Monthly Archives: December 2008










Carry me
Over fields of clover.
Carry me
Over cliffs of Dover.
Carry me to dandelion fields.
Carry me to the heartland yields.
Carry me From sea to sea.
Carry me, carry me…   
 Alice Parris



Where are
fields of corn
children laughing?
Where are 
fish  jumping
in clean water?
Where is
mother earth,
a ripe maiden?
Where are
hopes of
Why do
birds scatter
in strange flight?
Why has
darkness grown
larger than
summer light?
Smoke from
fires light
up the night,
yet we
cannot see.

Alice Parris



So freely have images
Flown before me;
Reflected in my
Stream of consciousness.
Crows come,
Picking at my
Neat rows of wording,
Leaving crow tracks
In my
Field of endeavors;
Eating tomorrow’s
Verbiage for winter.
What shall I use
As a scarecrow
To chase away
These cackling crows
From the fertile fields
Of my mind?

Alice Parris



Oxen skulls were bleached torrid-white.
Such a color we had never seen before.

We looked to the heavens for amnesty.
None was seen in the firmaments.

Then, we became rainmakers.

We whirled and twirled in our
pre-historic-like frenzy desparately
trying to create like our Maker.

When rain did come, it destroyed.
We watched emptied lives float by.

Then, we stopped chanting.

Cruel-black vultures perch atop
southern California houses...waiting.

Have we become mad or have we been sucked
into a new madness created by greed with 

its hungry, grasping lips, teeth, and tongue?

Alice Parris




Last night, your heated breath stilled my moving neck, caressed my ear lobes with your masculine exhalation. You stroked me with your powerful, rough

hands.  Your male phermones wafted through the air paralyzing me. Your eyes reflected only me. It was then, that I could succumb to your feverish seduction.

I pledged my heart and body to you, again. I lay down and opened up like a Spring flower in full bloom. My nectar; a profuse, succulent-delicacy.  I merged

with you, mesmerized.  We both orgasmically jerked until satiated and again aware of our surroundings. When we unlocked from our primordal grip, we

broke bread and shared intimate moments; leisure’s gift of oneness. When I awoke, you were ruinously busy; working working, working.  No lingering sighs

or remembrance of last night’s coupling. Do you not know me by now?  I never

stay conquered. I live in an ether-world.  I shake off your overshadowing of me like a freshly-laid hen fluffing her feathers. I cannot be your second thought. 

 I will be first or none at all. These are my terms of engagement. Carnal love is a weak, jaded master. It will be some time before you are invited to seduce me


inhale the earthy-heaven between my parted legs: my legendary, chalice-citadel.

Alice Parris



Who shall inherit the earth, where you have planted
your flowers and built your fences?

Whose bones are buried beneath your feet, although
unmarked, and un-flowered?

Do you suppose borders shall stop the progeny from
returning to the place of ancestors?

Who is now screaming about whose land is whose?
Where are the bones of your forefathers? 

That is your land; the land of your people.

No borders, laws, or penalties shall stop the trail of tears,
DNA leading to the homeland.

Why the flawed measures, the detention centers?
Why the table pounding? Don’t you  know that those
who pound the loudest are not the rightful owners?

Re-written books and  re-staged events attempt
 to” legitimize” what was and remains

the great land grab; a Manifest Destiny of annihilation.

It is all too convenient,  too flawed. Who will jump upon their

soap-boxes, filibuster immigration issues,

who will shoot with rubber bullets, and tow away the cars

of protesters? There are many,  but “…The earth is the Lord’s and
the fullness thereof…”

There are no absolutes, here,
since the Statue of Liberty was given the toss.

 As I sit upon my newly purchased plot of land, I know
 although it is not a bridge or highway, eminent domain

gave builders the right  to sell it to me. 
The previous owners, along with those before them,

cry out  from the ground; bloody and plundered.

Justifications fictionalize and fears mount. How will
we feed OUR children?  Not enough care was

given to the feeding of our neighbor’s children.
How then, do we expect to reap a harvest of food?

How do we expect to reap a harvest of righteousness?

Alice Parris



Love never
its departure.
It does have
death rales
the end;
the sound
of a man
in his own
bodily fluids.
Love’s au revoir
never has
the stench of
end-stage cancer.
It is even
more fragrant in
the leaving.
so much
unfufilled hope in
its unfolded petals;
left listless in
the wind-
a withered brown.

Alice Parris