Sunday, 26 July 2015

The Jeweler

-The Jeweller-

'I like it, but it is a pretty dangerous thing to do'. Not that focussing on the jewel amidst the darkness is not beautiful, just that to ignore the truth of the context in which that jewel shines is to be absent in truth somehow. It is as if to say, 'all that other stuff, it doesn't matter! we will ignore it and in ignorance it will simply fade away'... but that rarely happens. Not only is it semi delusional, and in a way judgemental, but it also speaks of a kind of travesty of perception, a lack of sincerity and humility, as if you are saying, 'that darker stuff that surrounds you, well, that doesn't matter', but of course, it does matter. It is someone's life, and that matters, all the tawdry little moments matter, all the quirks and hard to bare iniquities matter, they matter because they didn't just come from nowhere, they have a story too, and though that story is hard to hear, though that story may be washed with pain and suffering, still it is life, and for that person, it mattered; It mattered so much, that they took it upon themselves in the guise of a dark shroud, one that is hard to bare and uncomfortable to look at, but still it mattered. Yes that jewel is beautiful, but we are not stone collectors, fashioning the uncut gems we find in others for our own device and pleasure, rather, accepting the darkness too, listening to it's story also, gives context to the jewels we find, and gives honour to the life we share, the whole life, not just the parts we find easy to look at, and in so doing, we give honour to that person we love, giving love, even to the darkness we may find, and the stories that it tells. 'The stars shine brightly within the firmament, set in the night as jewels upon the sky, and never brighter were all those celestial ornaments, than when in darkness the twinkling diamonds caught my eye.' 

© Richard Michael Parker 2015

Friday, 29 May 2015

Swallow Tail

Swallow Tail

Velvet butterflies brushing their gossamer wings,
tremulous fluttering's inside my soul,
lifting from the hearth to the whole.
I feel them rise from the pit,
swirling through incandescent skies,
filling my heart with the warmth of your breath,
slipping like silk ribbons caught in a breeze,
the gentle ease, of all you have become to me.

Tickling sensations,
these trembling emanations of light,
surging through these rice paper gates,
erupting upon my face with a smile.
A brilliant star, in joyous release.

I sat in blue corners once,
masked in the mourning of some mottled solemnity,
wondering what it was that you might have been to me,
seeking that which was before my unsighted eyes,
before my heart, the chase inside,
blind to its light, in the depths of its hide.

To cease the search, and in being, simply love.
To curtail the endless courtship, the chase,
the hunt from above, and in risen heart,
watch the doe bound within the open meadow,
free from her forest retreat,
the supple greeting of each loving gracious fellow,
the swallow tail swimming in the breeze,
kissed between the sunlight's balmy phlox,
and those distant oaken trees.

Love steals my heart, and floods the plain,
and on my tongue and in my ear, I hear
this gentle wind whispering your name.
The fluttering diaphanous flight,
of these butterflies of love,
caught between the chrysalis,
and your bless'd light, above.

© Richard Michael Parker 2012

Saturday, 23 May 2015

There Is A Light

-There Is A Light-

"I don't know what to tell you" he said.

"I only know it gets harder every time. The world grows a little darker, and the wind a little colder, and there comes a moment when you wonder whether you ever felt at all. So dark and numbed by it all.

Perhaps your standing at a check out, staring blankly at the head in front of you, waiting for your turn to dance with the plastic bags and fake food you have bought for dinner, and there comes a moment, in the drab monotony of that emptiness, a simple moment when all the pain in your heart and the blocks in your head are forgotten, lost in the mist of that nothingness, when someone says something, or you do something quite spontaneously, and for an instant the light that is within you breaks through.

Seize that moment. Know it for what it is, the truth of the light within you.

For that light is never extinguished. Though it be dulled by scars that have built upon your heart, with every betrayal, every sunken hope, though it be obscured by the towers and walls you have built in your mind to protect your heart from the withering assault of that pain, it burns still. It's light kindled in the depths of the deepest darkness. It is just that, as time passes, and the tarnishing's of love set down their slow decay, it gets harder to remember. So hard in fact that at times, the blocks and the scars, the pain and the masks we build to forestall it, halt the light, until, seated on the throne of our own turbid mind, we can no longer see it's glory. No longer feel the warmth of it's ray, as it passes inspection, obscured by all the tissues and walls that lay between awareness and the truth.

So, in those moments, those simple moments in which love, or communion, laughter, or a simple gesture erupt out of you, quite beyond your conscious control, understand that this is your soul breaking through, this is the truth of you, the light that shone so brightly before the world and all it's infinite betrayals got a hold of you, and twisted your vision into blindness. Know that you are more beautiful than you might ever have suspected, and that though you can no longer see it, still, it remains, and in those moments of emptiness, love has a way of opening a new door.

All that remains, is for you to walk through."

© Richard Michael Parker 2015

Saturday, 9 May 2015

-Pyromania- a story in 2 paragraphs...

-Pyromania- a story in 2 paragraphs...

'Silently he slipped his fingers into his denim pocket and fumbled for the stolen match-book. There was a moment, between the low hum of the power cable, and the distant trill of a sonorous songbird, teasing his memories with it's bright tones and honeyed call, that he hesitated. The sweet sucker of spring blossom filling him with sun-baked portico's and lush grass, crushed beneath the rushing waves of children's toes, dashed in heady laughter amongst shining eyes and lemonade. But it was just a moment, and moments pass, as do memories, like flaking paint on stucco walls, tattered curtains falling glibly over shattered windows and burnt out halls. He had been away so long, long enough to forget, and everyone was gone.

The match sputtered in his fingers, as the gas soaked curtain took hold, and as quickly as that moment had passed, as quickly as the years had rolled over the smoke filled memories of his youth, it was aflame, and he remembered again. He remembered how they had gone, with screams and fire, the tortured vestments of his shattered years incarcerated in that prison cell, his very own funeral pyre. The licking flame danced along the hall, as he disappeared into it's orange glow. The coddled warmth of all that sorrow, embracing him in a blanket of cinders. A bird sang sweetly upon the bough of the old oak, it's heart shot upon the breeze and eased between the braids and slats of the broken swing. There was a pause, and he was gone.'

© Richard Michael Parker 2015

Friday, 1 May 2015

The Perigee Of Early Spring

-The Perigee of Early Spring-

The moon, she shines,
without favour or disguise, both,
upon the joyous and the bitter sunken eyed.
The weeping pools,
seeping between the corpulent shadows,
tree wrung gargoyles,
hung upon the bough of the midnight queen.
Seldom seen, upon the fleck of cherried air,
heavy in a dream, bare upon the sacred hill,
where the drum and tambourine, beat upon the wind.
'I'll meet you there'! - 'I'll meet you there'! '
Where the golly goblins sprawl,
between the orange scented call; 'There'!
Where your hair, all tangerine,
flounced upon your green eyes, moonstruck,
glared into the fires feckled hue,
and plucked the rosy suckle bare,
to shuck the huckleberry blue.
Dancing on the naked hill,
the parchment and dishevelled quill,
dipped into the inky well, pounced,
between your painted toes, and silver bell,
all crackling groans of an ancient toll;
The swollen dips, the sunken lips.
We learnt it well;
We learnt it well.

The moon, she shines,
without favour or disguise;
The road is long, and the way is dark, without her.

© Richard Michael Parker 2014

Monday, 13 April 2015

No Heart Is Lost

'I ne'er felt more a spare part,
a wayfaring tramp, a pendulant stray,
nor for all the world a lonesome heart,
than e'er I did on Valentines Day.'

The 3rd Volume of Poetry by poet and digital artist Richard Michael Parker, explores the often dark subject matter of 'love lost'.

"Let light shine out of darkness"


Other Devices:

Saturday, 29 March 2014



The opalescence of your eyes,
shimmers in Novembers pale sun,
and all the world is stolen,
still, in the glint of this silver thread,
woven between us.

The tethered serenade of a nightingale,
swims through the midnight branches,
an overhang of tenderness,
a canopy of moonlight,
dancing amongst the shadows,
the dipping lip,
creased in languid motions,
the teasing oceans of your warm breath,
swept upon the somnolence of this summers breeze.

How solemn the death.
The madness and insanity,
the shattered revelry,
broken in the crepuscular awakening
of this suns shrill call.

How fateful the fall of that larks sweet note,
the swollen throat of the broaching dawn.

And still... I love you still,
though all the sea's lay between us,
and time jealously guard our secret.

I close my eyes, and in that instant,
your summer moon invades the winter snows,
and all the frozen world about,
cannot keep me out of paradise.
The warmth of your touch,
an oasis of moonlight,
stark, against the harsh sun of reality.

And still... I love you still,
and being still, you are with me.

© Richard Michael Parker 2014

Friday, 14 February 2014

The Kiss

The Kiss

'The Kiss' is the second volume of poetry by the internationally renowned poet and digital artist Richard Michael Parker. This work is specifically collated for lovers the world round, with 40 delicate and sensitive romantic poems, and digital works of art specifically created for this volume of poetry. Richards first volume was received with critical acclaim, and the timing of this work for Valentines Day is particularly apt, as the work is full of romantic poems that both come from the heart and touch the heart in equal measure. Eros touches us all with his arrows, and the universal nature of romantic love makes this volume of poetry particularly poignant in a world that increasingly grows closer, recognizing those qualities of human character that unite and define us. These works remind us that those defining qualities are often deeply sensitive and though they be intensely personal, still there is a universal understanding that we are all subject to the arrows of love, no matter where we are or what the difference of our circumstance. Perhaps Richard says it best, and so I shall once again, leave him the last word:

'We are mortals in frail skins, but we have immortality within, it flows through every vesicle and vein, whenever we are in the mesmeric grip of that dazzling cherubim, and it is as well to remember those first heady moments whenever doubt, or the deceit of manipulating minds, calls with the card of forgetfulness. Never forget, always remember, Love glows anew, when you blow on it's ember.' - Richard Michael Parker

This Book is Available for Kindle from Amazon

Or for Apple readers and other portable devices and phones from Smashwords.

Wednesday, 29 January 2014

Love is a Gift

'Love Is A Gift' is the first volume of poetry by the renowned poet Richard Michael Parker. He has been a voice for many years on the internet, and his particular artistic gifts have been noted with such collaborative works with well known artists around the world, such as Leonid Afremov, Carola E. Thiele, and Lorraine Sumners, to name but a few. This eagerly awaited volume of poetry is accompanied by 28 sumptuous digital artworks, created specifically for this book. The artwork is of a singular subject, taken over a period of three years, in various conditions and weathers and is indicative of the changeable nature of love, where the aspect may change but not the essence.

'Love is a gift, unwrapped in the giving, a revelation without demand, a sweet intoxication of the spirit, infused with the perfume of its tenderness.' - Richard Michael Parker

Available for Kindle and also for Apple products, from Smashwords, with downloads available for most portable devices.

Wednesday, 15 January 2014

The Crucible of Love

The Crucible of Love

The Lord of swiftness comes!
seated upon the dulcet silence of the rainbow,
and every naked shower that broke,
in the belly of the tumult, eased again,
clothed in the fading clouds of the thunderbolt.

How ragged the teeth, the jagged edge of death,
that sweeps across the plain of loves devoured halo.
How quickly it is rent, in the might of the foment,
while every supplicant, illumed, is swallowed below.

For ever has it been the truth, that love abides no chain,
nor bond, nor broken vow, nor frightened heart, nor shame.
In formless might, it renders all control, conceit,
to toss in fright, chaotic light, into the flame, deceit.

'Too late', I thought, 'Too late! we wait an age,
and so it seemed all hell had ascended.
Departing calm, defriended, no balm to ease love ended.
I heard the willow whisper in soothing tones,
in the midst of the yawning chasm of that fiery breech,
and it was, as if, in moonlit speech,
it soothed the tempests rage that burnt my breast,
'Come rest' she said, in silent arms,
to know that loves bequest is tranquil in it's gift.
All slag burnt away, the inconsequential waste,
tossed upon the pyre, the holy alters light,
of loves devouring fire.

'It is only fear, burnt from out the crucible of love,
that tears the soul in twain; It is only pride,
severed in the rage, tossed into the flame,
that sweeps away the thunderbolt and rain.'

How sweet the first sup of air, when smelted wroth,
departs, stripping away all doubt and fear.
How bright the dawn from out the dark well of night,
the furies hour, leaving only the intimate truth.

Redoubled, the bond made brighter, Loves herald,
seated in wing'd chariot, to descend upon each tormented lover.
Joyous contentedness, effortlessly slips between the remnants,
the salvaged sentiments, poured in mellifluous strains
through the harp strings, the heavenly reigns, held sweetly.

The Lord of swiftness comes!
seated upon the dulcet silence of the rainbow!
Loves tranquil sun, rising upon the ashes of the shadow.

© Richard Michael Parker 2014