Little Bird

Little Bird

Betwixt the flame, and juniper,
the spritely dance so bright,
the may bells chime, the piper,
from darkness into light.

Did the rain douse the embers in the dawn?
When the fires raged, upon the hill,
your poignant heart tossed into the flame,
rising through the darkness, once again,
into the hallowed silence, and beyond,
did you feel the sallow crush of my own,
sweep across the moorland and the brush,
dressed in these sodden rags,
without a home, muddied and mired,
in the sunken shifting dirt of desire;

No true love that was ever born,
is alone in the darkness of night,
like a rose that is paired to its thorn,
true love is connected to light.

In the crackling heat of the logs and twigs,
bursting into fire at your feet,
did the drums drown out my heartbeat,
in the swirling ecstasy of your trance, and still,
the fervent longing of your missions bitter pill,
to take this darkness, tucked under your wing,
an offering to this ever loving man, and dash it,
down into the fire, devouring the night,
in the kindling embers of that radiant light.

Beauty lifts the soul,
laughter softens the chin,
love holds the flame,
that shines the light within.

To soften hearts, and raise the subtleties of spirit,
above the rancour of dull earth,
the din of the forlorn and broken.
No greater beauty doth a spirit bring,
than that it fill a soul, to raise its heart to sing.
Magic rings,
in every soft simple sweep, of your melodious trill,
the epiphany of gossamer chords,
drift mellifluously through the morn,
for yours, little bird, is the gentle gift of the light reborn.

© Richard Michael Parker 2012 

The Art of Nothingness...

The Art of Nothingness...

Releasing your all to the all,
becoming one and all without becoming at all.
Being, without intention,
without collusion or confusion,
simply melting in a melting pot without sides,
all times, stirring in silence,
timelessness brought into the moment.
Staring into eternity through a single raindrop.

Photograph: Inge Van Dam
Poetry:  © Richard Michael Parker 2012

-The Fecund Seed-

-The Fecund Seed-

Fate and destiny mark our bond,
for you my love,
are the flower that blooms late,
in the bittersweet field,
sown with the ashes of past grief.

Tilled and turned within the rich loam,
the death of fading hopes and dying dreams,
strewn between the rotting mulch,
mingling in the cool rain of your fallen tears,
the sodden peat of all those forlorn years.

This fecund seed,
that bursts into the fading light,
screams 'LIFE!'...
Born from every woe and strife,
feeds upon the sorrow and the grief,
broken and discarded,
in the doleful debris of your past.
An efflorescence of courage and triumph,
erupting into this dim world,
the effulgence of our hallowed glory,
bedazzling, in the twilight of our years.

This testament, rich and fragrant,
emboldened in these dark silken petals,
the blossom from out the solemn shadow,
resplendent amidst these two bespoken fettle's.
The aromatic splay, of natures patient ways.

 Poetry: © Richard Michael Parker 2012




Photo: 'black tulips' by Gennady Shingarev

Dark and Slow

-Dark and Slow-

Departed self,
That eked out the remnants of this flame,
across the oceans of your time,
doused in the dying embers of some fornicating wine.

Where have you gone? whispered the wind,
as she laughed, and blew dim shadows of you,
across the anguish of this yawning chasm,
the silent gap, between the hope and the jaw.

Where have you gone? I asked the maw!
the leaping heart that swam the rift,
before the rising tide of this bodies burning bridge,
the lift, a fallen memory now, blown into a void, disavowed.

Oh drowning heart, that slips upon the tides,
becalmed upon a devils isle, denied,
did your flesh not ache?
With every titillated breaking wave,
that crashed upon these shores,
the aching craw of this love.

The licking flame at night,
your tongues of fire
devouring each quivering morsel of my soul,
the crack of solid  bone
slapped upon the yielding sopping swell of your tide,
consumed in soulful yelps of this hungering ride.

Where have you gone? I yelled into the earth!
a sounding board of dust and death,
a dry and treacherous still birth.
What care he for all the broken shards shattered in the dirt,
crushed beneath the gravitas in the belly of his girth.

Oh raging heart,
when all the world lay between your toes,
bowing to the splendor of wild blossom in the summer grass,
the heaven of these untouched meadows,
throbbing to the silken joy of this touch,
you never asked so much as a tear be added
to the trembling brook,
as it ran beneath each naked breast, kissed,
lest the suckling waves
that lap upon the crowning tip in slips,
dry within this sunlit kiss.

Where did you go?
caught now between the silence and the woe,
fraught with only the echoing glimpses of your soul,
the empty pieces scattered in the dust,
the dull reflections of this hearts sullen hollow.

Dark and slow,
Where did you go?

© Richard Michael Parker 2012

The Embankment

The Embankment

A sultry autumn night on the Thames,
jazz drifting from the bridge,
mingling with the garish crowds on the Southbank.
A tuneful rendition of body and soul,
melodiously drifting upon the water,
feeding upon the hum of the hungry traffic,
zipping between the bars,
spilling their patrons onto the sidewalk,
between the sips and the cars,
a jocund fraternity of the night,
a fashioned modernity painted with apocryphal light.
Heads swim in the sensate din,
a tidal wash of inebriated pandemonium,
imbibing the last warm airs of the year,
violating each ear, awash in cocktails and beer.
The final melancholic confession of that brooding saxophone,
slips across the licking waves,
gently tonguing your lilting head
as it rests upon the needle,
a thread of sensibility,
cast across a world in an ageless eternity.
The Sphinx riddles the dawn,
the silence and the scorn of winters cool death,
born upon the sidewalks of this old town, forlorn,
within the fog of another cacophonous hang over.
Slinking in the back streets, lost,
half lit denizens drifting aimlessly through the mist.
Skulking on the corners, on the edges, the rim,
shuffling worn out shoes across white hot coals,
outcasts and refugees, torn naked, clothed in despair,
eyes turned downward, they wait for you there.
The idle tick of a sentient clock,
taps in time its cane upon the cobblestones,
Big Bens bones, Boom into the dark,
A cat screams, creaks and dreams,
beyond the shadow eyes of the cold and stark.
Swift wisdom comes upon the unsuspecting,
the nonchalant swagger of innocence,
easing between the crack in the light,
the ham bone in the pea soup of our night,
the gullible gorms of the river rats delight.
This breath, this moment, silence,
between the changing of the guard,
and Old Scotland Yard, I found you once again,
upon the Embankment of that ancient rivers gory flow,
screaming as a testament to every lovers woe.
You laughed as we fell upon your banks,
ever changing, exchanging your vows,
while all the world wondered, as you plundered,
the spoils from the sacrifice of all those sacred cows.
The lilting trill of the dawns chorus,
replaced with a big red bus,
like the blood running down the back of Boadica's race,
the tar and feathers of your fallen disgrace,
risen once more upon all of us.
Gold, that glints upon the water once more,
gold, and all the flotsam that has washed upon this shore.

© Richard Michael Parker 2012

How can I be without you?

How can i be without you?

How can I be without you?
What is a bird without a wing?
Or evensong, without the nightingale to sing?
How does a fire burn on air alone?
Or this fruit taste so sweet,
apart from the good earth,
from whence its seed is sown?

No man is born whole into this world,
each a separation,
torn from out the womb of love,
bearing the locket and the hope,
deep within his breast,
the remnants of that fallen dove,
a memory, caged and crushed within his chest,
the burden of the unconfessed.

Silently fearing the terror and the dread,
to walk upon this earth, the walking dead,
searching for naught that can be found to atone,
for the loneliness, and the bitterness of the dark,
save by the hollow in that stone,
the stark remembrance of the coddled silence,
all that fate, or God alone has left him,
in the remnants of the yearnings left unsaid.

How can I be without you,
my soulful love, your living loving art,
the breath of me, whispered through your heart,
This unbridled passion, not even God could forget.
For when the sun has arisen,
who amongst us can say it has set?

© Richard Michael Parker 2012

Concretized

Concretized

The gray streets stretch on for eternity, winding inexorably through the wastelands I have left behind. Oblivious to the changing of the seasons.
The only thing to mark them out, is the temperature with which they are felt.
In this cold soulless place, where not a tree, not a blade of grass can eek its weary way through the planetary weight of concrete and dust, I feel myself sink into the hard unforgiving murder of it all. To mix my blood with the mortar, in this living factory of bricks, the death of romance sticks, stinking up this slag heap of forgotten hopes and desolate dreams. It is the valley of death I have wandered into, and it is built of concrete and steel.
When God imagined Hell, and brought that place into existence, it was not some fiery realm of torment, it was here, in this succubus of a void, this bitter little pill upon the planet of hope, filled with mean little shadows of people, pretending to be all that they have murdered. Concretized oblivion, the mendacity of the meek and small, stoutly built up brick by brick, mile upon mile of these bloody walls. No greenery, no flowers grace these fallen places, only the echoes of winds that whip the hardened edges, the sharp and sinewy vestiges of forlorn hope. Lashed and manacled sorrows, scream down the black-lit pits of emptiness, voids where once vibrant hearts leapt, filled now with only the crumbling detritus of ghoulish melancholia. The final gift of this fake abyss. Where are the trees? Where are the trees!? Cut and burnt to paint the stones.
Not even the stars shine in this mausoleum of the dead, replaced with dim and sallow shrouds, the mark of the poxed. Beware, because they are dead, they will demand your death too, and when they have caught you in their unholy web, they will file your murder under compliance, and mark your demise as a vote of confidence.
So hide, from out their sick searching eyes, let not the trickster weave his spell, nor tempt you from your hiding place deep in the lush sanctuary of your nook or dell, for only hell awaits those who forsake themselves, to purchase the gates, the seeds of lies, sown within the fertile grounds of your hearts, to capture each sparkling memory, every vanquished dream at the start. So hide, Hide!... lest you too become concretized, and see the forests of your imagination burnt upon the alter of this gargantuan deforestation.

© Richard Michael Parker 2012

-The Broken Heart Bleeds the Reddest Blood-

-The Broken Heart Bleeds the Reddest Blood-

He said:
'It is a beautiful mystery my love,
you and i, together, are a part of it,
with our hearts connected,
within the great art of it...

Nothing we could ever do,
would ever change a word of it,
for the truth of it... my love,
is that, love, is all of it'.

...

Don't you know that I'm breaking,
coming apart at the seams,
cracking in every one of my dreams,
and as the shards fall to the ground,
your shadow light blisters through the cracks,
bathing me in an eternity of you.

I hate that I love you,
to feel this pain drag me around,
smash me to the ground,
leave me lost where you are found,
and all the while left to wonder,
how you ever got so deep inside my soul,
wound around an endless staircase,
descending into a bottomless hole.

Every day I resign to break free,
as I make a new pledge,
to split apart, to rip out my heart,
to tear away the remnants of this haunting,
and in the moment of my triumph,
you come, with just a word,
and I am lashed to that mast again, unheard,
smashed in a torrent of loves tempest,
all conviction routed,
every direction doubted,
swept into the deep,
left in a heep, of this love...

You are all of me,
and in your soul I drown,
sucked down into the abyss of you,
into the endless soulful deep
of your fathomless blue.

Breathe for me my love, please god! breathe for me.

...

"Wait!"

I heard you say...
or was it I?
It seemed so very far away.

"Wait!... but don't wait for me"
for I am gone, and drowned,
my heart turned out,
spilt into this endless sea...

"Wait!... but don't wait for me,
for the broken heart bleeds the reddest blood".

© Richard Michael Parker 2012

Adieu le passé, bonjour le présent, et vive l'avenir

Adieu le passé, bonjour le présent, et vive l'avenir

Into the clear blue of a twilight sky,
Venus and her slivered new moon,
dance to the suns fading tune,
a swirl of cool iridescence,
twirls amidst the nightingales first trill.

Her Jovian chaperon,
winks through the wisping clouds,
as they play in apricot shrouds
sweeping across pale blue hues,
a divine smile flashing across this heavenly evensong.

'Adieu!... adieu mon cher, adieu'...

A glimpse of shadow
slips between the sheen,
a rhapsody of spheres,
caught within a stream,
eyes that twinkle as the stars appear,
from out the blue, both dark and near.

Painted with light,
upon a phosphorescent screen,
this tableaux of desire,
a simulacrum of a dream;
The mirror of divinity is rarely what it seems.

'Adieu!... adieu mon cher, adieu'...

Adieu le passé,
bonjour le présent,
et vive l'avenir.
  
© Richard Michael Parker 2012

Courage to Grieve

Courage to Grieve

There are those that sink in the mire,
believing that hate is their crown,
swallowed by all they desire,
without courage to openly drown,
in a pool of fire and blood,
washed out of a heart ripped asunder
to be torn in a chaotic flood,
decimated by lightening and thunder.
Yet they offer a gift to the wary,
lest you follow them down to that bane,
to deny all the grief that they carry,
is a load that is hard to maintain.
So they shuffle it off as they can,
to each person they see of the same,
and in concert maintain the great sham,
tied together the hobbled and lame.

The courage to know that with time,
perspective returns to the soul,
imbued with wisdom's dark climb,
from out of that perilous hole,
where the shock and denial led to anger,
and the rage it released was turned in,
overwhelming the heart with disaster,
loss of meaning, the hope was made thin;
A wisp of a thread woven slightly,
the delicate story unfolds,
spoken on airs that drift lightly,
into ears, as your fingers lose hold,
believing below you will plummet,
the fear in your heart is misplaced,
as anxiety reaches its summit,
crescendo's of love come with grace.

If you believe that your freedom,
is maintained by running from love,
then descending down into that kingdom,
You will lose both the key from above,
and the one that allows you to know,
that beneath the dark ominous skies,
in the place of great darkness below,
is a path through a door without lies,
that transmutes each pale wanton sorrow,
and breaks every link in that grief,
replaced with a light from tomorrow,
blessed hope, the great grace of relief,
where your heart is reborn in a rapture,
and sits in a breast pure and gold,
to garnish each sweet blessed gesture,
with ebullient love new and old.

Have courage to sink into sorrow,
fear not the night of the heart,
though it feels like a dark empty hollow,
given time, will enlighten your art,
for even the fury and wrath,
that stretches the sinew of soul,
enriches each step on the path,
as the remnants and shards become whole.
So fear not the dark but accept it,
with a true loving open soft heart,
and know in the depths of your dark pit,
is a light full of love to restart.
Have the courage to suffer the torment,
while the denizen haters redound,
and your soul will arise from the foment,
to break forth in triumph, new ground.

© Richard Michael Parker 2012