Category Archives: dark poetry

THE THIRD ALICE TRILOGY

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Photography by Stony River/AU

Photography by Stony River/AU

 

 

Mother moon cries. Eye-weeper.

Earth’s waters replenish her tears.

Mother moon cries in great travail.

 

THE TWIXT & THE TWIDDLE

Coal-black armor on midnight steed.
Swords clashing in the heavenlies.

We lie between twixt and twiddle;
seeking safety and understanding.

 
THE THIRD ALICE

Asleep, the third Alice has
appeared in the third Heaven.

Her unglorified body flits
easily into celestial spaces;

haunting heaven thru desire.

Awake, she is weighed down;
the temporal demands of life.

The third Alice sees the glorious
flash of white wings encircle her.

Hears  pure knowledge whisper
to her spirit,  “soon, but not yet.”

 

ALICE PARRIS

 

 

 
                

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HOWLING STORM

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Magnolia-crows

dart through mosses.

Their ominous sounds

muffled by foliage.

How long is long

enough?

Is it the will

that holds us to

our paltry portion?

Is it purpose

that makes us swim

upstream?

Is it destiny

that declares us

sole survivor?

Why do we cling

so tightly to

aging shells?

Fiery-mango passion

burned into wispy

pewter-ashes.

Shall we dine

on our memories

of  once-great love?

Shall we feed our

skeletons with fleeting

azure-lavender dawns,

coral-tangerine sunsets?

A weary leaf twists

in the  howling storm.
 

 

Alice Parris

NOT ENOUGH

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Fire in AU by Stony River

Car ablaze in AU/Stony River

 

 

Slurping , sucking
licking, rubbing
of hands together-
flies void of prayer.

Ticking, tocking
clocking, tooling.

Not enough.

Insatiable appetite
for internet buzz.
Wasps, yellow jackets,
bees- all stand down.

The arachnid has
come to town & taken
over the buzz business.

Not enough.

Faster, faster,
text, text, text.
Spin, spin, spin
tweet, tweet, retweet.

Infamy: wheel of fortune
dragging a hanged man.

Not enough.

Enter into the lion’s den 
with your meager offerings-

to be tangled, mangled
& dangled; but decidedly

Not enough.

 

Alice Parris
 

VISION AT THE TOMB

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Grey figures

Move like

Zombies,

Lost souls

Shuffling

As though

On Thorazine.

There is no need

For the

Sound

Of chains

To know

That these

Are prisoners.

 

Alice Parris

GNARLED BRANCHES

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 Gnarled,

Tortured

Branches,

Growing

Upwards,

Brushed

With gold.

Hiding

Earth’s

Drab

Olive dress:

Surrealistic

By contrast,

Futuristic

By design.

What place

Have they

Amongst

Orchid

Centerpieces?

 

Alice Parris

OCTOBER’S WAIT

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October is

The month

For dying.

Trees understand

October’s demands;

They change in

Reticent obedience

To nature’s way.

The hard part

Is the wait

For finality.

 

Alice Parris

MANY WATERS

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Many waters

Cover my head.

Many waters

Named sorrow.

I speak

To my pain;

My pain

Speaks

To me of

Old rivers

Washed

Over the

Souls

Of those

Who demanded

From life

The desires

Of their hearts

 

Alice Parris