Thursday, 27 July 2017

Of what do you really? by Adam Parry

To turn back
a moment, to know it can be done,
all free now, all silent, no way to stay young.
My face all crumpled
all shaded and scorned.
These  laughter lines like new children
waiting to be born.

Saturday, 15 July 2017


Born to be selfish
born not to care
born to be ugly
born for us all.

Grown in then city
nutured by smog
Breeded by money
Living to work.

Time to pay back now
this cheque will no bounce.
Paying back interest on tears and on blood.

Buying back the silences
and homes for the blind.
Love takes a hostile take over
Or is that all in the nind.

Saturday, 1 July 2017

To all sides...peace by Adam Parry

Peace has broken out
in pockets it reamains
inside people peace never went away,
but in all these peaces
war never ceases.
No prayer, no song
no life long negotiations,
changing front war
but peace marches,
bend and break
and reconciliates, peace keeps
pushing, but unlike war,
peace will never end

Saturday, 24 June 2017

Joy by Adam Parry

After so much silence
Joy spoke again
and lifted my feet into a Helter Skelter of dance.
Frantic. Ecstatic. Patient. Still.
Opening my eyes
to the love in peoples sighs
all around
then somehow inching their laughter line
from their lips.
Knowing, remembering
that their hearbeats' as fast as any
and as slow as the song
calling all to
from the half light
and dance beneath the street lights
as children do
as we never expected to.

Saturday, 17 June 2017

The Artist's Day by Adam Parry

Seems like rain at first light.
A yearning for colour, life beyond smoke filled rooms.
Far beyond TV flickers can I make day
One unstarted before, how can I know what I
startedparting those seas, painting in scenes
unseen before, this tree, that hill, falling from me
waiting with excitement when the brush to breatth
life into me

Monday, 29 May 2017

Dream by Adam Parry

Red bright in my beautiful dream, a snow queen
long locked-
our eyes met across the the ice cream counter
a green bag over her shoulders
of plastic and lace
her face unmarred unfleckled.
She sleep-walks to work. dreams her own dreams
counting foot-prints in the snow.
I left when I left her behind.
Perhaps this snow queen will come to me as
I sleep in beauty.

Saturday, 27 May 2017

Weeding by Adam Parry


Pulling out the weeds this work, unpaid, unseen

in the garden of my mind.

I let the cherry blossoms bloom

by  the tall grass growing to the edge of

the sea.

The painters In the rapeseed fields

wave a silent greeting as I weed until all perfection is regained.