Tuesday, 14 August 2012



And so adieu... Adieu my love!
The forest awaits,
and i can already hear your gambolling gait,
your doe eyes caught in the glare of my love.
Why is it the rejected always hear their names
echoing in some distant hallway,
leaving them the blame?
Clever quips that cut them to the core, say more,
than all the silent words that left them on that shore!
Surrendering excuses to all those pin pricked ears,
doors replete with nails, hammered into all those fears,
scratched into the hearts of the unsuspecting,
a penitent reminder? or just another form of rejecting.
So adieu... Adieu my love!
The forest awaits,
and i can already hear your galloping gait,
your hooves springing into the trees,
the faint rustle of a memory playing amongst the leaves.

© Richard Michael Parker 2012

Sunday, 12 August 2012



funny how people camp in your heart
even the arseholes
the ones you never wanted to see again
the trouble makers
the fear and loathing personalities
larger than life
they flit in through an open window
and camp on your sofa
smiling at you from beyond the grave
you remember seeing them on a hillside one day
firing a make believe gun
throwing themselves in a heap just for the fun of it.
Every time you see them, you think
'oh god here we go'.. another mad cap scheme
always landing everyone in trouble
then they spend the next few years
trying to dig everyone out of it again
and though your heart is cold by then
tossing them upon the step and slamming the door
you cant quite help yourself
when they aren't around anymore, thinking back
to that impish grin, and silly laugh
remembering all the hearts they filled in
all the dreams they made real
even if they were bloody stupid
and fought on the wrong side
like a great chess opponent
that has been cast into life
to battle with you through out your own
you hate them, then you love to hate them
then you hate to love them then you just love them
funny how they break into your heart again
after they have gone
sitting on your sofa winking at you slyly
standing around a stove debating nothing in particular
or everything with passion
laughter, anger, joy, misery,
emotions all born from hearts that sang together
sometimes discordantly but together
life, shared and remembered
that brilliant impish little boy
standing on a hillside with his pretend gun
firing into nowhere in particular
shining in the noonday sun
all the world and life ahead of him
then suddenly he's ten again
and you wonder where he's gone.