Loves Tender Gift

Loves Tender Gift

A rose is like no other flower,

it's petals silken,

deep red,

a heart that beats,

a bosom that is blessed.

I dreamt a rose, it's fragrance sweet,

and in the air, a hue of golden light,

danced upon listless longings of delight.

The bitter sweet tale of loves beguiling ways,

a longing of tenderness,

forlorn in open gaze.
 

Whence this dove, alight and given,

rises from it's slumber, and as phoenix arisen,

drifts upon the aether of our minds soft touch,

with loves tender longing,

to meet!, a gift, so much.

A rose is like no other flower,

it's petals silken,

deep red,

a heart that beats,

a bosom that is blessed.

© Richard Michael Parker 2011

Artwork by Peggi Meyer Graminski

Grateful

Grateful

The dawning epiphany, in the end,
when all is burnt away,
and into the mouth of hell you descend,
believing there is no other way.

When the darkness consumes all,
and your eyes have lost there sight,
in the depths of that endless fall,
in the pit, you will find a light.
It was not born, nor sent, nor created,
it has always been in that place,
and only in love is it sated,
for that light is a heavenly grace.

We create what we desire,
we either fly upon the wind,
or descend into self serving fire,
it is a choice, and it's yours my friend.

For everything that you have ever known,
every place and every time,
every season in which you have grown,
every step of fateful design,
has simply been a choice,
between the dark, and the light,
between the silence, and the voice,
between your day, and your night.

There are many paths.
Some filled with joy,
some are painful,
but we all get there in the end,
and for that, my friend,
I am grateful.

© Richard Michael Parker 2011

What do you see...

 What do you see...

A reflected sunlit dream,
carried in a stream, of sunlight,
across a world,
reflected in a mind, of a girl,
ghosted upon the outer limb of a tree,
a branch of humanity,
born within a memory.

Where do the colours go,
when all else has faded?
and we are left floating in a snapshot of time,
swimming in a summer sun,
upon a swing of our own design.

You looked upon that bough,
bright youth swaying in the wind,
as the glass between us,
an evergreen testament,
to this passage of constancy, gleamed.

Transparent souls, forever separated,
shielded from the wind swept touch of time,
a silver envelope of light,
captured in this moment,
a sacred memory of rhythm and rhyme.
  
© Richard Michael Parker 2011


Artwork by Drunk Love Heart

Passing the flame

Passing the flame

When we are gone,
and time has taken its turn,
what will remain of us,
except for this communion,
this unity, this fire,
stoked in the hearth of one another.
No act of creation occurs in isolation,
no fire burns alone,
apart from the fuel upon which it feeds.
You are the coals upon which I burn,
and in turn,
may these flames set your own hearth alight,
so that together,
we may sear a brand upon the hearts and souls of others,
in the dark, and cold of an empty night.
This union of creativity,
that spans eternities divide,
the bridge between all that was,
and all that will be,
is here, now, in this fire-lit sky,
the impassioned inspiration between you and I.
Let us burn brightly,
a sempiternal communion of divinity,
a heartfelt living memory beyond name,
and in the gift of that grace,
a moment beyond time and space,
live forever, in the passing of the flame.

© Richard Michael Parker 2011

The Fisherman

The Fisherman

'Interfering old hag',
'troublesome crone',
they couldn't disown you fast enough,
until you were dead,
then all they said was you were theirs,
but you were never theirs,
and left them sitting at the banquet table,
to distribute crumbs to the multitude,
how rude!
didn't you know how to do as you were told?
Bossy, brazen, and old!
I loved you so!

I sat beside the Vardar and watched an old fisherman wade into the water, the fast currents slipped between the sun kissed shoals of soft washed pebbles, weaving their eddying ways amongst the dips and treacherous hollows. He stepped so surely, as if through constancy and practice he felt the flow. Several fishermen looked on at this old man with his rolled up trousers and shabby shirt, none daring the tide, nor slipping there feet from cushioned heels, and comfortable seats. Their baskets were empty, and though they seemed not to care, basking in the late summer sun, the keenness of eye with which they watched this old hand walk upon the waters rush, belied their envy and distrust. He stopped, still, amidst the rushing scream, and seemed in that moment to hover upon the waters, to stand upon them. He turned and cast a grin, slackened his reel, and let loose the line into the sweeping current. A perfect arc, as the rod rose, retrieving all the line that had been released. The trace lay delicately upon the water, in the shadow luff of the stone bridge. No sooner than the fly alighted upon the spot, than the snap of the rods whip sank the barb deep. The fish were biting, and hungry, and hooked. The wizened old man deftly manoeuvred the fish into his basket, pulled in his line, turned in the current, and silently slipped up stream from whence he had come, a large fish tail slapping in his basket. He stepped upon the shore, rolled down his trousers, smiled at the men, who begrudgingly nodded back, hopped upon his old bike, and rode down the old river path, past the young lovers, seated in the shade, and the flatulent old men lining the banks, hoping for a fish with dry feet.

'Interfering old hag',
'troublesome crone',
didn't you know when to leave well enough alone?
I loved you so!... by God, I loved you so!

© Richard Michael Parker 2011

(Original photograph of artwork by Miftar Memeti, 'A tribute to Mother Theresa')

As a Man

As a Man

As a man who weeps,
i do not want to be one of the numberless numb,
the half lives,
casting faint shadows upon the earth,
searing themselves only onto the surface of things,
skin deep tattoo's, of them and us, and you.
Instead, let it be said, i branded your heart,
as the fires wept from your eyes and bled.
I may not last as long,
this song may not sound as sweet,
and the anguish may overcome me in the end,
but let the fire of passions zeal, my friend,
seal a searing brand upon this world from out my soul,
and on this land, may the waters of my tears,
shed over all my years,
flood the sacred blossoms of tomorrow,
a perfumed testament,
to all my aching loving joys,
and sorrow.

© Richard Michael Parker 2011

Another

Another

In your absence I have taken a lover
she is dark and endless
she wraps me in the deepest night
and holds me firm against her bosom
safe from the rancour of false hope;
A cosseted harbour of meaningless ennui,
I sink into her silent depths,
and feel all light fade.
She demands nothing of me but complete surrender,
and I, knowing only forlorn shades,
am consumed by her lust.
Darkness is her name, despair another,
hopelessness and wanton care.
I sink endlessly into her frightening folds
and I know she will never leave me,
a constancy of dark resolve.
In your absence I have found another
or was it that she found me?
I no longer know, nor care,
I only know that you are not there.

(RMP) - 9-11-2011

© Richard Michael Parker 2011

Summers Past

-Summers Past-

Where have you gone, sweet child of innocence, 

where once you gambolled through the summer phlox, 

laughter filling every presence, 

a golden sheen streaming through your ruddy locks. 

Twas only in the morn i saw the twinkle in your eye, 

and ne'er a vestige of twilight's doubt, 

but all that suns bright glory's passed you bye, 

and every light in you has gone out. 

Wild is the heart that sings the larks sweet chorus, 

redounding over dewy meadows dawn, 

but solemn, the owl calls all of us, 

down into the grave from whence we're born.

© Richard Michael Parker 2011

Unspoken

Unspoken

In the spaces,
the silence of those places,
weaves a thread of communion,
the glue between the moments,
of all that we were,
and how we grew, together,
a part of all that we knew,
woven into this fabric,
these gentle threads, of me and you.

For what cannot be said,
resounds in the deep oceans of our moment,
the waiting and the dread,
the unfathomable epiphany,
in the depths of this love.

The sounding bell echoes below,
leaking into this inky silence.
The reaches of those dark moments,
washed upon these beaches,
a fateful shallow echo,
of the silence in the depths of us.
The heaving heavy sighs,
hissing, seething, longing,
rushing upon our shores,
drawn back again,
down into the depths once more.

In the silence,
the whisper of all that we were,
swims in a sea of all we shall be... quietly!
a gentle fluid constancy,
unspoken.

© Richard Michael Parker 2011

Loves Embrace

Loves Embrace

The lightening and fire,
within each soul,
a sated desire,
two halves made whole.
This hearth is rekindled,
to burn through the night,
where once it had dwindled,
a phoenix in flight.
For this earth that rises,
as heaven descends,
embraces each soul,
like a long lost friend.
A largess of the spirit,
each gift a sweet token,
of a love that was found,
between two hearts bespoken.
That met in the midst,
of this body, my bridge,
and flowed with a suppleness,
over each ridge.
Until all that was left,
of this barren stark place,
was a bright and effulgent,
sweet poem of grace.

© Richard Michael Parker 2011



Artwork by Rassouli