Only Love

Only Love

What lover, has not fought another?
in the tumult of that sea,
the rage of all god the almighty
flowing through every pounding vein
to mark us out as insane
no quarter is asked
nor given
for in love we are but vessels
tossed in a mighty current of emotion
shipwrecked and lost
within a mountainous ocean
to grieve for the wind
is a hubris
to love and not to howl
what mortal soul has ever loved
that has not strewn themselves upon the waves
smashed each word into another
fought with a fury with their lover
there is no guilt
there is no pardon
there is only love
only love
love.

© Richard Michael Parker 2012

Magnolia

Magnolia

Now, is the moment of your eternity,
the timeless transcendent sweep of your dance,
the giddy joy of your spirit,
stirring the seconds into a trance.

Now, is the forge of your steel,
the swirling fire of that giddy spinning wheel,
the tumult of the minutes grasped,
a razors edge honed as they passed.

Now, is the hour of your risen glory,
the lessons learn't in your ascendant story,
the foaming wash upon that sand whisked beach,
the hourglass of your endless reach.

Now, in this moment found,
spun upon your holy ground,
to triumph over all you fought,
and find the golden age you sought.

Now, a lifetime in an instant,
brought forth from out the distant,
laid bare before your throne,
sweet fragrance of your own.

All those days, hours,
years that passed,
we waited for this tree to grow,
rejoicing now,
for it blooms at last,
sweet perfumed gift,
of seeds once sown.

This damsel Magnolia ripens,
and in its fragrant airs,
the sun, the moon, and all the world
is here.

© Richard Michael Parker 2012



Artwork by Lorraine Sumners

This Love...

This Love...

This love is a fire
and in the flame I am consumed
like a coal to hot ashes
that burns away all that is not you.
I tried to cut the flame
the rising heat that flickers in this wind
the light in the darkness between us
the distance of time without you
but no knife is keen enough
nor scythe so sharp
it could ever slit the blaze.
Wild, in blood it burns
and overturns every will
every wall I have created.
Cinders to the fire
these shattered remnants of my heart
consumed in a smelt of desire.
To live with only the memory of you
is a hell in the making
but to live without you
a fiery torment
in the furnace of my breaking.
Lick upon my soul
devour the breath inside me
for to know that you live
is a death,
without you beside me.
This love
the bloody fire of arrows wrought
that rents the sinew of my soul
will never die
soothed only in the whole
a balm of this union between you and I.

I am aflame in your hearth
and in this tempests fiery wind
I burn for you.

© Richard Michael Parker 2012

The Long Hours

The Long Hours

What are we without the ride,
without the tumult of the sea?
vessels becalmed,
left in a dry dock of complacency.

How does the bird sing of the dawn,
or the eye glimpse what can again be seen,
without the silent journey
through the darkness of the night.

Courage to endure,
the silent spaces,
the calm and quiet waiting
of those somnolent places,
the long hours,
before the coming of the light.

© Richard Michael Parker 2012