Category: Poetry

Sunlight Chapel (A Fantasy Chronicle)

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The Sunlight Chapel (A Fantasy Chronicle)

The sunlight chapel
was filled with treasures
that mankind cannot
begin to measure.
You will see Sol priestesses
when you enter,
and you will be greeted
by floating embers
suspended between breaths
of the chapel’s dwellers
wearing golden dresses
and crowns of amber feathers.
These priestesses will teach you
for they’re oh so clever
harnessing wisdom from light
they’re energy is tethered
to the mighty sun
no matter the weather.

The world is full of pain
and the night will always test
the darkness of the sky
like a hole inside your chest
but the Sol priestesses know
this wisdom above the rest,
At the end of the day
you can go to bed a mess
but come the morning light
your mindset must reset.
Every morning the sun rises
is a morning you are blessed.
Every morning arrises
and you are its witness;
the sunlight lives in you
and don’t you dare forget.

– Valerie Parente (9-15-2023)

she is the tree whisperer (A Fantasy Chronicle)

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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!

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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

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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

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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)

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

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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

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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)

Her

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Her by Valerie Parente

You never knew her
You knew of her
And the way
She played with fire
Just like every
Woman prior
Who learned the hard way
To be the wiser
Against the system
That would conspire
To dim the light
From her lighter.
A scarlet red
She is a fighter
Among the flames
She has grown brighter.

– Valerie Parente (5-21-2023)