Tag Archives: poetry

BLOODY RED MEAT

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When given nuances, they cried
out for bloody red meat, “Give us
bowels, hearts, brains and bones.

Give us a fountain of blood wrapped
up in flesh. We want to butcher and
gorge upon bloody red meat.”

“We will not receive your subtle gifts.
We will dissect them and find them
bloodless. Give us bloody red meat!”

He said, “Alright! Sacred cows must be
sacrificed to get what you want.” They
said, “What? Our sacred cows? Never!”

He said, “If it is bloody red meat that
you want, understand that our land is
cracked and dry from a lack of blood upon
our own shores. Yet, I will still deliver.”

When the sacred cows were slaughtered,
the people screamed and howled for their
losses. They said to him, “Yes, we wanted
bloody red meat, but we wanted it to be

taken from your skinny bones. He said,
“I am afraid that this will not be possible,

for you see… change has truly come.”
 
Alice Parris

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THE VIPER

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I watch
the crushing
process.
I cry out
mercy…
mercy…
As I stretch
my
feeble hand
to help,
it is bitten
by a viper;
the very
same seed
that I
carried in
my womb.

Alice Parris

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

ETERNAL IN YOUR EYES

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Your pools
Reflect
Awakened
Forgetfulness…
Time
Suspended,
Not forgotten…
Vaguely
Familiar
Memories
Of us
Locked
Into
Eternity.
A glance
Cannot
Escape
Being pulled
Into the
Ocean
Of wisdom
Settled there,
Knowing
I cannot
Forget
Myself
Eternal
In your
Eyes.

Alice Parris

THE BLACK WIDOW

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Mourners (with their funeral fans in motion)
Fanned themselves so furiously that the ink
Comprising the face of Martin Luther King Jr. 
Had begun to run down their banana-pudding-
Eating-elbows. Their pudgy fingers stained.
So… there he was, a stalwart man looking very
Stately in his white-satin-lined-bronze-toned coffin.
He wore the hat that had become his blues trademark.
She wore tawdry jewelry to the funeral. Feigned tears
Struggled across her face as she greeted the guests.
He looked at rest as only the truly debt- free can.
She looked the same way she looked a few years
Ago, when she buried her last husband. She had
Heavily-lidded cash register eyes. Sleep would
Eventually come, when the checks arrived in the mail.
Why, she could have thrown in a few ceremonial shovels
Of dirt, gotten her nails re-done, and still made it out to
The after hours blues club in her amazing wardrobe number;
A must have: a very, versatile, basic little black dress.    
  

Alice Parris

PERIPHERAL VISIONS

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MOVING OUT OF THE LIGHT, RUNNERS
EMERGE THROUGH LANDMINES,MINDLESS.

DARKENED CYPRESS TREES
GIVE SHADE WHILE HARBORING

THE FRAGRANCE OF SWAMPLAND.

THE CYPRESS HAS BECOME A
HERO THAT WE MUST ALL ACKNOWLEDGE,

TOO SOON FORGET.

MIDDLE AGE HAS ITS FINER POINTS-
PUSHING PAST THE DEPRESSION,

I WANDER PAST A FRESHLY-PAINTED
FENCE- WHITE MARKS ON MY BACK.

SPARKS FLY LIKE DARK ANGELS
OUT OF THE CORNERS OF MY EYES;

I CANNOT SEE PAST

PERIPHERAL VISIONS DEEMED ORBITAL
HALLUCINATIONS.

STRETCH MARKS CRYING FROM NEWLY-
FILLED BREASTS. MILK DRIPPING IN

IMPATIENCE; WISDOM OF THE TONGUE

SILENCED.

Alice Parris         ( first published at Subtle Tea online ezine)

 

 

 

 

 

FORLORN LOVER

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Your forlorn Lover
Looks for you

 
Still…
She sits
As a
 
Specter
In her
Shredded
 
Wedding dress.
The cracked walls
 
Still uphold
 
Paintings of
Southern gentility

 
And
Savannah nobility.

 
She sits
Amidst
A pile

 
Of newspaper clippings
In assorted shades of yellow.

 
She awaits your
Personal reply
As she
Recommits herself
To love…
She never loses

 
Interest in

 
How well
You are doing.

 

Alice Parris