she is the tree whisperer (A Fantasy Chronicle)

she is the tree whisperer by Valerie Parente

Little baby girl
found at the bottom of a tree
nestled in the moss
along the tree’s anatomy
but she was not alone
in her perfectly sound sleep;
for the lullabies of the tree spirits
kept her warmth and company.

Found by three druids
but raised by two
they named her Sylvianna
under the wake of the moon,
offered her a home in the village
but she kindly refused
because there with the tree spirits
she felt connected to her roots.

Sylvianna grew to know the forest
like the back of her hand
from the tip of her toes
to her antennas of branch
receiving the whispers
from the lay of the land
learning about lifetimes
far beyond man.

With nails like claws
Sylvianna climbed to her kingdom
a network of treehouses
where she learned from the brilliant.
For there is a reason that trees
are known for their wisdom
because they’ve heard it all
throughout the ecosystem.

She is the tree whisperer
and she is one with the Nightingale forest
protecting the very territory
that granted her solace.
She had the option to leave
nature’s cruelty and harshness
but she whispered to herself,
“I’d much rather be haunted.”

Bitch!

Bitch! by Valerie Parente

She says “I’m not your bitch”
but he sure was possessive,
eager to identify her
through his own perspective.
When that woman was assertive
she got called aggressive
when she used her brain
she was oh so deceptive
when she remembered his betrayal
she was so damn obsessive.

But you don’t fool me
though I’ll admit, it’s impressive
how you’ve villainized the female
in the conscious collective.
Since the beginning of time
the men in charge were defensive
talking down to “little girls”
but we knew the real message
they didn’t want an even playing field
they wanted outright oppression.

No I’m not your bitch
but I’ve learned my lesson
go ahead and call me one
7 days out of 7
I’ll carry the weight you gave the word
when you were busy deflecting;
now who’s the stronger sex
in this pointless competition
the one calling names
or the one making the impression?

– Valerie Parente (9-4-2023)


Ship In A Bottle


Ship In A Bottle by Valerie Parente

I was meant to go places
but I was too afraid
so I hid in a bottle
and became a display.
Trying to preserve myself
might have been a mistake
because now I crave touch
but I’m perfectly encased.
Now I’ve come to realize
as I get older with age
I wasn’t fragile to begin with
I made myself this way
piecing myself together
in a teeny tiny space.
I limited my horizon
when I had potential for waves
but I know better now
this glass, I can break
and when the shards fall
I won’t be bound to one place.

– Valerie Parente (7-20-2023)

grief is the proof that love connects the living to the dead

grief is the proof that love connects the living to the dead
by Valerie Parente


We live in 3 dimensions
but we die into more.
It feels like loved ones “have been”
but my dear, they still occur.
You have been trained to feel saddened
because you can’t see them anymore
but that’s the living’s misconception,
the dead are still here, in a different form.
We struggled for a definition
so we came up with a new word,
called it “grief”, but it’s really “connection”
to a state beyond this world.

– Valerie Parente (8-4-2023)

Thorns


Thorns by Valerie Parente

Thorns,
wringing my neck
hijacking my own prose
and taking my own breath.

Thorns,
tangled with my veins
I long to protect
the thing that constrains.

Thorns,
why do I wear them proud
as if their scratches
make me profound.

Thorns,
mistaken for a preference
I say I’m comfortable with them
but the discomfort is ever present.

Thorns,
such a cruel joke
because my favorite flower
has always been a rose.

Afraid To Fly

Afraid To Fly by Valerie Parente

I have these wings
but I’m too scared to fly
so I pluck out each feather
off my arched spine.
I whisper to them,
“You can never be mine,”
as I rip each feather out
then cross my heart and hope to hide.
I’ve always been cautious
too conscientious to try,
I don’t throw caution to the wind
I throw potential aside.
But these wings always grew back
and I started to realize
every time I crossed my heart
you began to cross my mind.
I was scared to death
when I let the wings reside
but I’ll tell you this
I no longer fear the sky.
They say wings belong to angels
but maybe it’s time
to accept I am the savior
who will answer my own cries.

– Valerie Parente (7-14-2023)

Ravenheart: These Veins Are Not In Vain (A Fantasy Chronicle)

Ravenheart:
These Veins Are Not In Vain (A Fantasy Chronicle)
by Valerie Parente

The veins on her hands
like trees with no leaves
black and branching out
along her anatomy.

That ravenheart pumped,
her sanctum of midnight,
filtering the darkness
in the dead of the night.

It only hurts a little
to be made of this blood
she got used to the pain
and the love it’s made of.

She looks to her veins
and knows they’re not in vain
because with these hands
she learned to create.

Since her birth in the thunder
she whispered before her slumber
a promise the shadows bid unto her
these words of ancient scripture,
“Take this black hole
and make it whole
feed that world
no others know.
Use great stress
to create great depth
and with this alchemy
you destroy fear of death.”

– Valerie Parente (6-9-2023)

Stony Brook

Stony Brook by Valerie Parente

Words about my self are so cold
because this conscious stream is frozen.
I’m making faces under the surface
in the name of what’s unspoken.

I questioned life on solid ground,
but I never stood a chance
at clinging to the rocks
that blistered my own hands.

Underneath the ice I laid on
was an isolation I schemed
where I was swept away by the current
as the current swept by me.

I still cross that stony brook
but I know better this time
holding my own breath
in a space so traumatized.

– Valerie Parente (5-26-2023)