Tuesday, January 28, 2014

Sunday, January 5, 2014

UPDATE: 1-17-14

A wonderful review of Amaranthine by author Yolanda Renee. So thrilled!

http://www.yolandarenee.blogspot.com/2014/01/call-of-sandhill-crane.html


UPDATE: A second set of books on the way!!!

***UPDATE***They're here, they're here!!! Over the moon!!!
12-20-13

This winter's project...Amaranthine...

Cover: my Circle of Light painting.

 
 
New poetry. And selections from Spectrum, Origins, and Corundum.


In myth and poetry the amaranth flower came to symbolize everlasting life. It appears in the writings of Keats, Shelley, and Milton’s Paradise Lost. The long clusters, noted for their luxuriant red-purple color, were used as a dye by the Hopi people.

Amaranthine is not only the title, but the theme of this collection. A quest. A desire to find, experience, and embrace, the abiding essence of life in all we cherish and hold dear, all in a world of impermanence. For the strength of hope, for strength of soul, may we welcome and hold within, even if only for a time, all the amaranthine petals - and moments - we are given...  

 

 
 
 
 
 
Copyright 2009, 2014 by Cindy Parker. All rights reserved. No part of this blog may be reproduced by any means without the prior written consent of the author.  


I'll always shoot for the stars...

SNOW STARS


Resplendent,

my snow stars, latticed

ice of fragile


symmetry. In

brevity am I held captive

by luminous


lace thrown

from the troposphere

before it melts


on the pane, a limb.


My skin.

Or disappears into the white


nirvana.

I could wish that you’d stay

alive with the earth


the skies and seas.

Stay alive on your journeys,

your starry quests


with me. And yet,

you’ll return, another myriad stars

of snow to see.



Copyright 2014 by Cindy Parker. All rights reserved. No part of this blog may be reproduced by any means without the prior written consent of the author.  

FORTRESS


A world caves in.

And no one has the time of day.

Shadows on the run.

Look. Feel. Listen.

Scratch beneath the surface

and catch them if you can.

Reaching, we falter through outlets

and other routes of escape. Everyone

hides

in some way. Lives losing touch, losing

ground beneath blind marble

headstones.

Dark fields. Dark voices.

Dark wanderings in dark dreams.

Feeling more unsafe on the inside

than out. Buried deep, but reaching.

How to stay strong. Can’t stop crying.

Reaching…but don’t know where I am.

Panic in the deaf dark heavens -- save me

from myself – please show me

what is real.

Hide-away…hide-away me

in dark spaces. Look. Search. Feel.

Leaving no stone unturned because it matters

that you’re there. Trust.

Reaching. You reach back. Finding hearts

in safe places. No one alone, in whatever struggle.

So much released, much more restored,

in the fortress of this circle.

 

Copyright 2014 by Cindy Parker. All rights reserved. No part of this blog may be reproduced by any means without the prior written consent of the author.

HEARTH SONGS


At the threshold,

by west window, young,

cadent boughs turn

dark in the light.

Echoes of snow

falling.

Gaslight my night. The fire at my

hearth is strong. I am not consumed

in the circle of its divinity, but enveloped,

joined to its flames. Touch me, you burn.

Kindred spirits await each other, lyrical

lights emptying

madmen of their lies. Next to

nothing, toss their counterfeit coins

one by one into the wishing

pool of fools.

Quicksand. Redeemed is my robbed

reality. Shalom. Salaam. No more war on my

soul. My seas are incomparable

tanzanite and teal

unparalleled

violet

whorls and waves. Can’t

xerox this.

Young, my coral boughs

zontanós.



Copyright 2014 by Cindy Parker. All rights reserved. No part of this blog may be reproduced by any means without the prior written consent of the author.

NORTH STAR


It has a name, I know it not.



But it cut me in half

and hollowed me out, as

nonchalantly as an avocado,

leaving nothing but a paper

thin


shell, hanging from a tree

in a forest too absent of light

to see even the stars. It is

a matter of sanity, this

living


in the city. A distraction. But

the sun only rises in the windows

of the west. And I miss the stars.

Yet will I look

 
to You, my north star, Yeshua,

my radiance, that I not be overcome

by the darkness inside. Hide me,

oh, my brightness, hide me, from

the night of this world.



Copyright 2009, 2014 by Cindy Parker. All rights reserved. No part of this blog may be reproduced by any means without the prior written consent of the author.  

A POINT OF REFERENCE


My amaranthine stars I touch

beneath endless tides of sky

and cast my dreams, my days into

 

day, from night exiled. Silken

plumes of alpine mist veil the blue-

green domes I hide aloft

 

and trek alone to see.

The laurels blush upon the snow,

columbines awaken

 

through the rocks. A menagerie

of elephant heads jostle along streams

and the hills burn

 

with paintbrush. Nourished,

I enfold and let sadness go, though

it won’t be the last time. I tear

 

through the pages of yesterday

without gasping for air. My wings

will shed many times

 

but not today.
 
 
 

Copyright 2014 by Cindy Parker. All rights reserved. No part of this blog may be reproduced by any means without the prior written consent of the author.