BIRD OF SAPPHIRE-FIRE
Symphony within my heart;
flute-flutters of small, blue wings.
Joy is a bird of sapphire-fire
alight on a winter branch; barren-brown.
Tender warbles pierce the sunless;
yet, the golden-glorious cascades down.
Only the spirit can ever know
the ecstatic trumpeting when joy blows.
Alice Parris
</DT> <DD class=wp-caption-dd>Photography by Stony River/AU</DD></DL> THIS MORTAL COIL
Royal blue &
translucent gold do await my soon return.
I go to where there are no bones arotting.
Do not cry for me;
I am kept in the bosom of a holy dove.
Lo, these many years,
my hands have been stretched upwards.
Abundant joy &
immaculent breezes are my preferred portion.
Blue-midnight,
angelic visitations steer my many night-visions.
This mortal coil is
but my chrysalis; gossamar wings wait for me.
The last mile is truly bloody virtue-Via Dolorosa.
Alice Parris
</DT> <DD class=wp-caption-dd>Photography by Stony River/AU</DD></DL>
BUTTERFLY & PEACOCK
Indigo-Tourmaline sprawling eyes
on a bed of cilantro, olive, sage
and hunter-green iridescent wisps.
A lovely spot for a pumpkin-rust,
black & white, spotted & bordered,
bewitchingly beautiful butterfly.
My senses have been quickened.
My eye-gait is satiated from this;
the mother-lode feast of palettes.
My eyes have been soul satisfied.
My soul is a well-whetted whelp.
Although, we see darkness at every
turn in the world, purity pillars upon
the earth. The earth shall long remain
past the passing of our remains.
Alice Parris
</dt><dd class="wp-caption-dd">Photography by Stony River/AU</dd></dl>
DANCING HEARTS ARE STILL REMEMBERED
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
PHOTOGRAPHY BY STONY RIVER/AU
MY FIRST-LIGHT LOVER
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
