Blessed Foolishness

m parkes inappropriate love
from my favorite artist Michael Parkes

After belaboring sowing and reaping,

and reminding that Karma is a bitch,

I laud blessed foolishness.

There are things in our living

that can make tricksters of us.

Absolute fools.

The high card of them all

is love.

Praise affection

familial and friendly.

For me, nothing compares to

Eros —

Who sets one cockeyed silly bombastic

earthmoving and roving,

melt-earth-and-rocks foolish.

I do experience this

addicting affliction in my lifetime.

It is fully irrational,

falling to pieces to give all my pieces away.

Mister Toad’s wild ride careens

between crashing chaos and

pummeling wind

euphoria

mounting the silken enchanted carpet.

This love takes body, soul, goods and

sanity.

Foreshadowing of the searing slicing

pain

of Eros’ love’s end

haunts, bites and blunts.

It leaves me with

gratitude

that I live authentically

recklessly

from my foolish smitten heart.

I lose all. I find all.

No one can take this away —

body and soul are knit.

I am the fool clown for love.

I live on.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

To Darling Daring Don (Juan)

mp for me
Art ~ Michael Parkes

Salute to a man

real man

who is man enough

to be with a dimensional

smart wild woman.

Cheers to a man

who has courage to choose life

against all pressure in a culture

in a coma dead from feeling.

Choosing, choosing, choosing for himself

— not just talking about “no boundaries”

but choosing to love and not fear

a woman of light, shadow and vitality.

Hurry to me.

 

 

 

Wrestling with an Angel

mparkes unraveling himWrestling with an angel

and prevailing….

Ah, the mystical

mystique of the thought —

To wrestle all night

with a mysterious stranger

who begs to be gone

before daylight.

Wrestling with an angel

and prevailing….

After such a wrestling match,

you still get wounded

and you limp with the imbalance

and memory of it

for the remainder of life.

bonnat-jacob-detail
Detail from online art

OF YOU (a feeble effort at a love sonnet)

parkes_for-mirror
Art ~ Michael Parkes

My eye delights in you with disbelieving relish.

You are my perfumed paradise destination.

My love for you spans to the rock-pounding horizon.

The world with you is my eye-candy dish.

My love is for joy. I am not selfish.

My purpose is delight – not breeding-stock procreation.

The glory of far flung love is for our celebration.

Choose me to be your purple fragrant fetish.

 

 

 

Not Alone

parkes-buy-falling-michael-art-magic-coast.original
Falling ~ by Michael Parkes

According to the prophet Daniel, the Hebrew teenagers, Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego were thrown into a furnace for refusing to worship the Babylonian king Nebuchadnezzar.

They were Divinely protected from the fire by a 4th being walking around in the flames, and finally taken out of the furnace. Daniel reports they did not even retain the smell of smoke after they were rescued.

Daniel also records Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego had actually been saved by “someone like the Son of God”.

Quite the story.

I have dealt with my own fiery trial over the last some months. That furnace is history.

Yes, I have survived. But I can’t seem to heal these singes or shake this smell of smoke.

Not quickly. Not alone.

This “someone like the Son of God” is slow and subtle.

Quite the story.

Day 4 of Exile: Pellucidity

 

MichaelParkes-for adul
Art ~ Michael Parkes

Longing for naked pellucidity,

hoping for carnal reciprocity,

begging like a bitch beneath his table.

In the end,  he was simply unable

to be courageous and transparent.

I do not blame him.

It’s the centuries of inbred obtusity.

Woe is me.

Woebegone are we.

 

 

 

 

Heal Thyself . . . ?

michael-parkes-diamond-warrior-preview_1424x1187_marked
Art ~ Michael Parkes

CAN POETRY MEND A BROKEN HEART?

 

Maybe writing poetry can mend my heart –

But most likely not reading it.

Although I LOVE reading your poems.

The cliché says time heals.

Not sure I have that much time.

“Incarnational” healing means “in the flesh” healing.

That would be your poetic hands all over my body.

Yes.

 

In response to a prompt from @Realistic Poetry.