O BLACK ANGEL

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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I CRY ON SUNDAYS

Photography By Stony River/AU

Photography by Stony River/AU

I CRY ON SUNDAYS

I can hear the clickity-clack of the many
perfectly-heeled miniature leather shoes,

the swishing of multi-tiered dresses, the carrying
of tiny pocketbooks.  Young men swim in suits,

wear pressed ties from a sealed storage bin.

They are perfectly coiffed as they enter into
the house of reason, malfeasance or treason.

There, where the bell tolls, widows clutch their
pocketbooks, careful of ordained pickpockets.

I watch indifferently, with red puffy eyes

I remember my own personal losses:
losses without funerals.  I cry on Sundays.

Post-congregation parties gather at their local eateries,
in their Sunday’s best.  There, they down syrup-laden
pancakes in hedonistic abandonment.

Bellies are filled to the brim in this ritual,
this careless mocking of starving masses.

I watch with a soul-sadness so deep
that it cannot be named.  I could let out a howl,

but my Maker already understands.  Tears of
flesh-eating rain pour like rivers when

I cry on Sundays.

 

Alice Parris, Nashville, Tennessee

*First published in the Ann Arbor Review

MERCURIAL AMULETS

Image

Photograph by Stony River/AU

 

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

 

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

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

PALIN’S FINGERPRINTS

Fingers in the powerful’s pies
from one end of the country
to another. America’s  Siberia

declared too confining for an
ascending star. Always there

to whisper into the ear of the
next person who will implode.

Chameleon by nature.
Save McCain today. Tomorrow,
ride with the Tea Party Express.

Not rattled when fingerprints
are spread with cribnote-palms.
No shame. No shame.

Spin, spin , spin
deny, deny, deny
lie, lie, lie…

Palin’s fingerprints.

Cunning figurehead
strategist who pulls down
 
her own allegiances by
virtue of her idiotic advice.

Just ask Jan Brewer
about the advice of Palin.

What?  Arizona collapsed;
all business came to a halt?

What do you expect?
She sleeps with a successionist.

Never try to corner Palin.
Teeth barred,
you’ll suffer more than

Palin’s fingertips.

divide, divide, divide
deflect, deflect, deflect.
destroy, destroy, destroy.

Touted as clever-
made millions off of the
backs of the believing faithful.

CSI: follow the money-
it is awash with fingerprints…
 
Palin’s fingerprints.

 

Alice Parris

PAINFUL CRIES OF THE EAGLE

 

I hear the painful cries

of the eagle, in trouble,

atop mountainous, leafy domain.

Could these distressed sounds

signal talons, wings & beaks;

fettered, clipped, broken?

 

Blue-sprayed skies pushed aside

by crematory-colored storm clouds.

Lemon-sun forsaken.

The eagle cries;

squeezes out gods of greed

upon the altars of the needy.

 

Reptillian eyes of dark lords

wax brilliant, yellow-topaz

watching life-blood drip upon

crocodile-cracked, earth crevices.

 

The bone shattering cries

of the eagle are being heard

above the level of humankind.

 

We are in the season of the

separation of wheat & tares;

angels have been assigned

to stamp our expiration dates.

 

Cease from all quarrels.

May heaven help us all.

 

Alice Parris