Wildflower

Wildflower by Valerie Parente

Wildflower.
Pressed against these pages,
just a bookmark of these phases,
in all your waxing and waning,
tissue paper petals for taking,
in this meadow I’ve been saving,
unintentional in all its making,
from seeds that stray adjacent,
once so wild, now so patient,
poetry on a page that’s been dated,
where my Wildflower lies naked,
years after the displacement,
a simple plant so complicated.

– Valerie Parente (5-4-2021)

The Pictures I Paint

The Pictures I Paint by Valerie Parente

The hurt painted a different picture
and that is okay.
I can work on a new canvas
without changing yesterday.
Nothing is mutually exclusive
when it comes to heartache.
There’s an art to this heart
and everything that I say.
You can be my one and only
despite the past pain.
I forgive and I give
and continue to paint.
Another picture, this time with hope
and this one will be framed.

– Valerie Parente (4-23-2021)

Incense

Incense by Valerie Parente

These incense
in a scent
bid my innocence
in a sense
’cause I am aware
of the consciousness we share
like smoke everywhere
as it fills the sweet air.

– Valerie Parente (4-23-2021)

Value In Pain

Value In Pain by Valerie Parente

At the end of the day
you are only as valuable as your pain.
Anybody can do good when they feel good
but tell me what you gain
when you’re far from fine.
Do you learn from your broken heart?
Or do you let it deteriorate your mind?
Tell me what you create
when expression is the focal point
and everything else
is no more than background noise.

– Valerie Parente (4-21-2021)

Virtuoso

Virtuoso by Valerie Parente

The virtuoso had a way with sound,
able to move every rock or stone,
forcing movement through sound waves,
that’s how she moved every soul.

“I feel everything you fear,”
she told the townsfolk,
and she sat before piano keys,
as they watched the organ grow.

Every new listener
was as good as fooled,
they thought they were witnesses,
but they were really her muse.

The years went by,
and this girl continued to play,
playing on others’ emotions,
and for years, that was okay.

But the townspeople became suspicious
as she built a world so profound,
and it wasn’t much longer
until they had her all figured out.

People lit their torches,
with one hope in return,
if she was still going to play,
she might as well get burnt.

That piano caught fire,
in this land full of discipline,
as if a village were ablaze,
on top of the instrument.

The surface of the piano,
grew higher and higher,
like cottages inflamed,
and she still felt inspired.

The townsfolk failed in their mission,
to mute the music with heat,
because sound can withstand,
any temperament you preach.

– Valerie Parente (4-19-2021)

Poetry: Sight and Sound

Poetry: Sight and Sound by Valerie Parente

There’s something about using words to paint a vivid picture
while creating rhythms and rhymes with your diction.
The combination of sight and sound
is what makes poetry so profound.
Whether I’m telling a fantasy story or declaring my feelings,
I’m inclined to write it like art to catalyze the healing
and poetry speaks to my soul most effectively
and I think it translates to the reader effortlessly.

– Valerie Parente (4-17-2021)

The Seven Swords

The Seven Swords by Valerie Parente

He was an elven warrior,
wielding a mighty sword,
an Excalibur that glowed,
in dire times of war.

There were six other swords,
each emanating a vibrant hue,
violet, indigo, green, yellow,
orange, scarlet, and his was blue.

This elf belonged to the clouds,
his people charged the stars,
on a stratosphere of temples,
each lighting up the dark.

Sky-born elves were peaceful,
up until a decade ago,
when archangels from underground,
took the stars as their own.

Ever since that catastrophic heist,
the world was never the same,
all creatures lived in the dark,
using torches to illuminate.

That’s when the seven swords
broke their hibernation,
their glow was the key,
to defeating hell’s nation.

The blue sword resided in a raincloud,
violet was stored on the lilac beach,
indigo hid away in the catacombs,
green perched in the forts of trees,
yellow in the sunlight chapel,
orange in the nymph observatory,
and scarlet in the wicked forest,
that guarded hell from enemies.

All seven swords were retrieved,
by different breeds of man,
elves, witches, trolls, and more,
each ready to take a stand.

Every retrieval was its own tale,
but that is for another day,
today we discuss the battle,
that took place at hell’s gates.

The archangels fought hard,
to keep the world in the dark,
but the seven swords fought harder
to find the light that was lost.

For seven days and seven nights,
the battleground was on fire,
and sword after sword,
illuminated like a lighter.

The archangels were defeated,
by the myriad of colors,
and every time one deceased,
they exploded like no other.

A rainbow of brilliant rays,
shot up like a beam to the sky,
and if each archangel carcass,
became a new kind of starlight.

Ever since that fateful day,
the blue sword became a symbol,
absorbing the light in the sky,
that once belonged to dismal.

We learn from the seven swords,
that sometimes the darkest minds,
just need a little spark,
to surrender to the bright side.

– Valerie Parente (4-16-2021)

Black and White

Black and White by Valerie Parente

They say the higher you climb,
the harder the fall,
but if you ask me,
that doesn’t make sense at all.
When I’m sky high,
the clouds are my cushion,
the sun is my eyes,
and the moon is my vision.
I see a gradient in everything,
life is not black and white,
“all is good, all is evil,”
is a fallacy old as time.
I see it from the cliff,
the gifted and the damned,
and there’s really no difference,
between those two hands.
Every blessing has its dark hours,
every curse can shed a light,
it’s about finding the gray area,
between the black and white.
The hurt feels so dark,
the hope, a bright light,
the heal, a full moon,
connecting day to night.

– Valerie Parente (4-14-2021)

Grab Your Crystals

Grab Your Crystals by Valerie Parente

She cracked open her chest
and pulled a cluster of crystals out
ready to thrive again
like rain after the longest drought.

The world was shut down
and she was shut off
locked away in a cave
growing rocks in the dark.

Some rocks were iridescent,
picking up hues from her moods,
some rocks were rose colored wands,
sharing a beautiful body of truth,
some rocks were translucent towers,
pointing to her next move,
some rocks were marble orbs,
reminding her what she had to lose.

So grab the crystals you’ve been saving
in the shape of a heart
hold them up to the sunlight
and watch your dark side depart.

– Valerie Parente (4-13-2021)

Ghostly

Ghostly by Valerie Parente

She was dead 10 months ago,
free to roam on her own,
she could go anywhere… anywhere at all,
except the place that she belonged.

It was a kind of art, being haunted,
and to be the one doing the haunting,
she mastered it ever so well,
translating and transferring her hell.

Nearly a year passed, and the day came,
where she was resurrected from her pain,
it didn’t happen because people believed,
it happened because she finished her grief.

She is still ghostly under the moon,
and that should be a warning to you,
you can never scare her with death threats,
because she already knows what it’s like to be dead.

– Valerie Parente (4-12-2021)