Monthly Archives: December 2009

RIVER’S EDGE

Standard

What shall I say to

the child of my womb?

Shall I tell him that

I cannot run with him

along river’s edge, or

count with him the petals

of an upturned flower?

 

Shall I tell him that I

shall never throw a

baseball his way or

cheer him on to victory?

 

Shall I tell him

that my spirit shall

hover near the river’s edge

while he runs into the

brightness of the sun?

Shall I tell him that I shall

watch from far away for

my image in his child-tears?

 

Alice Parris

Advertisements

RAZOR-PAWS

Standard
aparris

Faux-photography by Anna Donovan-poet

    
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
RAZOR-PAWS
 
Our endless attempts at communication utterly lacked
the resolution of contrition.  It was then, that I tried to
 
leave my terminally-ill relationship, in stealth mode. I
hate the very nature of unrelenting, futile conversations.
 
As I was poised to leave and never look back, your
intuition transformed you into a gigantic lion behind
 
me standing on two legs. In male dominance, your huge
paws encircled the unsuspecting flesh of my upper arms.
 
When I tried to make a mad dash for the door, your
paws became claws tearing and shredding my flesh.
 
I was never one to stay in deteriorating relationships,
so my arms were shredded; a bright-red blood turning
 
into a thick-dark ooze.  Now that I am out of reach,
your razor-paws extend, swiping still, spilling blood.
 
For you, this activity  has become a blood sport.  Women
like me know that men can cut like razors when you leave.
Alice Parris

* FIRST PUBLISHED ONLINE IN STUBLE TEA (POUR IN SPIRIT)

SILENCE SPOKE

Standard
 

SILENCE SPOKE

Now, is this great love
of yours spotted in imperfection.
 
Self-interest trumps the
declaration of your undying love.
 
Love was slashed in the ledger

This rose of yours bore thorns;
bleeding hands dripping rivulets…
 
Silence spoke. That which remained
unsaid was greater than that which spoke.

Sometimes, you can never go back…
I was bathed in great joy for one day.

Alice Parris

Photography by Anna Donovan-poet 

 

PULSE STORM

Standard
 
The underbelly of caterpillars
yields food for thought. The veins
of leaves became the swelling tendrils
of my ancestors, secured by moisture.
Lightning striking blows of blackened
sorrow. Thunder claps streaking across
orange & purple skies, swollen seas.
Mighty trees felled; throbbing fibers
left aching in the wake of pulse storm.
You came back into my life, pulse storm,
uprooting memories hidden in forests.
Branches sealed by tender touches had
been torn, cast to the ground.
Fushia optics, scarlet-reddened,
invigorated, awakened synapses travel
through time tunnels bringing me here
and now, facing yet another encounter
with the alpha-force of mighty pulse storm.
 
Alice Parris
photography by Paul Thomsen
Concept of title, “Pulse Storm” by Stony River-AU