Category Archives: musings

HOPE CLINGS LIKE A VELVET MIST

Standard
Photography by Stony River/AU

Photography by Stony River/AU

 

 

HOPE CLINGS LIKE A VELVET MIST

Wildflowers grow flawlessly
Surrounded by colored lies
Adults breathe in tradition
Children exhale wordless sighs

The dreamless sleep in poppies
Couched in beds of loneliness
The future shreds like ribbons
Hope clings like a velvet mist

Fierce garnet-colored flames
Turn to soft flickers glowing
Crisp green ages into brown
Burdened with too much knowing

Young flesh will melt away
Like fresh wax melting slowly
Wasted breath filled with regret
As cradle rocks the lowly

Alice Parris

Advertisements

BAROMETER BONES

Standard
Photography by Stony River/AU

Photography by Stony River/AU

BAROMETER BONES

Barometer bones
predict storm clouds
gathering.

Lightning causes
fetal positions
of pain.

Bones
feel thunderstorms
assemble

as armies of slate-

hurling hail,
throwing lightning-
javelins,

catapulting
massive buckets
of rain.

Crazy old lady
appears in a
fire-engine-red

raincoat &
yellow, rain-slicker
boots.

She died
drenched & appears
not to know.

Alice Parris

MERCURIAL AMULETS

Standard

PHOTOGRAPHY BY  STONY RIVER/AU

Image

 

Mercurial amulets melting, flowing lava-like towards
unknown paths. What was once feared is now desired
for its mesmerizing beauty and quick-silver movement.

Fickle are the minds that must be titilated by blowing
winds, ever moving in directions unseen, unknowable.

Just as dangerous are the minds that will never change.

Time, the great mystery, is but a purveyor of fortune;
blessing or cursing. Hours march as disciplined soldiers.

Minutes heal or slay victims who do slumber; whisking
away to other realms, those who will never escape sleep.

Yet, a moment of decision is the seed capable of glory.

Alice Parris

THE THIRD ALICE TRILOGY

Standard
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

 

 

 
                

ITCHY EARS

Standard

ITCHY EARS

Never enough gossip to whet
the palate. Never enough aperitif
to assauge the dry, cracked tongue.

The wonder of creation not nearly
as exciting as the creation of gossip.

Yet, ennui steals away new titilations,
until the latest conjured up significances.

The over-blown interpretations & cynicisms.

Nevertheless, it is well known that itchy ears
must be scratched into a state of total deafness.

Alice Parris

 

Photography by Stony River/AU

Photography by Stony River/AU

THIS MORTAL COIL

Standard

 

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

DANCING HEARTS ARE STILL REMEMBERED

Standard


Lavender-turquoise-salmon sea shells
jangling from cherry-red hip scarves.
Yellow, red, orange & brown crisp leaves

blowing on a near-frost morn, circling
around sensible shoes for painful arches.

Dancing feet are still remembered.

Gone are the tinkling sound of anklets
above Aboriginal feet. Pages slowly yellow.
Turkey oven mitts replace youthful hands.

Hippie graveyards are filling quickly this season.
Blood medicated to move through more efficiently,
even though aging bodies move like a sea of slugs.

Mescaline revelations are a vague notion, now.
Desert moons whispered their neon-wisdoms.
Now, the rumble announces a newly deafening ear.

Dancing minds are still remembered.

Love for humanity was poured out like LSD
upon this generation of seekers. Quietly, they
have been taken away; one by one. The world
is the poorer for it; with its fierce anal pincers.

Dancing hearts are still remembered.

Alice Parris

PHOTOGRAPHY BY STONY RIVER/AU

Photography by Stony River/AU