Adieu

-Adieu-

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

 

Wally

 -Wally-

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.

-Thirst-

-Thirst-

Slinking fleshy plebs melting in the noon day sun,
slipping between the cracks in the soft tar;
Swarthy asphalt dripping in the heat haze.
Ruddy sanguinated faces,
stare dolefully into my eyes as they pass,
beneath the wide brimmed hat,
wondering why they hadn't thought of that,
as the make-up drips in dollops, sweaty drops,
sizzling on baking concrete blocks;
A testament to a man made mendacity,
no shade beneath the lampposts,
only concretized trees to be found.
The squeezing rasps of smoke filled lungs,
gasping in the florid heat, the only sound,
beside the constant cacophony of the traffics beat,
ever watchful in the shallows of the dark river.
A beach, a palm, make me a date,
take me on a journey before its too late,
the sweet slap of salt upon the skin,
the lapping shore,
seething upon the succulence within;
Oh god! the sea... the sea!
I close my eyes and slip into her cool bosom,
coddled between the sand and the sky,
caressed by every lapping crest,
the stroke of fingertips on my simmering chest;
Blue heaven, dissolving into her tranquil arms,
a cool breeze dancing upon the waves,
the slap of her licking tide,
this thirst, quenched, as i languidly rock,
from side, to side.

© Richard Michael Parker 2012

The Moon, she weeps, before the Sun has risen...

The Moon, she weeps, before the Sun has risen...

...And full,
the moon brought weeping in her waning,
yet nothing would hold the dawn,
or the tears of dark complaining;
The scolding bitter words foretold,
the creeping in that light,
for loves true round is bright and bold,
not scorn from out the night.

The echo of a smile,
traversed the starry sky,
and whispered to the willow,
come follow, while i cry,
for all the joy that passes me,
has hung upon a dream,
and none can come to dawn you see,
lest in their souls ive seen,
the clotting of the bluebells call,
the fiery wreath of sorrow,
and none may know of love at all,
without forlorn tomorrow.
A nightingale, regaled with tune,
while wisps of fairy light,
danced beneath enchantments swoon,
in silverine delight.

A lark, broke through the revelry,
and pricked the ears with truth,
the dawn, it shot across the sky,
and broke the spell, forsooth.
The moon she shrank, and hid her face,
while Phoebus rose asunder,
and shot a golden light of grace,
the horses hooves did thunder.
And ever has it been the case,
when pondering the mirror,
remember, loves first dawning trace,
and wipe that surface clearer,
or fall into a magic spell,
that comes from out the dark,
the simulacrum of loves first light,
reflectance of that spark.

For though she weeps and wails,
in the waning of that hour,
her stories are but tales,
told before true love takes power.

© Richard Michael Parker 2012

-The Smallest of Things-

-The Smallest of Things-

The smallest of things often measures the moment. An ants foraging ways, leaving a trail for others to follow; The lavender in my hands, a fragrant passing of distant sorrow... No longer felt beneath this sweet suns touch, the love, all that remains, amongst the memories of sadness and forgotten pains. Where does it come from, this soft invasion of life, love, seeping into each heart, taken altogether by surprise. I close my eyes, and feel you there, inside me, glowing strong.

I washed her feet, and turned around behind her, my hands cupped upon her delicate ankles, running along the lines of her tendons. In all these years i had never noticed the curve of her toes, the fragile lines of each nail interposed, time weathered attention, the artists measured hand, drawn across her skirt, girt with all the loving care she has born. A timeless sentinel of love, giving endlessly to all those she has gathered about her. So i spent a while loving her, washing her toes, cleaning the webs from off her sunken nose, her eyes fixed in repose. To love her is a joy, to know that she, for whom so many other souls employ, is loved, cared for, caressed and washed, cleansed from the sullying remnants of grime, the weathered matting's of time. To love one who loves so, is there any greater gift than this?

It is the smallest of things, the breath of a butterflies wings, passing between the still gap of an Angel's. The rustle of a leaf, the blossoming of a tree, left sallow and old, withered and cold, reborn in splendour, free. The blossom falling as snow upon the ground, each ripe fruit, plucked for the eating, the feeding of love.

It is the smallest of things, a smile, the gracious care... time given, the slow brush of silken hair... fingers slipped, one inside another, the soulful stare between each silent sated lover.

It is the smallest of things, that leaves the greatest footprint... The smallest of things, that often meant the most.

 © Richard Michael Parker 2012

Let us speak no more of love

-Let us speak no more of love- 

Let us speak no more of love; Let us not sully the air with a fractured tide of sullen words, born from out the disappointment, the sad and grim realization that every expectation builds a cage, bar by bar. The fallen vision, pale in the world made real, the words and the deed, a dissonant separation, made flesh through every wanton need.

A golden dawn, full flush upon the sky, beckons every eye unto its glory, until spoken, out loud, foretold within this story, the caliginous invitation to some dark and ominous cloud, dampens the dream, rolls upon the scene, with every scheme designed and deigned.

So let us speak no more of love; Let us watch instead the dove, fly into the heavens, its wings free from every tawdry lilting tongue, from every spoken word that's wrung from lips full parted, the beckoning sound of each full-hearted love, buried in the boxes they are stuffed within.

Let us say, not a single word, leave it all unheard, unsaid, free from the fractures of the broken and the dead. The flighted hearts of young lovers, unspoken, unfettered in silence, eyes that speak truths that no tongue dare utter, the flutter of butterflies, free from the crushing lies of mouths unoccupied.

Let us speak no more of love, save with deeds reproving, the moving moments, unspoken, the beckoning of this hearts first token.

© Richard Michael Parker 2012

-Dark Butterfly-

-Dark Butterfly-

Dark Butterfly,
alight upon this moonlit dream
and kiss the dappled starlight,
that swims this honeyed stream.
The twinkle in each eye,
the echo of each tenderness
caught between these sighs.

Drawn towards this hearths eternal fire,
caught within your hearts edacious glare,
the testament of all that we desire,
delighting in the pleasure of you there.

These wings, marked with tenderness,
the sup of moon-flower’s beauty on your breath,
a filigree of love, in light, that's endless,
does conquer every harsh and sullen death.

Dark pools of night,
that shine in fulsome moonlight,
swim into this sea,
the fathomless depths
of all you have become to me,
to crush that ancient woe,
down beneath the salt of your loving undertow.

And full the swelling breast of love is suckled,
deep into the gullet and the maw,
to sate the vanquished heart in those most troubled,
and quench the ring of fire for-evermore.

Sweet, the blossom supped in poisoned light,
that shot across the sky of broken peace,
did fall upon the hearts of all that night,
a lesson born of wings
in loves release.

But lo...

These hues that stoked the fire,
did calm the raging waters of desire,
to swim the reach across that ancient tide,
and heal the broken hearted mordants cry.
A fettled peace, together side by side.

© Richard Michael Parker 2012-2016

-Two Hearts Passing in the Park-

-Two Hearts Passing in the Park-

My heart died.
I took it out for a walk,
but I didn't have it on a lead
so it just ran up to perfect strangers
and bled all over them
they didn't seem to understand
and just ran in horror,
sanguinated in the rush.

I tried to explain
that most folks wear theirs on the inside
but it simply kept on pumping,
jumping around the block,
it didn't know how to stop I guess
so what could I do? we just kept walking
I could see it was getting bruised
turning black and blue,
dazed and confused,
but its hard to put it back
once it has leapt out your mouth.

Then one day,
we were walking by the park,
bleeding over the sidewalks and grass,
when who should pass
but another heart.
I stood and stared, disbelieving and aghast,
two hearts passing in the park,
they seemed filled with such feeling.
I guess that's what hearts do,
feel, transmit and receive feelings,
anyway, we let them play,
and we did that day upon day,
just letting them free in the park,
jumping, pumping in the park,
even after dark.

Then one day, we went to greet,
and it was all smiles and formalities,
so sweet, but no heart.
I asked where it was,
and they told me they had swallowed it.
I tried to make him understand
but he just broke upon the spot
as if he had taken some terrible beating
bleeding all the way home
he didn't jump once, not once.

So anyway, he's dead.
I guess I should care about that,
but I cant seem to give a toss,
perhaps it is some great loss,
I mean, I can still think!... right!
so who needs to feel anything?
I mean, when you have a brain,
who needs a heart, right?
I think though, 
I will buy a leash for my brain,
after all, I wouldn't want it ending up the same.

© Richard Michael Parker 2012

-Nature Girl-

-Nature Girl-

On a mountains peek,
i saw a girl gambol with bare feet,
and speak,
words that only birds could tell,
and in there beaks,
they carried them off,
on wings replete.
Across the mountain tops,
the airy spaces,
resounding in those infinite graces,
down into the valleys throng,
where the rivers run,
mighty and strong.
Thundering over boulders
made smooth with age,
recounting the telling
from that distant sage.
As they swam,
the fluttering air waves ran,
to beat upon
each feathered winglet,
made complete,
and joy sang the chorus,
from creations brightened bosom.
Until from out the thrill,
there came a silence,
a quiet, from the trilling rage,
the rivers slowed,
and each tree bent its leaves,
to lend them to the tale,
whilst the glory spell,
was wound around,
each distant brook and vale.
From out the mountain top
redounding soft and slow,
a beauteous sound echoed out,
mellifluous and mellow.
It was as if all nature stopped
and hearkened to its song,
as the bright little girl,
barefoot with joy,
skipped and sang along.
The sun rose from out the dawn,
caressing earth and sky,
traversing and regaling all,
delighting soul and eye.
The darkened clouds rolled far away,
as sleet before the fire,
and from the silent innocence,
a brand was stoked, 'Desire'!...
It shone upon the rocks and grass,
on every bare faced blade,
and danced a tarantella,
into the golden glade.
Then down into an azure lake,
the fiery sound was drenched,
a razors edge, the steel to air,
each soul was cut and quenched.
The wing'd heralds tore to roost,
in quiet even's glory,
beset with moonlit snows, forsooth!
to round this little story,
for as the girls sweet gambolling
had rounded out the day,
so too in life, creations song,
recycles all this way.

 © Richard Michael Parker 2012

More than Words

-More than words-

Breathless and silent,
in the shadow of your touch,
too deep,
the tidal swells surge beyond the shore,
swept into your breakers,
tumbling in the roar,
drawn beyond the sorrows,
past loves fading sands,
rent upon the swelling breach,
born upon new lands.

the tidal reach of loves sweet rip,
dancing in the fathoms below,
the ebb and flow of this gentle grip.

A fading world on a distant horizon;
Castaway, a Crusoe on a sea,
an albatross far from the rookery.
Clouds bursting in a confluence of waves,
born upon loves deluge,
drawn from out those caves.

The priapic bosom,
suckled to the breast,
the salty residue of all we have left.

More than words, more than words...

The silent sun in the midst of that cave,
the red raw tokens of all we have become,
the grave,
the rolling tide,
the stone shaken,
in the unity of this making,
spills new life upon a sandy reach,
with hope, this palms gracious touch, a beach,
new lands, forged in the solemnity of silence.

The formless simmering sea,
casting its echoed glory
upon the lunging surf,
a foments touch,
the balm of this gentle loving rebirth.

© Richard Michael Parker 2012