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 Apr 2016 Parker
Marisa Lu Makil
To the long car rides
And the junk food trips
To the loud radio
And miscellaneous gifts
To the goodbye hugs
And “Hello agains”
To the happy beginnings
And all the sad ends
To the “You look goods”
And the “Eh, not so much’s”
And the deep conversations
That no one else touches
To the 5-minute arguments
And later apologies
And the “How do you do this?”
And the help with technology
To the I-can’t-hear country songs
And the speaker-vibrating bass
And the dealing with people
With undeserved grace
To the long midnight laughter
‘Till we’re told to shut up
And the splitting of drinks
Between two paper cups
To the cooking our own stuff
‘*** we’re just that cool
And the angry frustrations
With people at school
To the late-night shrieks because of the mice
And letting them go because we’re so nice
Here’s to the worst times
The bad, and the good
And here’s to “I love you”
And “By me you’ve stood”
I love you, dearie
And I always will
So here’s to 18
And time standing still
To my sweet, sweet cousin. Happy 18th.
 Oct 2015 Parker
Donall Dempsey
The wood shavings curl &
curl to my father's voice

as he sings to the wood
releasing its scent

wave upon wave
of pine

crashing upon
this shore of summer

its morning long
forgotten.

This wood will shape shift
into a chair leg

dovetailing into
the song he sings

as the wood listens
to every syllable

as if his singing
coaxed into being

chair leg...window frame
stool or saddle.

"Oh believe me if al those
endearing young charms..."

and the wood swoons
to his planning

'''...that I gaze at so
fondly today."

Moore's melodies and pine
reaches back in time

to grasp
the moment

lost to my mind
but now returning

to its rightful place
as wood becomes chair leg

to my father's
singing.
There would be no stop and sing time or now we are singing time...songs and poems were threaded through needle's eye of reality and stitched into my consciousness. Moore's melodies and such arrived in the act of planing wood or digging potatoes or making a bicycle from scratch from scraps found abandoned. The Da was an inveterate shed maker and anything that could be built in a shed and a great maker of bicycles...a bike for all ten of us! The songs and poems flowed through the ordinary process of the day which I through an emotional osmosis soaked up through my very being...music mapping the invisible landscape of the hidden self.

After Thomas Moore's wife, Elizabeth, was badly scarred by smallpox, she refused to leave her room, believing herself ugly and unlovable. To convince her his love was unwavering, Moore composed the ‘Endearing’ poem which he set to an old Irish melody and sang outside her bedroom door. He later wrote that this restored her confidence and re-kindled their love.

BELIEVE me, if all those endearing young charms,
Which I gaze on so fondly to-day,
Were to change by to-morrow, and fleet in my arms,
Like fairy-gifts, fading away!
Thou wouldst still be ador'd as this moment thou art,
Let thy loveliness fade as it will;
And, around the dear ruin, each wish of my heart
Would entwine itself verdantly still!
II.
It is not while beauty and youth are thine own,
And thy cheeks unprofan'd by a tear,
That the fervour and faith of a soul can be known,
To which time will but make thee more dear!
Oh! the heart, that has truly lov'd, never forgets,
But as truly loves on to the close;
As the sun-flower turns on her god, when he sets,
The same look which she turn'd when he rose!

When the Kintetsu Yoshino Line's special express Type 16600 or Type 26000 "Sakura Liner" trains depart Asuka Station (in Asuka, Takaichi District, Nara Prefecture, Japan) a rendition of the tune is played within the train to announce departure. In Japan, the tune is also known as "Shine with the Flowers of Spring Days".
 Apr 2015 Parker
Arlo Disarray
My brain is a train wreck
with fifty trains crashing at once. I've always got so many ideas
rushing through my head,
and little time to do anything with them.
I never sleep,
I'm always writing,
drawing,
painting,
sculpting,
playing music
or what have you.

It's honestly a nightmare.

But I never want to wake up.
 Jan 2015 Parker
Devon Webb
Box
 Jan 2015 Parker
Devon Webb
Box
I packed my past-lovers
into a box and
put it on the
top shelf of
things been and gone,
leaving it to
gather dust
like a heart
gathers apathy.
I crave your deepest secrets in the deep crevices of your soul.
i crave those filthy words of which you speak,
i crave your touch filled with lust, the innocence and empathy you give me lingers throughout my body like poison in my veins.
It burns and i find it pleasurable.
Am i bad for wishing for this pain? am i bad for wishing i was inside your mind hearing every thought you think?
Am I Mad?
 Jan 2015 Parker
Ivy Swolf
To fall asleep tonight I'm thinking of last night's
dreams and tomorrow's nightmares all at once
like re-runs of the same television show aired years ago
by another person in another body, and I wonder
if they felt the distinct absence
of everything... a pain that has no source, but that can pierce
every nerve in my entire body until I'm screaming louder
than the ambulance's siren. At night we are all passengers
waiting for the sunrise's journey. And tonight I will think about
how the nurses feel when their patient dies
before they arrive at the hospital,
if they feel the pain that exploded from the victim's last breath,
if their ribcages feel just as hallow
as the ambulance itself is without anyone to rescue.
I flip on the television in my eyes, and suddenly
all I see is static.
I have been so stressed lately with the millions of things I haven't been getting done. Been the victim all day of a raging headache. I hope this makes sense, please let me know what you think... as always, constructive criticism is very welcome **
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