Tag Archives: poetic abstractions

HOPE CLINGS LIKE A VELVET MIST

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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

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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
 

THE UNTOLD

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m_98e085eb4dbe4781b48dfcdf946ae9a4[1]                                                                                               
 Deep waters and raging seas

 

 Are within the sound of my

 Voice departing upon the ether.

Deep waters are a graveyard;
Untold stories are buried there.
 
 
 
Alice Parris
 
 
 
 
 
 

 

MEN-O-PAUSE

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libido

naturally healthy

libido

rotting fruit

cliff-hanger

accursed thing

men-o-pause

motherload

dumped

in landfill

thinning hair

brittle bones

tummy-ton flab

unfurling yawns

leave-me-alone-itis

disconnect phone

nuke incessant

chatting

life memories

too long

not important

enough

 

Alice Parris

Hello world!

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My name is Alice Parris. At present, I am wearing too many hats. I have ten sites. I have lost my first passion; poetry. With this blog, I will write poetry as tersely as my neophyte editing skills will allow for.  If I were to give voice to the abstractions rattling about in my attic, confinment would be a cruel punishment, indeed. I want to step outside of  binding social acceptance of conventional knowledge. I want these words to write themselves. Verses that I continue to love will be scattered like bones.

Alice Parris