Poem for Sara
As dark as I am you are
light.
Your weightless heart
beats faster.
Your love is always
yours to give.
I worry how to forgive.
You are a sheltering forest
I am a single tree upon a
hill-top in the sun and storm.
You give good, see Jesus
in this stranger I have become
and it hurts my heart
for all I see is hate.
Dream by Adam L Parry.
Red bright, in my beautiful dream, a snow queen
long locked away- our
eyes met over the ice-cream counter-
a green bag over her shoulder
of plastic and black
her pale face, unmarred,
unfreckled, she sleepwalks
to work, dreams her own
dreams counting the footprints in the snow
I left behind.
Perhaps, perhaps the Snow
Queen will come to me as I sleep
In Beauty.
LARA POEM
The magic remains in the colour of
your hair.
The beauty belongs in your so
white eyes.
The love is recalled as you sleep
and sigh.
The truth is recalled in your
blue, blue eyes
The truth remains in the hands
that holds.
The sorrow returns as you turn
away and go,
But happiness returns in the magic
that remains.
After the sadness my heart opens
again
July 27th. By Adam Parry
“Colour in my heart,” the lion
cried
from the dot to dot picture I had
made.
“Make me look serene yet ferocious
that I may seem to clutch
brightness
with my golden stare,
make my land a Kaleidoscope, as
you
touch colour to the savannah and
sun where I belong.”
I took some blue and gold and dew
coloured in the lions land
put texture and tricks of the
light
the pencil drew out of me.
As if meditating over the
surprises of time
as I inspect the sun.
I display the light upon the lion’s
mane.
Unthought-of, in a thoughtless
moment,
the lion on the paper
roared with pleasure at the land I
had made for him.
From a small red book by AL Parry.
Love is a diamond
held hidden for so, so long.
Accident or design?
Love is lost and found
in a dark clown’s smile-where a stranger’s
fears crash upon the rocks and
uncover the birth place of the diamond
a moment waited for forever
and beauty enters the day.
Lyndie.
She has COPD now
and doesn’t call me these days,
but she always, always made me laugh and
I wonder:
Does she have someone
to laugh at her jokes
as she smokes her fruit-flavoured tobacco?
She used to look like
Paula Yates and her
white witch boyfriend looked like
Michael Hutchins.
He never made me laugh.
Thinking of her I smell the fruit-flavoured
tobacco that almost made want to throw up
when I took a drag.
Do you like that? She asked, pointing
at a picture and I didn’t want to say I did
when I didn’t, but I said yes anyway
when it was crap.
She always had cats.
Nala would, like an Olympic gymnast,
somehow
jump up to the top of the tall bookcase
as though merely stepping over a puddle
on Urquhart Road.
Seems so long ago doesn’t it?
And she says yes as if she doesn’t
want to be sad and goes and makes
a pizza and would make me
eat it all.
Seems so long ago now doesn’t it?
But, she doesn’t answer.
When I ring she doesn’t answer.
She has COPD now and I
wonder if she’s dead so I hang up,
sick of friends dying on me
so selfishly.
But, by the Bay she cuts up
tomatoes and peppers,
onions and lettuce
Original 106 on in the background
and she sings along.
Edges by Adam Parry
My edges are always just a step away
from her edges locked in card boxes I cannot open.
(I was told once to teach, to heal,
that the morning comes again, a divine spark
on the ledge of day dawn waits).
But. I only follow my own edges that I walk, one day, I
will,
walk on to a further edge, that other edge of you.
Our edges turn a corner we haven’t walked down before, a
country road
I’ve only walked along so far and returned along alone
Then when I hear the song etched in your edges, swift in the
tree,
I turn around to follow the song where our edges seal
together
and I sing too like the love song of a bird .
