THE WREATH

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Lilac & mauve carnations,
orange-creamsicle & fushia sunflowers
pop out between sprinklings of green sprigs.

Dusty-rose &
tangerine trumpets blow the announcement:

Woodstock magic;
open hands, open hearts & open minds.

A hard-loving, hard-playing time
cut short by balding, joyless men.

The wreath
of color-profusion graces my bedroom.

Bejeweled bracelets of Crystal, Hematite,
Amber, Amethyst, Aventurine, Tiger’s Eye
& Jade still grace these arms- no longer held

out in the wonderment of freedom.
Some can hear the distinct tribal drumbeat.

These wreaths adorn guarded-hearts;
believers in mid-August, butterfly-freedoms.

Away in dreams
of ‘Summer’s Eve’ wonder, Boomers will take flight.

When aging lids grow weary, the charmed-piper plays.
Then, free-spirits are filled by an illumined-iridescence.

Woodstock magic lives again…

Alice Parris

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CLEAR STREAMS

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CLEAR STREAMS

Clear our streams of consciousness.
Purge our wagging tongues in purity.
Clean our mottled, ambivalent hearts.

We are the keepers of earth’s flame:

We will decide the fate of waters,
limitless, mercury-less fish, blue
skies filled with sprite-birds singing.

Get under the waterfall of the living;
death is easy and surprisingly cheap.
Enter clear streams & wash away guile.

Wash hands filled with blood and mayhem.
Clear streams pierce through our amnesia.
Clear streams give amnesty for indulgence.

It is not our vast metropolises that will
reflect the greatness or genius of mankind.
It will be in the simplicity of our clear streams.

Alice Parris

DANCING HEARTS ARE STILL REMEMBERED

Photography by Stony River/AU

Photography by Stony River/AU


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

*Plucked from my poetry archive

MY FIRST-LIGHT LOVER

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And…
I wait for my first-light lover.

He is alive with musical vibrations
& lyrical laughter. He draws me past
the night’s cruel maze of darknesses.

His eyes are the color of Cool Gray
His skin is burnished like fine brass.
His voice is harbinger of a new moon.
His smile melts ice-stars; to shed tears.

And…
I wait for my first-light lover.

Waiting…
my feet grow stong like roots & my
legs are hidden by Birds Of Paradise.
He never understands how long I wait;
his days are my endless months, years.
His job is to sprinkle gold-dust on those
with dead-fish eyes, so they can glisten.

My first-light lover
cleverly stole Cupid’s quiver of arrows.
In stealth, he has become the King of Hearts.

And…
I wait for my first-light lover.

He is there in black-obelisk night.
In inhalation & exhalation at noon.
He is there as day disrobes, donning
musty-dusk. He is there as fire flies
seduce sultry, summer eves. He is there…

at first-light.

Alice Parris

WINTER’S CLAW

Photography by Stony River/AU

Photography by Stony River/AU

Winter’s claw
tears at the melancholy nature.

Soot-branches
are ragged, uninvited guests.

Winter’s full moon
denies love’s ample bosoms.

Winter’s night;
the dark gift stealing meadows.

Obsidian-cold
mounts marble grave-stones.

Alice Parris

SOFT PETALS

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Who lies rotting in those elaborate crypts of granite,
while the living bleed profusely from life’s hardnesses?

I am an ambassador of faithful intercessory prayer.
My eyes have been honored to see many dead raised.

Through time and space, these prayers have been
well-watered by the tears of a newly broken-heart.

Who can ascend to this rocky path upon pinnacles?
I am inviolate; soft petals unmoved by gales of wind.

Alice Parris

CANNIBAL MOTHER

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CANNIBAL MOTHER

Your tail sweeps & lashes, gathering the children
you once suckled. It was you who caused the world
to see their beauty & magnificence because of the

justice embodied by your celebrated statue of liberty.

They were proud of their mother, who was hailed
throughout the earth. Your laws were righteous.
Your children fought wars to protect you, cannibal
mother. Their sweat spilled while tilling your grounds.

Little did they know, that you would seek out each
wounded child for a bloody sacrifice at the altar of
your new, strangely-twisted, lethal, grinding-jaws

Virtue departed as your lips parted to shred your own
children. Surely, you had tricked them into thinking
themselves safe from your newly carniverous appetites.

What do you have to show for your once opened arms &
suckled breast? You have sunk to the ground, with scales
like the leviathan; a Biblical creature of fear and loathing.

Skies cry in torrents for you, cannibal mother. None else
will. All the world watches as you cannibalize yourself. No
civilized society can chew up & swallow their own progeny.

Now, your fierce, scaled children slither reptilian-like upon

your grounds, and you are no longer a beacon of light to the
world. You will not take your blood-thirst to another planet.
Higher intelligence withstands you. You are considered a virus,

now, cannibal mother. You are not welcome anywhere else.

Alice Parris