Saturday, September 1, 2012


Sun Dance

My beautiful Belle,

ruby treasure mined

from the cache

of ancient Spanish

galleons. From faraway

dreams you came, my

wild west, to ride

among the pines with me,

the oaks and sumac;

to hone me on frozen

clay and rolling fields.

We both were young

and green, out-of-sync

upon the asphalt

until we meshed together

like cogwheels, grinding

down the dross, finally

running with all the colors

of the sun.

Copyright 2011 by Cindy Parker

From the Shadows

She'll tell you she came from

Mississippi and lives

free from the evils of society,

prefering the underpass

to nest a night or two. A

bench to perch upon as

she tucks a few seeds

within the tattered quills

of her sleeves. She'll see

you from the shadows,

numb and quiet. The signs,

she'll tell you she reads

the signs, and books if they

speak the truth. Whose? --

you may ask. But she has

a voice, y'know, and eyes

that'll brighten, returning

a welcomed kindness,

as she gives you the gift

of her name.

Copyright 2011 by Cindy Parker

The Run


of mystery, I

bend with the earth.


Howling desert

transient winds

haunt the paths

of night


and day. Sun leaps

from hill to hill,

swallowing sky.



gleans the stars

left behind. Like Skoll

and Hati, I chase




upon the crags.

I devour the heavens.
Copyright 2011 by Cindy Parker



I don't even know you

and still I cry

even to this day.

The pain in your eyes


angers me. Shames

me. Haunts me. Silence

too is a crime. The speck,

the mote, the humble


grain of sand

we grind to powder. Hate

becomes the millstone


we hang around our necks

and drown ourselves

with. What fools we are.

Copyright 2011 by Cindy Parker

Thursday, February 16, 2012


Shore lights beam pathways

upon the bay. Darkness is calm

and surrenders to the beckoning

peace. Boats troll silently

disappearing behind the sleek

veil of night. The current sings,

awakening the stars that skip

like stones across the sea

of sky. Oars strum against

the midnight surface. I listen

as moon echoes songs shared

with rock and wave. The Star

of India is adrift, soundless

in my mind, alone beneath

the starry grid. Raven. Somber.

Obsolescent. But I walk

the isthmus between us,

eager to board. Raising the mast,

the journeyman sets the compass

toward the rising sun without

a word. He looks at me,

knowing we travel together.

Copyright 2011 by Cindy Parker