Tag: poet

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)


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)

the illness that wants me all to itself

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the illness that wants me all to itself by Valerie Parente

There are voices in my head
that do not belong to me
and when you ask how I feel
I can feel them speak.
There is a pattern in the language
so ripe with irony,
“To be sick is strong,
to be healthy is weak.
The pain finds a cure
when you cut skin deep.
To be sober is trapped,
to be drunk is free.
When you avoid your fears
their power depletes.”
It’s as if by design,
this backwards philosophy,
and I have to share a home
with the voices on repeat.
But I am no lost cause,
I can still find my speech
and maybe that’s why
I can write it so easily.
This illness wants me all to itself
but it will never have entirety
because as long as I have a pen
I can differentiate between
a voice in my head
and the words that compete.

– Valerie Parente (8-20-2022)

Garden Girl

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Garden Girl by Valerie Parente

Garden girl
the way she unfurled
took a long time
to fulfill her words.

Garden seeds
dirt on her knees
buried her sadness
with a thumb so green.

Garden rain
it’s just a mind-frame
we could be our gloom
or we could be its grace.

Garden growth
from hell she coped
decided to be resilient
in how she spoke.

There is always a choice
between wreckage and poise
she can’t control the weather
but she could control her voice.

The clouds rolled in
and the garden listened
come rain or tears
it does not know the difference.

– Valerie Parente (7-31-2021)

Moonchild Manifesto SUMMARY

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NEW BOOK HERE

Have you been enjoying my poetry? I love to post my work on valerieparente.com to act as a free library for my writing and art. That being said, if you would like a HARD COPY of my latest work (200+ poetry and prose pieces) you can support me by purchasing Moonchild Manifesto: A Poetry & Prose Collection on Amazon.com. (LINK HERE) Coping with the trauma that arises when you have Obsessive Compulsive Disorder during a pandemic and heartbreak and also dealing with the leftover trauma from OCD and anorexia growing up are major themes in Moonchild Manifesto. There is a progression throughout the collection that begins with recognizing pain and heartbreak, transforms into reflection and how your mind could ever get to such a traumatized and obsessive point, and graduates into hopefulness through fantastical allegory-poem hybrids and personal poetic affirmations. Along with stomping out mental health stigma this collection has undertones of feminism, free speech activism, spirituality, and commentary on living through a pandemic. This is easily my favorite project thus far and I would love to share it with the world.

If you liked any of the following pieces on my website you will love them in a full collection that follows a trajectory from The Hurt, The Heal, into The Hope. Some fan favorite poems in Moonchild Manifesto are:

  • Let Go
  • Fishnets
  • The Moon & The Third Eye
  • Venus Fly Trap
  • Like My Dolls
  • These Laurels Were Not Meant To Rest
  • The One That Got Away
  • Your Wardrobe
  • Change, So Bittersweet
  • Why?
  • The Picures I Paint
  • You Look Like You’ve Seen A Ghost
  • In The Jungle
  • Pamper Yourself
  • The Spider Princess
  • Wind Up Toy

– Valerie Parente (7-5-2021)

Divine Design

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Divine Design by Valerie Parente

There’s no such thing as coincidence,
there has to be design,
because how can I find the perfect words,
that just so happen to rhyme?
You’re telling me poets are just lucky?
That language just so happens to coincide,
that there’s rhythm to the psyche,
that can be written in artistic lines,
that the material world naturally mirrors,
the effortless world inside my mind?
No, I don’t believe in luck,
I believe in the divine,
based on every one of your points,
used to describe otherwise.

– Valerie Parente (6-15-2021)

Fever Dream

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Fever Dream by Valerie Parente

It should not be hard to believe
her manifesto is written in poetry
a declaration of every insight
she finalized with the moonlight.
A quill pen in her hand
from the feather of a phoenix
and her tempo flows and flows
a silver tongue put to a scroll.
That poet’s name, it’s Valerie
a doll manifesting her fever dream
collecting lessons like mannequins
while she learns to love again.

– Valerie Parente (6-5-2021)