Category Archives: religion

O BLACK ANGEL

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New Angel Wings by Shadavar -stock

New Angel Wings by Shadavar-stock

O black angel,

spread your wings for me.

Deliver me from ghosts and rattling chains,

chants, haunts, and roots, sinking at the bayou’s bottom.

 

The past with its dried hope and magnolia,

now long-gone; a shattered mirror of forlorn days.

 

O black angel,

spread your wings

upwards and outwards; sweep from

paradise to heaven. where grass grows emerald,

springing back past the walking on it.

To where joy-filled winds speak mysteries of the ages.

 

O black angel,

spirit me away to where

gates of pearl open onto streets of gold, like glass.

 

O black angel,

Uphold me in your massive hands.

Let me look into your piercing eyes, and

see beyond the boundaries of man’s comprehension.

To that place of magnificent, peerless beauty.

 

O black angel,

carry me in your wings.

Take me to that place where I might

see His body, bloodied and pierced for me.

Behold His face and kiss His nail-scarred hands.

 

 

By Alice Parris

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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

THE GOD OF THIS WORLD

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The world watches a grand-father clock, ticking.
I engage in frivolities, as the pendulum swings,
and the chimes repeat themselves.
I am bored past tears, cells, nerves, and sinews,
stuck in this world of wrappings and ribbons,
no deeper than the skin’s morality.
Cravings are paraded in every magazine,
on every television station, subliminally encoded,
and advertised on each internet site. I want to
walk circumspectly. But the things I would do,
I don’t do. Yes, mammon, still rules
with its gold and silver tinsel, exquisite ornamental lights.
Who is to blame for this orgy?
I strip myself to my ample bottom,
For the world must see: Christmas is about the Christ.
Who decapitated Christmas
left us with a fat-bearded mailman?
Who will visit the manger, making straw no stranger,
and sit with the lowly? Who will do the work of the cross
in this cross-eyed world, leaving his own comfort?
Bell-ringers ring hollow at this Hallowed time.
But God watches the world to bless Apostolic feet.

Alice Parris

THE HOURGLASS

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A large, impressive, cherry wood desk sat beneath the tiny hourglass which was to be my life.
An antigue hourglass with its intriquitely detailed top and

bottom was precise in its meting out of what was to be the granules of life allotted to me.
I preened while the first half of the passing sand poured down

into its unobtrusively-waiting receptacle.
I postured while another fourth of
the sand poured down in meticulous precision.
I, then, became obsessed with

the scanty fourth which passed continuously before me.
I toiled day and night to make a mark of truth upon deafening mankind.
In all of my many preenings

and posturings, I had discovered but one absolute truth: the only currency which would remain in the ever-moving, ever-indifferent sands of time would be a pure, simple, unfettered love: the true gold of a man’s life upon this earth.

Alice Parris

MY LOVE IN ABSENTIA

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How I have waited,
my beloved, for the
sound of your approach.

When you come, I am
set ablaze with the
lightnings of your love.

You are only as far away
as my heart-felt prayer.

My love for you
is as the rumbling sea.
It cannot be satisfied.

I am forever yours;
a captive- beating- heart,
a trifle in your hand.

You speak, transforming me;
 the sound of your passion…

Distant memories are
awakened. All of them
lead me here and now.

Your will is mine to obey.
On your word, I will live-
or die-it does not matter.

I am forever yours-
never the lessened grip- 
my love in absentia.

Alice Parris
Inspiration from The Songs of Solomon

THE RESURRECTION

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A bloodied cross
Was dismantled
Upon the ground
Of Golgotha,
Drying in the
Death-stenched air.
Fragrant linens
Encased scourged flesh
But for a moment…

Blinding light
Revealed blood-soaked
Linens discarded in a
Rich man’s tomb.
As foretold,
On the third day,
He had arisen.
He was raised
By resurrection power
To receive His reward:
The nations of this world,
And the glory of
His matchless name.

ALICE PARRIS