A Wordsmith, The Original Spellcaster

A Wordsmith, The Original Spellcaster by Valerie Parente

Words.
They are magic spells.
That’s why they call it spelling
when you string these symbols together
and create meaning out of them
to cast what’s inside your head out into the atmosphere
to evoke emotions and reactions out of your peers.

The wordsmith,
the original spellcaster.
The poet,
the witch of language pastures.
The scholar,
the sage becoming a master.
The linguist
the manipulator of matter.
Free speech,
the enchantment we must look after.

– Valerie Parente (3-23-2025)

A Vicious Circle

A Vicious Circle by Valerie Parente

In the circle of life
there is no disconnect between left or right
the farther you stray
the closer you get to being one in the same
meeting in the middle
no matter how much or how little
you try to hide
under the guise of “you and I”
but there is no separation
just a vicious circle of hatred
you can go around the world a thousand times
and see the same shapes, just different sizes.
Maybe it’s time we realize
our point of view isn’t so profound and
you will always come back, full circle,
so you might as well be well rounded.

– Valerie Parente (3-9-2025)

Echo Chamber

Echo Chamber by Valerie Parente

Reverberate
between polar opposite walls
two sides polarized
same anger, different drawls.

Surround yourself
by the hard headed
it’s like a mirror
just noise with a reflection.

The ideas you bring into the world
have a way of profound growth
as long as there’s a hardened surface
they come back one hundred fold.

This chamber, you made
thinking if the space is formal
then you can enact real change
but alas, we talk ourselves in circles.

Now did you know if it happens quick enough
the human ear can never tell
the difference between original sound
and the echoes from someone else?

So talk slow, listen carefully,
go outside, don’t stay in one room,
or the walls of your echo chamber
will eventually close in on you.

– Valerie Parente (12-7-2024)

What Am I To You?

What Am I To You? by Valerie Parente

What am I to you
but a means to breed?

What is my anatomy to you
but a sacrifice so sweet?

What is my pain to you
but a moral victory?

What is my pleasure to you
but a sin to preach?

What is my desperation to you
but a punishment for being free?

What is my free will to you
but a political chess piece?

What is my free will to you
but something to mistreat?

What is my hope to you
but a mere dream?

What am I to you
but a lesser being?

– Valerie Parente (6-28-2022)