Category Archives: inspirational poetry

BIRD OF SAPPHIRE-FIRE

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Symphony within my heart;
flute-flutters of small, blue wings.

Joy is a bird of sapphire-fire
alight on a winter branch; barren-brown.

Tender warbles pierce the sunless;
yet, the golden-glorious cascades down.

Only the spirit can ever know  
the ecstatic trumpeting when joy blows.

Alice Parris

Photography by Stony River/AU

Photography by Stony River/AU

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THIS MORTAL COIL

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Royal blue &
translucent gold do await my soon return.

I  go to where there are no bones arotting.

Do not cry for me;
I am kept in the bosom of a holy dove.

Lo, these many years, 
my hands have been stretched upwards.

Abundant joy &
immaculent breezes are my preferred portion.

Blue-midnight,
angelic visitations steer my many night-visions.

This mortal coil is
but my chrysalis; gossamar wings wait for me.

The last mile is truly bloody virtue-Via Dolorosa.
 

 Alice Parris

Photography by Stony River/AU

Photography by Stony River/AU

BUTTERFLY & PEACOCK

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Indigo-Tourmaline sprawling eyes
on a bed of cilantro, olive, sage
and hunter-green iridescent wisps.

A lovely spot for a pumpkin-rust,
black & white, spotted & bordered,
bewitchingly beautiful butterfly.

My senses have been quickened.
My eye-gait is satiated from this;
the mother-lode feast of palettes.

My eyes have been soul satisfied.
My soul is a well-whetted whelp.

Although, we see darkness at every
turn in the world, purity pillars upon
the earth. The earth shall long remain

past the passing of our remains.

Alice Parris

 

Photography by Stony River/AU

Photography by Stony River/AU

 

THE KINDREDS

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THE KINDREDS
 
We walk together
at varying times,
 
varying degrees
of sun & shade.
 
We walk in these
places of darkness
 
& mist.
 
We stand together:
the kindreds.
 
 
Alice Parris
For Anna Donovan
 
 

Stony River photograph/AU

Stony River photograph/AU

THE WOMAN OF A THOUSAND CUTS

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She barely noticed, as she skipped
along as a child, the bushes of ill-will.

She, being envied, never understood…
As she passed by these bloodied-bushes,

thorns scraped her legs and a thorn
pierced her left foot. She kept on skipping,

stopping long enough to pull out
the offending thorn. Forgetfulness…

When she became a woman, she never
noticed the lustful glances.

After the rapes, she noticed a gash in
her private parts. Unmourned…

Time heals all wounds. She kept moving.
The pimp-style beating, the steely-glint

of a pointed gun, the betrayal of love,
left black & blue marks in places no one

was designed to see; within her heart.
Loving again, she found mockery to be

her daily bread. These assaults became
lacerations of the mind, not the will.

When others carried away her children,
she moaned deeply, gutturally; a wounded

animal. There was massive internal bleeding.
She kept moving. Die to self is the only truth.

When she stopped to share wisdom and light,
she met deception and darkness.

Fiery comets cauterized this bleeding.
She kept moving, though her pace slowed

with age. She has flash-backs
of a thousand cuts, looks above, seeks

comfort from life’s only love.

 

Alice Parris

5 O’CLOCK IN THE MORNING

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5 O’CLOCK IN THE MORNING

Midnight stars, thrown like glitter
across the night, disappear into the
pre-dawn blue of sunrise.
I drink coffee at my kitchen table.

Devil’s Ivy crawls on my butcher’s block
table like early morning desire crawls on
my belly. I content myself with aloneness,
assume the posture of a ready scribe:

I exhale the staleness of night,
stretching out upon dawn’s desire.
My pen retrieves from slumber-visions
the hidden language of the heart.

© Alice Parris