Friday 11 January 2013

The Passion Pot





















-The Passion Pot-

This passions pot in fiery hearth,
awakens to delight,
to find the coals of loves sweet art,
ablaze within this night;
Rekindled from the ashen grave,
the phoenix rises brightly,
and soars into resplendent days,
two hearts conjoin'd sprightly;
The butterflies regale in dance,
within this womb of love,
an opiated supple trance,
descending from above;
To shower both entwin'd souls,
with blessings and with mirth,
to gambol over blue bell knolls,
in celebrated rebirth.
Sweet petalled joy of passions gift,
rejoice in loves light wings made swift.

© Richard Michael Parker 2012


Thursday 10 January 2013

Vapid Fate


























-Vapid Fate-

Where did my beautiful poetess go? the shining radiance of her smile, blossoming through each line, free from the rupture and the artifice of guile, where did she go, sweet lingering tongue, the measured kiss of succulence poured from her tremulous lips onto the page like gaslight upon a stage, dancing in the revelry of her risen heart. The dawn beckoning us to raise our heads from out some twilight. Compassionate resolve transformed into a kiss...

Was it remiss to feel the tug of folding fingers, the bliss of the sweep of your delicate shoulders, blending spirits upon a delta of crushed earth. The flood, awaiting dammed behind those silting gates of sobriety, a resignation in surrender, the soulful arms, the charms, forged beyond some vapid fate...

Fear not the transference of emotion, for the ocean that swells behind those solid banks will not plunder the town, nor seep between the walls, erected to forestall all that was felt in those crushing moments of oblivion. The ocean that we are cast within...

This vessel awaits, anchored beyond these harbour gates. The swelling tide, seethes beneath its fated planks, the gusting sail, taut upon the bursting wind, awaits.

Who can forget, the kiss? The simple soulful touch of encircling fingertips, caught within the whirlpool of this bliss... In distant memory, all that you have left me, shattered in the waiting hour, darkly lit in this whorling gale of reminiscence and remiss.

© Richard Michael Parker 2012


Artwork: Jaanika Talts