Each morning I watch the crow sit upon the old chimney, the end of a line, that peeks above the shale roofed houses, to watch the sun rise, in silence and reverence. We watch it together, and he, who barely notices me anymore, makes not a sound, bowing his midnight crown upon the first rays of dawn. Then turns his black pearls to gaze into my soul, knowing we shall meet once more, tomorrow, or on some dim lit twilight shore.
sleepless yet less,
caught in this improbable introspection, yet blessed,
plunging into my psyche and thrown upon the waves,
the might of the foments deep, thunders from those graves.
Yet, not a stone is shaken, not a breath removed,
not a lie bespoken, nor a soul reproved.
Grace, to mend the fractured heart,
the roar of that ancient score,
and from the tumult, peace again to start.
The shadow dwelling of each forgotten token,
shaken from this vestige as my heart is awoken,
to find within the constancy of thought and reasons rhyme,
a measure of the peace from some dark protracted line.
Sleep,
but not in hidden realms,
opening these doors to both heaven and hell,
to dwell, in both for a time.
To know the scorn of your tormentors whip,
soothed in the balm of angelic lips.
Fear not the doorways,
nor the passage through the dark,
for in that place,
a beacon light eschews its grasping fingers,
illuminating paths, on which, the penitent soul still lingers.
The hoisted sail, sits headstrong upon the pillow,
relenting in the tide, of the sheeting's luff and billow.
To quell the sea, and calm the rushing wind,
The horror that you flee, in the end you must rescind.
Grace,
forever humbles the sorrowful face,
forgiven in an instant of loving light,
the comprehending sword that cuts the darkened night.
Let go... and rise without that anchor's chain below,
Let go, and rise into the light,
from out the fearful shadow of the pasts tormented night.
Lost in these deep sighs,
the soulful resonance of the not so wise.
Reverberations of love,
rippling in emanations of surrender,
the folded capitulation
of the tender and vanquished heart.
Each wave a crescendo dashed upon the shore,
a swirling dance beneath the moon and the maw.
So soon, this sweet invasion,
the warm and subtle invitation of a palpitating love.
Basking in the glory of an imaginary sun,
the creeping warmth of a coddled womb,
radiantly swept upon this silken strand,
and all too soon, the seeping truth,
rolled and naked, breaks upon these wet sands,
the rocky crag of discontent hissing in the darkness,
castaway in silence, the aching solitude of a torpid defiance.
The crack of memory, fading, smashed upon your rocks,
this foaming discontent, seething into the depths of your tousled locks.
Bright stars mimicking the foment of your glistening touch.
A slow and easy awakening, soft focused eyes,
caught within the rapture of this shallow breaths tide,
the hollow heart, filled with the glow of this new suns love.
From whence did you come? And just as quick,
retreat into the depths once more,
howling with the rumbled heart,
the fury of loves gale,
swept across this wild and barren shore.
Oh heart, full and shining with ancient rhyme,
how long it has been since you sang,
how silent the world before your chiming bells rang.
Tremulously caught between the brink and the tide,
sunken footsteps, planted upon my heart,
your slender fingertips, eased between my own.
This wreckage of solitude, strewn into the cavernous depths,
the fathomless deep, of all that was left.
Fading footfalls, washed into a licking tide,
the remnants of remembrance of all that we tried to hide.
Delicate fingers tap upon the bleeding keys,
the splash of sticky reminiscence,
fingerprints upon the heart,
slivers of diaphanous shards,
pressed down into the bloodied maw of time...
Gossamer chords, tremulously faint,
a haunting mist of memory,
the melancholia kissed,
upon the salty lobes of all that you were to me...
The fragile moments;
Faint echoes in shattered crystal light,
footsteps in the distance,
the remnants of this sallow sun,
fading into night.
Disrobed beneath these stars,
the light of a thousand suns
flecked across your shimmering surface,
the sheen of joy etched into your smile,
shooting stars, erupting from within.
Enfolded creases, slipping in time,
the light between these galaxies traversed,
unhindered, unfettered, unhinged
between each passions fiery pull,
the gravity of all,
drawn into a swirling maelstrom of dripping might,
born of the light,
swarming through the night upon each fleshly part,
sundered and surrendered in the dark.
Voluptuously suckled,
the tender meeting of tongues
beneath the half light of this mountains moon;
To swoon in epiphany,
a rebirth of majesty, might and fire,
born of two bodies pulled by desire.
The love of the suns,
bursting engorged across these skies,
the ripple of silken thighs,
sunk in the warmth of the trembling flesh,
formless delight,
naked beneath the majesty of Gods evocative starlight.
The welcoming home, a feast of love,
divinity below, divinity above.
Life given, life received, in memories of you I bleed; A mirror of other whim's, hallowed in cloistered corners, harbour's a fateful bell, rung only for the mourners;
whipping the tide of time, greeting another master, loves never intertwine, minds that keep pushing faster;
given a moment, we could be catching a fallacy, holding it tightly, then watch it transform in reality;
one life given, one life received, in time we will find that our feelings recede. Life given, life received, a memory of you perceived;
into a barren sky, life moving quickly backward, shallow in open graves, life moving slowly skyward. my heart never rests for peace, driven in mortal plunder, riveting open space, my loves only left asunder;
one word, one look, a stone is shaken, this time, this space, a love forsaken;
a promise of golden dreams, diamonds that sparkled brightly, love's rarely what it seems, fashioned, it happens slightly.
(2)
Life given, life received, a memory of you perceived;
into a barren sky, life moving quickly backward, shallow in open graves, love moving slowly skyward;
my heart never rests in peace, driven in mortal plunder, riveting open space, my loves only left asunder;
one word, one look, a stone is shaken, this time, this space, a love forsaken;
promise of golden dreams, diamonds that sparkled brightly, loves rarely what it seems, fashioned it happens slightly;
life given, life received, in memories of you I bleed;
A mirror of others whim's, hallowed in cloistered corners; harbour's a fateful bell, rung only for the mourners;
whipping the tide of time, greeting another master, souls never intertwine, when your mind votes for pushing past her;
given a moment we could be catching a fallacy, holding it loosely, we watch it transform in reality;
life is given, life is received, in time we will find that our feelings recede. Richard Michael Parker (1991)
The owl replaced the nightingales sweet song,
and spoke in sombre tones a darkened truth,
appealing to the gods of slighted wrongs,
the thunder tongue of wisdom spoke forsooth.
Love rests not beneath the willow,
nor waits beside that ever running stream,
for now his head sits sad upon his pillow,
low, beneath the ground, inside a dream.
Look not into the dim-lit sunken corners,
nor trail the fleeting footsteps in this place,
seek comfort in a gathering of mourners,
for thou bright light has gone without a trace.
For though you look to heaven for an answer,
and woo the countenance lost all too soon,
no bright and airy sun reclaims this dancer,
he left with her, the mirrored maid, the moon.
Walking along the high road, I stopped to take in the spire of a 14th century church, Gothic architraves and reliefs, weathered, silhouetted against the sky, the slow clouds rolling like cotton wool across a light azure heaven. I noted the old elm before the spire as i looked up, and wondered how many others had noticed the spire had been rebuilt, sporting a masonic compass and square beneath the cross that sat atop the sky.
An old gaslight, no longer illumined in the daylight, stood before the tree, and i breathed in the whole scene, as the mad rush pelted the walkways around me. Ants scurrying about, desperately fighting the time.
Easing my camera from my pocket, i took one of two shots, up into the sky, and adjusted my straw hat, so as to shield the naked sun from my eyes.
I noted an older lady pass me by, and thought for a second that she wanted to say something, but the moment passed, and she moved on, resigned to her silence. So i called after her; 'Glorious weather we are having isn't it?', she stopped in her tracks, and turned, her elderly wrinkles smiling at me from out the years.
An hour later, we had both enriched each others day. I had learnt all about her time in Sicily, and the Belfast dockyards. How she had been evacuated in the war as a young child and seen dogfights in Irish skies, Mafia dons with blackened eyes, and the history of the inception of that shadow organization from the perspective of an Irish woman who had married a Sicilian man, living in foreign lands, with her babies eyes staring into other skies.
'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.'
What is distance to the heart?
No mile, nor hour elapsed,
that ever bore the weight of the departed,
lightened the soul.
For in the gathering time,
pushed down into the womb of the world,
the heavy burden unfurled, grows fat,
gorged upon the marrow and the cost.
The tumid bloated crush of loss.
Bedraggled steps, upon a mountains jagged edge.
The shifting shale of despair,
straining out the seconds into years.
The thousand yard stare,
stretching out the inches into tears.
What does love know of time?
When your heart beat in mine,
did the clock count the ticks, and the tocks of your feet,
as they stepped across the street,
in the steady downbeat of the salty rain.
No... It is the mind that forgets.
Memories purged in a sea of regrets,
awash in a currency of debt.
Mountains, heaped upon the heart, moments passed.
In the quiet space,
a thousand years, and a million miles from grace;
The first twinkle of your soft eyes,
splashed in the luminescence of your smile,
your heart beats within my chest,
and all the mountains,
and the worlds that passed between us,
cannot stop the thundering flood of love.
For you are here again;
Not a second has past,
nor a stray breath, parted from these lips.
All absence, filled in the heartbeat,
of your trembling fingertips.
The smallest seed of love, that means everything, is greater still than the
great love that means little to those who encounter it; For the seed,
nurtured by those who recognize how precious it is, will in time, and
care, grow into a mighty tree, that blesses all who dwell beneath its
shade and eat of its fruit. But the great love, that means little to
those who are careless with it, will simply wither, weathered by the
vicissitudes of time. It isn't always how great a love is at the
beginning that counts, rather, it is what it means to those that share
it, and what they are willing to do to care for it, that truly counts.
Some loves are great, and diminish, others are grown from the smallest
of seeds and become the mightiest of oaks over time. What it means, is
the difference between a rock becoming a pebble, and a seed becoming a
tree.
