A Lovers Call

-A Lovers Call-

Oh gentle heart!
with wings reborn on dulcet airs,
that none have seen, nor heard with care,
preened, for the dawning of the day,
a triumph of the risen soul made true.
Tentatively unpacked, nothing is missed,
no lack, nor breath of wind withheld,
the heartbeat of those first few flaps,
perilously teetering upon the edge of the nest.
What God has given, nature unfolds;
Though the soul arisen wonders at the glory,
and the frightful heart betray the moment,
still, with that risen sun,
with wing-tips greeting the light,
a jump, into faith, into space,
into a world made new,
where no stationary view ever told
of mountain peeks, or trees replete with song,
of flocks and flighted joy in sunlit clouds,
of glory born upon the sounds of dawn,
but first, those fateful steps,
perilously perched upon the edge.
To jump, and not to fall,
this is the story of every lovers call.

© Richard Michael Parker 2013

A Hymn to Love and Health

-A Hymn To Love and Health-

I wake to see your starry face,
a deft smile, an imprint of grace,
sown into the fabric of this love.

There is magic in the air,
and all around, in fairy dust and angels wings,
swims a tune, a revelry of love and hope,
that beckons light to sow in you,
a seed of blessed health and hue;

Then awoke, from pallid fright,
two lovers warmed beneath a golden bough,
delight, in loves rekindled embers,
trussed, these gentle limbs embraced,
the future faced within a kiss, remembered.

To wake, and in that dreamy place,
to taste of life between these lips,
enfolded in the balm of dancing fingertips.
The morning ray, softly banishing the shadows,
the fated death of all those darkened slings and arrows.

This salve, of bless'd mirth and joy,
divinely wrought, does employ,
the twinkled eye of love returned,
fine fettled bloom, this lesson learned.

© Richard Michael Parker 2013
 

Little by Little...

Little by Little...

Felt the distance so greatly today,
like a yawning chasm,
strung only by a thread,
threatening to suck me down
into the fathomless depths,
where no light invades.
A gossamer strand the only bridge,
shrouded in mist,
unable to see from whence to where.
Time stretching out in wisps,
the haunting of every joy dismissed.
Little by little the distance kills us.
Like a thousand paper cuts to the soul,
tiny pieces, broken from the whole.
I miss your warm body next to me.
Awakening alone, in love,
like a stone rapt around my heart,
it seems too great a sorrow to carry,
too heavy a burden on so slight a bridge,
at any moment it could give.
This distance kills us in breaths,
the song of a thousand deaths,
sung in silence, with every fateful step
upon a bridge of endless length.
Only your sun lends it's warmth,
it's bright inner ray, cooling in the grip
of winters cold fingers.
little by little, the distance kills us...

© Richard Michael Parker 2013

Salt

-Salt-

If the sea lost her salt,
still she would sweep
remorselessly upon the sands,
but instead,
the earth would weep,
for all the lost passion
kissed upon the land.

Fiery tears lend more power
in a single instant,
than all the wasted hours
of silent fears
receding in the distance.

Never lose your salt.

© Richard Michael Parker 2013

Snow Upon A Secret Hill

-Snow Upon A Secret Hill-

I love long movies on winter nights,
crushed in the heat of erotic delight;
Hours of pointless tape muffling the ragged sounds,
the moans, the slapping joy of wet skin,
the howling winds beating the panes,
jealously licking the frames,
aching to get in.
I love it when it begins...
The look upon your lover,
The passing hours, kissed,
sealed within a cave of sighs,
rapt in timeless flesh,
the deep nirvana of supple thighs,
buried inside a womb, enmeshed.
Dead to the world,
outside, each plaintiff moan,
each groaning thrust,
trussed inside your lovers soul;
And all the world is oblivion!
I love it when the credits roll,
to look at one another,
with that knowing surprise,
erupting in love and laughter,
locked in the furtive glance of handcuffed eyes.
Rolling in a mass of huddled joy, to kiss,
as if only the two of you together exist.
Turning off the light to the world,
the static, drifting in the distance,
like snow upon a secret hill.

© Richard Michael Parker 2013

Pearl

Pearl

The pearl sat brightly in the slim palm of her hand, spent in droplets, a jewel of sentiment, where silence invades the cavalcade of redolent ease, all measure pleased... Teased between the fingertips of some supple touch.

How he loved her. She would never understand, the depth of his heart like distant sands slipping through the fingers of a grasping hand...

The sweeping chasms of eternity turned upon themselves, into a sky replete with fiery stars, the comets sweep, the glimmer of God's eye, beaming with delight upon the waters between them. Moonlit dappled dreams, swimming in halcyon streams of love, so silent, no brook in feathered meadow had ever run so still. A quiescence unspeakable, no word could share the shallow breath unheard, unspoken, this union in a dream unbroken.

Ever has it been the same, that ember glow doth warm the night, the silent thread in each hearth made bright by decadent fires born below, licking upon the air in the distant hollow of the darkness, tongues of desire, snapping at the clouds, as they roll beneath the heavens gathered by a crowd of stars, like watching pilgrims twinkling in earnest at the show, they rarely stay for the afterglow. But Lovers do... In silence, to slip into a timeless knot, entwined within the heart, their lot, to sink reposed, all else forgot.

He wondered whether in days to come, she might stay a while, as the silence descended, or follow a constant revelry, flitting from flower to flower in the endless search for honey. Even bees rest, and though their nest is quiet in the midnight hour, dressed only in the waxy silence of the cold tower, still they are abuzz when the Sun broaches the dawn, bathing their world in gold.

The pearl swam in her palm, a balm of luminescence, the essence of the gift, each droplet, shone with lustrous sweetness, a lift of loving tenderness.

They sank into silence, enfolded in each others hearts, and though the ember overcame desire, each soul was trussed and blessed within this art, remembrance, like a pearl, of loves first dawning fire.

© Richard Michael Parker 2013

Through The Cracks

Through The Cracks

Sometimes those battles take an awful toll... We cleave to the slim margins of victory, having waged war and worse, saying to ourselves 'we have triumphed, we are here', we have made it through the storm and finally the fine weather breaks through the dim cloud, the shroud of our making. The tumult of our breaking. And we marvel in it's glory, barely realizing that the sun drenched joy, we used to employ no longer sits in the seat it used to, dethroned in the shock and the shell, the furrowed trenches where life went all to hell.

But what of the cost? Did we ever stop to consider, the awful toll, the bitter fruit suckled in the cold, the icy winds blown into the soul. On those battle-scared frays, did we ever stop to wonder on better days, how the torment and cost would tear a scar into the heart, changing forever the part of us that sat upon those summer hills, and sang with every golden trill of the blackbird, as it ripened the season with the glory of that noonday sun. Did we ever stop to wonder then, in the midst of the call, how the battle and the war would change it all. How much is lost when we say we have won?

Some things can never be taken back. Like memories, they only cast shadows... they only cast shadows.

So we pick up the world, and walk on, perhaps if we're lucky, one or two come along; But we're never the same, and once again, we must find a way to let love in. When all the doors and windows have fallen, we must find a way, through the cracks, to let the light come back.

© Richard Michael Parker 2013

The Furtive Seed

-The Furtive Seed-

Oh restive heart,
Awoken in the dark at last;
All shadows shuffle away,
As heralds alight this torpid sun,
Our bright first dawning day.
Aroused in a gentle sleep,
you came,
with only the wind to whisper your name,
and pricked my ears with a kiss,
that all the years,
from that sad absence to this,
were but an incubation,
a germination of a seed.
The blooming of a tree.
How can I express,
how deep these roots have burrowed?
I must confess,
I turned the soil each night alone,
the winding of the succulence, 
deep, down into the loam.
No shadow was wasted.
The harvest of every shattered dream,
broken in the mulch,
the rotten soil,
the airy toil of midnight worms, a hope.
To dream a tree, a sapling risen,
amongst the golden bough of autumns ruddy cheeks,
to break the crusted earth, make free,
the flaming bush that leaps upon these peaks.
Unlikely seasons do herald a frosted March.
That in the winter snows,
we two may rest a while,
an intimacy of quiet repose,
deep beneath the fleecy covers,
blessed in loves great warmth, two sated lovers.
My Heart, my home,
entice the budding blossom of this love,
that in the spring,
upon the larks sweet bough,
a rhapsody may bring a man a wife,
for you my love, are the budding symphony of life.
This, furtive seed,
we hold inside our hearts,
may spring anew in times not old,
but in the gentle gift of this loving start,
can bring a summers joy from out the cold.

© Richard Michael Parker 2013

The Kiss

-The Kiss-

How fragile this gift,
that weaves it's charms between the silence,
to heal the fractured scars, the dim lit remains.
Whence it comes, who can say,
yet who can forestall it's gentle ways,
the deft eloquence in loves glissading hallways.

Such promise, sweeps into the yielding heart,
an emollient, ripened in it's season,
plucked from off the cherished lip of love,
a succulence of spirit sipped beyond all reason.

This gentle water, flowing between the cracks,
a castle swept aside, left in the past,
succumbing to this ever loving tide.

Your delicate frame,
shivering in the constancy and the bliss,
with every echo of that sad refrain,
love calls your name, a kiss.

These hearts, awoken as of one,
knowing only the amber glow of loves bright star,
that casts the trembling hour,
into the ashen hearth,
the frozen heart devoured in the warmth at last.

© Richard Michael Parker 2013

The Wounded Heart

-The Wounded Heart-

The wounded heart,
fingernails stroked upon the scars,
and all the stars redolently fade into night,
caught in the twilight of an ancient glare,
the soulful, doleful shadows of the remnants of you there.
Trust, tossed upon the frigid flame,
frozen in the icy womb of your infinite eyes,
the sullen echo of a sad refrain. 
Waiting for the bomb to drop again.

© Richard Michael Parker 2013