.
How sweet the fruit that falls
nurtured, blown by your wind
within these walls.

I have seen your pools overwhelmed,
splashing upon a heartless ground
filled with remorse,
a cascade of remembrance.
Floods of memories
issuing back from the eyes
that once perceived them,
Back into the ground.
The ground where you now bleed.
These reminiscent sounds,
raindrops between the thunder
As you slip again, slowly,
and go under.

Time again,
I reach beneath your waves
to find your delicate wrists
deeply locked, drawn upon your eyes
swept into a tumult
beneath these brewing skies.
This heart,
that swims this tremulous sea,
these evanescent waters between you and me,
beats in time, upon your own, within a kiss
the ebb and flow,
upon the tides of our luscious lips
locked in bliss.

If my love be worthy
of that faint petal lipped kiss;
Then sup upon a stream of honeyed dreams,
a sweet succour of mellifluous schemes,
and trouble no more the raindrops.
For they have tears,
of sorrow filled years, to wash away,
to sweep into a stream, of oblivion,
unto a sea of sweet tomorrows,
the yearning hearts of endless sorrows.
You are the breath upon my peaks
wind waves that gently lap upon the depths
kissed by sunlight's warmth i evanesce.
For you, my airy Queen,
shall weep no more,
for want of loves resplendent shore.

You are a sweet wind, my love,
and i will lap beneath your whispering breath,
together, unto death.

© Richard Michael Parker 2010

Thursday, 5 August 2010



Two Hydrogen one oxygen
waters gift, clean living.
All that stands, falls, stalls,
blackened walls;
the greed of men, deaths friend,
oils black snake, the modern fake;

Whilst cars burn faster this oily disaster,
nations build clean green machines,
two worlds,
old and new,
bridged by transitory views,
crossings we have still to make;

New tanks,
opening air inlet manifolds,
re-timing to top dead centre,
exposing dead head ventures.
new plugs for new generations,
advertising lugs for new sensations;

The World Will,
is all that is required,
a broken cyclical chasm retired;
This unrealized power within.
A future path enshrined,
beyond the dead end tracks designed;

The ease at which energy releases,
Is dependant upon a courage that never ceases.
A hundred men with blackened ruddy hands
forestall a generations plans,
selling all those children out,
with bitter lies and war and doubt.

What is best? 100 less?
or billions left to face the test?
We sit and watch them burn us out
and not a sound, not a shout.
A hand risen and chastised
against those bleak polluted skies;

The wars they wreak upon our scorn,
are built upon our hopes forlorn.
a profit from a body dashed,
countries, hopes, a world left smashed.
And all the while a weasels grin,
for all the shit they've left us in;

Is there a path?, a movement out?
of sullied lives left disavowed.
Can we repair the crippled heart?
that craves the power from whence we start.
A line that Prospero did seek,
to save us from a future bleak;

To conjure future memories set,
islands, lands, this green utopia yet.

"there is a way!".
"a cost required"!

No rest, no holiday's for you,
no future either, 'pay your due';
Retorted darkened bankers bold,
who barked their orders 'bought and sold';
"we will not, cannot, shall not change,
it costs too much to rearrange";

"The cost is high, t'is true alright,
yet payments balked bring endless night"

A choice, a call, for each generation,
we commit ours through 'omission',
a clandestine manipulation;
a hypnotic silence, sacrificing our children
on an altar of a peaceful violence;

Conveniently laying aside our obligation,
to satiate our hedonistic sensations.
What do we care for others woeful need?
when pandering to our own consumer greed.
Meaningless lives cast asunder,
cut away from the past,
futures go under;

We are connected.
A tapestry interwoven,
a temporal history behove'n.

Time honoured freedom, modernities lost love,
venerated guardians of humanities obligation,
which gift? a hawk? A dove?

Ive heard it said that money makes the world revolve,
but who makes capital from fortunes gold,
when no ones left to render assets gained,
because of lies left unrestrained.

There is a path, a power free
its all around us, cant you SEA?
the universal gift of light and love
given freely, flowing endlessly, from above
the sun, sea, wind, tides ebb never to rescind
natures gift to heal our own hearts rift;

an element of endless bounty
a secret source left untapped
in us the innocent trust
a pyramid capped.
its free.

Poetry: © Richard Michael Parker 2009

Wednesday, 4 August 2010



As a child
Battersea seemed to me a most mysterious place
combining two of my favourite things
batter, which wrapped the weekly offering with our chips;
and the sea, where swam the fish in my batter,
like a pea green memory.
home of the hound,
the lost and the found.
We would often pass by and i would cry
"can we get a big black Labrador dad"?
but we always seemed to slip past those darkened gates,
bowing our heads as dad reminded us of their fates.
My heart yearned to set one free,
to bring it home, free from its dark captivity.
Then one day, i spotted our dog,
Charlie the Dalmatian,
full of mischief and sneezes
and everything that pleases.
"but its not Black dad"
"you want me to take it back lad" he retorted
but Charlie just snorted,
and my heart melted.
As a child,
Battersea seemed to me a most mysterious place
combining three of my favourite things.
Home of the Hound,
the lost and the found.

© Richard Michael Parker 2009

Monday, 2 August 2010

Emotional Blocks

Emotional Blocks

Emotional Blocks within the male psyche
perpetuated by the patriarchy
stumbling boys in grown up clothes
try to hide it, but it shows
in every bomb that hits the ground
and every sharp and vicious sound
in every stream thats choked and brown
and all the famine thats around;
They cry in pain these boys of ours
whilst killing off all the flowers
they cannot help whats in their hearts
they cannot stop it once it starts
it is a pain they cant endure
so they stifle what is pure
and when the game they play is over
and the shooting is all done
we wont be left in fields of clover
for the bastards will have won.

© Richard Michael Parker 1999

Sunday, 1 August 2010

The Lion and the Lamb

The Lion and the Lamb!

As the bomb ripped through the bus, tearing limb from limb,
severing forever a child's mistaken trust.
Was the cry, echoed in every Palestinian eye,
with the Bigots big bad tank parked nearby.
Was the cacophonous silence resounding in this sanctioned violence,
a Total Outrage on a slippery slick oily Burmese stage.
As the laughter echoed out, safe in Texas, in comfortable corners,
forgetting all those Iraqi mourners.
A billion without water, selling bullets for the guns,
of another manufactured slaughter.
As we cut down all the tree's, and with them every animal on its Knees!
an inhumane extinction manufactured just to please.
As another ice cap melted, a generation smelted,
for fat cats left unbelted.

...And in the silence, i heard a quickening roar,
a fiery defiance, a grasping of the score.
raged this wild and just enormity,
with mighty tooth and claw.
Then out the quiet mass rose up,
and held the banner high,
the battle raged cacophonous,
this dream would never die.
Forestalled apocalypse,
brought down upon its knees,
the outrage now resisted,
with heartfelt entreaties.

No More the guns,
No More the war,
No more the bullets fly.
No more the starving millions,
sat in gutters left to die...
No more the oily snake,
that's wrapped around our tree,
No more of childrens tears,
to fill our empty sea.
No more the greedy mob,
to shackle what is just,
No more our green jewelled Eden,
left to wallow in the dust.

And out the rage, a tethered lamb was led before the throng,
and meekly transformed every wanton weary woe filled wrong,
the power washed away the war, and silenced every doubt,
the Lion roared betwixt his side, and got the message out.

The Bus was filled with laughter,
the tanks are now all gone,
and water follows after,
the taps that now are run.
The trees that blossom daily,
and shelter sky's so meek,
forestalled a vision gaily,
of barren wastes so bleak.
for Love that was enthroned,
in each heart that rose to fight,
saw a lion and a lamb lay down,
through out that sacred night.

© Richard Michael Parker 2010