MERCURIAL AMULETS

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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

 

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‘MOVABLE FEASTS’

PHOTOGRAPHY BY STONY RIVER/AU

PHOTOGRAPHY BY STONY RIVER/AU

A flash in the pan, a wisp of smoke,
a broken covenant. What are we to
think of those who become part of

our families, our lives & then opt out;
leaving collateral damage that turns
cold in our veins, at odds with blood?

Are these truly ‘movable feasts’ in our
lives or are they soon to be as ashes
scattered, as time sweeps up all things?

Pomp & ceremony, a white dress & veil.
Will a decade pass without a retraction
of vows? What will have been the point;

to give seed into the world & cut them
into halves? I cannot say for I have been

the greatest covenant breaker of all. I was
not a ‘movable feast’ for any but my blood.
Ice water surely runs through these veins;

not knowing love as it is defined by timeless
romantics.  Disposable, partakers of covenant-
halves, rendered bloody-sure in the severing.

I reaped the whirlwind for my indifference,
lack of contrition. All I know is loyalty and

bloodline. God kept demon-birds away from
my seed with their vengeful, purposed- pecks.
In spite of me,  my seed & offspring are blessed.
Alice Parris

 

 

THE QUICKENING

PHOTOGRAPHY BY STONY RIVER/AU

PHOTOGRAPHY BY STONY RIVER/AU

THE QUICKENING

Should I go softly into the sweet purring night
or spin like a new windmill into the furious sun?

Shall I yet stretch out upon limbs brittle-sure?
The morn cups chirping birds of Southern hue
as the vultures gather at the the road’s crossing.

I was that gift of drink poured out in love’s leaving,
never noticed till years passed on their understanding.

I watch dimly in this gray world trimmed darkest noir.
The sharp mind bleeds from having turned upon itself.

Colors bled and faded in the passage of indifferent years.
Stark, falling shards have become our only measurements.

O, do you discharge your spirit before slumber overtakes?
There is yet a brightness hidden from earth-bound eyes
that quiets all turbulence in the breathlessness of night.

The quickening comes when time stalls… suddenly.

Alice Parris

THE THIRD ALICE TRILOGY

Photography by poet Duane Locke

Photography by poet Duane Locke


MOONDROPS

Mother moon cries. Eye-weeper.

Earth’s waters replenish her tears.

Mother moon cries in great travail.

THE TWIXT & THE TWIDDLE

Coal-black armor on midnight steed.
Swords clashing in the heavenlies.

We lie between twixt and twiddle.
Seeking safety and understanding.

THE THIRD ALICE

Asleep, the third Alice has
appeared in the third Heaven.

Her unglorified body flits
easily into celestial spaces;

haunting heaven thru desire.

Awake, she is weighed down;
the temporal demands of life.

The third Alice sees the glorious
flash of white wings encircle her.

Hears pure knowledge whisper
to her spirit, “soon, but not yet.”

ALICE PARRIS

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

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

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