JANET BRICE PARKER

Artist • Poet • Author • Songwriter

Watercolor flowers by Janet Brice Parker

Rhymes and Reasons

Poetry

“To me, a poem is simply a painting made of words.”

Poems, stories and reflections by Janet Brice Parker — gathered into one searchable library.

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1955

On summer mornings in 1955, barefoot boys fill their pockets with marbles, pennies, nickels, string, and secrets. Bicycles and boys converge and begin their journey. The small store exudes scents and captures eyes with c

1976

I cried today. Long wailing sobs. The kind that only a mother knows. It started with a photograph from 1976. The boys were in a discombobulated line with other children. Bicycles intertwined with arms, legs and feet. Mon

36 Years

I fell in love with you 47 years ago. I had no idea that a job interview could be so telling. It’s a cliché, I suppose, but I glanced at you and felt love at first sight. I knew if I got the job, my life would be changed

82 Years of Memories

82 years of memories Make me a mixed-up chick. Part of me’s a writer; Parts can’t write a lick. Maybe I’m a Renaissance woman, ‘Cause I know a lot about nothing. Or maybe I’m just a bum—and My poems are coming and going.

ABANDONMENT

she lies hanging onto life in chrome and steel cold white sheets blinding lights and doctors circling like a blurred carousel can she think now? does she remember the faces she sees through one filtered eye. does she lon

The Act

She was beaten down, treated poorly. For years she tried not to look the other way. To glance at those who pulled at her heart. She was an actress, playing a role for family and friends. She appeared fine, happy eve

The Adoption—A true story

My aunt, Sylvia couldn’t have babies, so she and her husband, Bill, decided to adopt. This was in 1942, when adoption wasn’t so complicated and didn’t take nearly as long. Karen became available at nine months old. Her b

AFRICAN CHILD

Kampala sunset falls on peasants, exhausted, spent. Simple meals from things grown to feed themselves and their children. Kayendeke clutches her ragdoll while her small body slides onto her cot. A time for dreams of suns

Afternoon Blues

Afternoon Blues I never thought that at age 82, I could feel such contentment with my life and be hopelessly in love with my husband of 36 years. Our years together have always been easy, although people find that hard

Alona

Your face has inspired me since I first saw that picture Joe sent me of you and your parents in a sea of sunflowers. The sunflower, a beautiful representation of your homeland. Ukraine was lovely then with tall, blonde g

AND THE LIVIN’ IS EASY

New Year’s Day down by the river. A picnic, and watching water move in soft ripples Summer clothes pulled from plastic boxes, and worn on this sunny sixty eight degree day. Bare feet run on a sandy playground. Children r

ANDREW

A boy in our lives, briefly. A sweaty energetic thirst for everything at once. Nine years of bright eyes and excitement in the moment. A boy with new intentions suspended over mind and body. Messy, with coke and candy ri

ANGLES

Why are we horizontal? Sun sets from sky to sea. We wash ourselves in healing rain, that makes us clean and free. While sharing talk and laughter, connection is made with our eyes. But, we must look up and speak His name

ANOTHER VIEW

It’s important to know that no matter what, Whatever you’re doing can be given up. If you’re thinking your world is the be-all end-all Something could happen to break down that wall. At first you will fight it, hang on t

APRIL, 1987

I’m writing these thoughts because I feel strung out. I’m frustrated, tired and having doubts. Words through a pen are an outlet, you see But will the paper hold up - and me? Things just haven’t been right for months. It

The Art of Remembering

I’m still a dorm, sorority, college girl in my memories. They come in vivid colors and imagery. It’s kind of nice to go back there and visit in my mind. Visit the smells of art classes, turpentine, linseed oil and ink. L

ARTSY and ODD

I’m an old lady now. I wouldn’t go back To those shy, insecure years. Those years when I almost apologized for my existence. Years when I thought everyone Was scrutinizing my entire being. I didn’t think I was pretty or

ASSURANCE

Awakening earth of crystalline eternity, breathes beyond comprehension. Hovering absolutes and revelation are in His time. Janet Brice Parker

AVOIDANCE

There is a greater scheme of things Yet we focus on possessions. We’re drawn into the narrow realm Of trinkets and obsessions. Days and months and years are spent Anticipating goods. “If we acquire materials… We’ll be th

BACKROADS

Backroads and faded beauty at exit 19, A Florida from the past. Houses with rusty screened-in porches, some abandoned, others occupied. Both are surrounded by live oak and palm trees. Colorless Spanish moss drips and swa

Bamboo

Bamboo grows thick and tall outside of our screened in porch. Lofty stalks reaching toward the sky give us a feeling of protection. A false sense of security hidden from strangers and beyond. We think we’re secluded from

BAMBOO SWING

1972 ~ A southern summer weekend at a borrowed lake house. I watch my tiny precious sons explore rocks, bugs and a weathered wooden dock. We splash in the cool water, see sailboats floating in the distance and star-like

Barely There

Black shorts You can hardly see Cause they’re covered By an extra large T. Bare legs walk all over Wal Mart and Target rolling a grocery cart. Y’all look naked Y’all look bare You walk around like you don’t even care. Sk

Bathing Suit

Had to order a bathing suit I looked on Amazon I googled “A suit for old women” To wear in the Florida sun. It has a skirt that covers a lot My stomach is hidden away Gone are the days when I was fine, My hair is turnin

BENJAMIN BRICE HARRISON

An awakening. A holy reception for one so immediate and small. Divine favor invoked upon us. Within his tiny life he holds a heritage that spans the world. From Ukraine’s snow to California’s warmth. A son, inconceivably

BIRDIE

I met her on the set of a movie. Extras in a sea of more extras. We sat next to each other in the “church scene”. She asked me about my turquoise ring. We talked about music,art and writing. I asked her name. “Birdie”, s

BIRTH

For published poetry and art on Kudzu Monthly, 2003 Painful summer. No carefree breeze to end the plight of restless nights. But, first-born calls and I am broken. Janet Brice Parker

The Blame poem (class,63).

THE BLAME They say we were crazy, a bunch of nuts. Rebels, radicals, hippies and such. Our generation invented the "gap." Our parents were "dullsville," off of the map. We were selfish, self-centered, though, love was "f

THE BLINDS

I interrogate my memory. No answers. Only ominous emotions, filtering through as imitation sunlight, cold aluminum against winter glass. What happened when the blinds were down but the slats were open? I still can’t brea

Blink of an eye poem.

THE BLINK OF AN EYE What if we had slipped through the cracks? If time had proceeded or receded and space had not allowed us to encounter its perfect rhythm? Would you forever be in my heart and would my longing destroy

BON SECOUR

Down the road, through the live oaks and hanging moss, the Bon Secour river spreads out. It’s’ ripples and slow movements call to ducks that cross the river in straight lines. I want to live on the river and soak up its

Book Walls

Here I am, lost in books. One after another after another. Living the lives of character’s motions, thoughts and surroundings. I hope no one calls and interrupts my world. Talkative people who travel down branches, off-s

BORN TO BOOGIE

I hope there will never come a time when I won’t want to get up and dance, go out on the town, let the music take hold and the wild side within feel enhanced. I don’t want to get tired, reside in requires, deprived of an

BOYS

Boys talk big around big boys But when confronted With a curve, Are reduced to babbling babies, It’s hilarious to observe.

BRICE

Witty and cute. The same face I looked upon when you were five, only the mass of freckles have faded and been replaced by a touch of sunshine’s rays. Beautiful smile and a laugh to go with it. Goodness abounds deep in yo

Buffett

Jimmy Buffett is gone. The sunshine did him in. He gave us songs to carry on And move to the beat of fins. Recordings aren’t the same as colors and dancing all night To listen is to gain the sounds of songs that delight

BURGUNDY ROSE

Take the roses away. Do not press them into my hands and make me gaze upon their sorrowful maroon and burgundy hues. Cast them outside and let the sun dry them into rich yellows and browns. Let the petals follow the bird

BUT WHEN SHE WAS BAD,

SHE WAS HORRID.” I remember when I was only three, I knew the good and bad in me. I showed the good and shined in their favor. The bad was unacceptable behavior. The pull divided my little soul. The bad appealed, often t

THE CABIN

Cradled in the midst of live oak trees, a canopy of Spanish moss reaches down and touches our souls. A charming log cabin greets us. I sit and imagine the history of this place. Occupants warming their toes by the fire.

THE CALL OF THE DAY

How are you doing, Mama? Oh, not so very bad. I’m sore down in my lower back from the tumbling fall I had. I’ve been right busy lately. Played Bingo the other day. didn’t win a single dime But had fun, so that’s okay. Th

CAMP PARKER

Our rustic little house, “Camp Parker” is tucked into a hillside and is our dream home. Life within its’ walls is cozy, welcoming, eclectic. Mismatched yard sale furnishings create a cheerful background for music which f

Can somebody help me?

Somebody please? I’ve got to find Fanny Do you have any leads? You see, Uncle Grover owned a picture show and Fanny’s daddy made the movie films go. Fanny would come by after school and talk to my grandpa who worked ther

CARIBBEAN CHRISTMAS

From Christmas day spent on private island Cruise, 2000 Published with art on Kudzu Monthly, 2003 He walks along the shore and breaks into laughter as He takes our hands. We circle through palms, and dance barefoot in th

Catherine's song poem

You call and you’re voice soothes me. We talk about you and me and our family You send me way down deep into south Alabama Where my grandmother’s utterances sounded like yours. You make me want to come over to your big o

CAVERNS

It seeps into my pores like mean-spirited prickles. A cavern forms in the pit of my stomach and travels upward to jab my heart with stabbing pain. The sun is hazy and the rocks are dry. Warm weather does not heal my empt

The Ceiling Fan poem.

THE CEILING FAN I awaken with, "another day" written on my lips. I watch the turns of the ceiling fan and wish that it would dip around me with a whirling force of energy and play. My body knows the sting of age. Another

CHRISTMAS 1987

I said, “I’ll just skip Christmas”. I’ll exclude myself this year. Carols and bells and fare-the-wells Are not what I need to hear. I’ve had some traumas and turmoil, I don’t want to smell the pine Try me again another y

Church

It took half a lifetime for me to come to Jesus. I still don’t like to go to church with its old people wrapped in stained glass and musty coats. Silent feet treading on stale carpet place me back into a judgmental congr

THE CLASS OF 1963

24th class reunion Guards are dropped, respect is gained For those we barely noticed. Hearing tales of human lives that were not candy coated. Dressing up from the inside out not needing to impress, Admitting flaws of yo

Clean Hands poem.

CLEAN HANDS The soap in my grandmother’s bathroom dish was misshapen. A malformed Easter egg with multicolored lumps and cracks. Daily dirt ran through pink, blue and white. The mark of a boy before mealtime. I never li

Closet Basket Case

A CLOSET BASKET CASE I spend hours on my closet, organize and rearrange. Transfer all the clutter ‘cause my life depends on change. The whites all go together, then the blues and then the greens. I’m panicked over what t

The Closet is Clothes to Being Full

I shop in the thrift stores and other re-used haunts. I’m afraid I buy most anything I want. Then I go from cheap to the Free People store. There were plaid pants there that I could not ignore. My shopping has gotten so

The Cloth poem.

THE CLOTH I don’t want to race from store to store, chasing magazine ads that make promises. Model clone clothes draped on an empty shell. So much to pay for a questionable compliment. I want to dance unaware of steps in

Cocky Crock poem.

COCKY CROCK A poem about Stoney silliness and trite comments and cocky degradation. Immature mentality and mindless information. Self-absorbing attitude "I soak me like a sponge." You talk and I don't hear a word. My own

Colorful serenade poem.

COLORFUL SERENADE I collect colorful bottles. Stories of dinner and wine, a street dweller finishing off the brown one and throwing it aside for a junk dealer to pick up and sell to me. The bottles are red, yellow, pink,

COLORING

I don’t like a blank piece of paper, I must watch it fill up with words, Like a wave that ends on the sandy shore Or a clear sky dotted with birds. I stretch my imagination While fearing that it will snap back To an unth

The Colors of Rain

An evening on the porch, Glasses of white wine reflect gratitude for the rain that beats down  a blistering hot day. Rushing clouds spill water across grass and hay, creating an intoxicating space around us. A fresh, cle

COMMON GROUND

Glitter blue star water. Azure liquid descending through slow-motion miles of darkness to it's deepest part. A place where watercolor creatures weave brilliance in an instinctive choreographed destiny. Common ground on b

THE COMPANY OF ONE

I take pleasure in my own company. Sometimes too much, I suppose. The joy I derive from imaginative confines becomes a paradox. A longing for someone outside of myself slips through the cracks of my psyche. So few friend

Comparisons poem.

COMPARISONS They delight in the simplest things. Laughs and smiles over a game of peep eye. I stand in the grocery line and in front of me little legs bounce up and down while tiny hands pat the cart’s handle. Then they

CONCLUSIONS

Jumping to conclusions Expounding immediate views, Void of information Unwilling to hear the truths. Making a final judgment, Determining dont’s and do’s. Painting a private picture With ghastly blinding hues. Janet Bric

confidentpoem.

CONFIDENCE Dissatisfaction with the seasons and how her face appears has lessened. She feels a cool relief in recent reflective years. She doesn’t object to approaching change, revealed from the window pane, the image in

Confusing Relief

Am I healing by doing nothing? Or is this an excuse to shut down? To slide through the days and expect nothing of myself? I feel disconnected to the creator. Or could my silence be a prayer? I resume my history of pain a

CONTRASTS

Contrasts of naked trees and evergreens. A frigid day evaporates like ice, and morning is gifted with balmy breezes beneath the sun. Weather designates like moods from dark to light. Whispering advances flow west to east

COTTAQUILLA

Sometimes I wish I was back at camp Where my only concern was sheets that felt damp I’d like to sing about “Our Chalet” and really believe I would go there one day. To hike the Badlands, pitch a tent, cook campfire stew

CRADLE AND ALL

I looked at the back of your neck and stroked soft skin and silky hair. I was filled with love and maternal longing. Longing for that moment to stand still. But moments do not desist for the asking. So, I placed the gent

crafts fair poem # 2.

CRAFTS FAIR Funnel cakes and moo moos, hot dogs and tacky art. Sounds of Jimmy Buffett songs belted from the heart. Sun tan oil and mustard floating through the air. Beer and cotton candy at a seaside craftsy fair. The o

Crafts Fair poem.

CRAFTS FAIR For published art and poetry Kudzu Monthly, 2003 Funnel cakes and moo moos, hot dogs and tacky art. Sounds of Jimmy Buffett's songs belted from the heart. Sun tan oil and mustard floating through the air. Bee

Creative Types

I’ve gone crazy a time or two been put in the looney bin cause I didn’t have a clue. They say we are different, us creative types. I guess we’re a little off kilter, cause our brains work from the right. We’re writers, a

CREDIT DUE

When I feel impressed with my spiritual strides, my backward steps will trip me. Janet Brice Parker

CRIES

I burst out crying in the shower tonight- Missing Grandaddy who died years ago. I never really grieved then. College life and being in love Smoothed the lump in my throat. I was too alive to be concerned With death. When

Crockett

Her camp name was Crockett. Fascinating. I wanted to be her. Tough. Tall. Pigeon-toed. Knowledgeable about campfires, knots, canoeing, and archery. The way she stretched a bow, hit the target dead center, and made it loo

CROSS WAYS

It’s been days since I’ve heard a word. You’d think He would have called. I’m disconnected, trapped inside these suffocating walls. I’ve always heard it’s a two way street, a little give and take. NO! HE has given all to

THE CRYIN' PILLS

I'm not a crier, all that much. I've seen a lot of life. "You have to be philosophical and let things pass on by." It's not that I've been hardened to the sadness far and wide. I still tear up when I think about the day

A CURSE

The way that light pours over a room Can affect my mood from glee to gloom. Patterns on a bedroom wall call up memories, I cannot recall. November shadows at three o’ clock Aunt Flora’s house, the tick then tock. Birming

DADDY

A source of strength, invincible as far as I can see. Knows nothing of his strengths that are obvious to me. inventive , ingenious,witty,, unaffected by success. Inclined to live conservatively and make the most of less.

Daddy poem.

DADDY I am looking through days alone. Death is freedom for you. I face mimicking a walk of laughter. Janet Brice Parker

DADDY'S CONNECTION

Morse Code dots and dashes are thoughts, finger imprints. A country awaits. Black shadow reeds and city lights found. Janet Brice Parker

DADDY, DO YOU KNOW?

Daddy, do you know this day? Can your travels bring you this far? Do you know that your namesake has hoisted his sails, and is ready to embark? Daddy, do you know I’m here and I look a lot like you? Do you know that my v

DALLAS DILEMMA

I’m not feeling very poetic. My days extend without rhyme. The flow that was smooth has Turned choppy and I’ve started to lose track of time. I’m lingering lately In limbo, confused about Hither and yon. Pulled by the ph

THE DANCE

I’m happy that I danced with him when he was eighty-seven. The ship rocked softly. The waves were smooth, like his dancing, and as easy as our love for each other. He smelled fresh, like tropical breezes, and his whit

Dancing in the Dust

Let’s pretend we are Gypsies and dance in the desert’s dust. Let’s look at the moon and watch it shine around cacti. Let’s sing the song of howling wolves and move our bodies to the rhythm of twinkling stars. Let’s tie b

Dancing in the Rain

Across the street, three little girls are dancing in the rain. It’s coming down in torrents, meeting six little happy feet and making mud puddles bigger. They jump as high as they can and splash into the water. The splas

DEAR JOHN

Somebody loves you, I guess it’s your mother. You never abandoned her for another. And if you had, the love would remain a mother’s love is never in vain. But the feelings transferred from woman to man are temporal, frag

DEAR ME

When you are seventy or eighty or so Please remember to bathe. Appreciate the ones who give Instead of what you gave. Listen to the voice of youth And learn about their world. Refrain from mentioning the perfect life Bac

A DEATH

Slipping back from ecstasy Afraid I ask, “what’s wrong with me”? Heightened feelings, Spiritual fusion, ascension,elation, Was it an illusion? Long blank spaces once were filled, supplied with answers, peace, God’s will.

DEATH OF A BLACK CHILD

Ebony sea-sister. Infinite moon awaits her long sleep. Shimmering velvet cerement upon blackness. Hope for the Son of dawn. Janet Brice Parker

A DEGREE OF TRUTH

A big fat college class ring. A graduation prize Reappears on down the road Along with wandering eyes. It covers up reality While he covers all the bases. It indicates he isn’t bound He thinks there are no traces. A bit

Degreepoem.

A DEGREE OF TRUTH A big fat college class ring. A graduation prize, reappears on down the road along with wandering eyes. It covers up reality while he covers all the bases. It indicates he isn’t bound. He thinks there a

THE DEPTHS

Flat host buildings dismal hues roads ahead with no good news. Hunger strikes and a taste so bland Tries to nourish A barren land. Colors grab and tear at my heart withhold the gift of solid art. Pieces enter and leave m

The Descendants

You don’t want to see our movie. You don’t want to read my rhymes. Neither do you care for my free verse which speaks of living and dying. I won’t be here much longer to fill in procrastinated words. You might look into

Desert’s Dust

Let’s pretend we are Gypsies and dance in the desert’s dust. Let’s look at the moon and watch it shine around cacti. Let’s sing the song of howling wolves and move our bodies to the rhythm of twinkling stars. Let’s tie

DESTRUCTION

I don’t know why I’m so hard on myself. I punish me to the extreme. I despise some things that I say and do And I fear that I won’t be redeemed. I apologize for existing and constantly question my worth. I think I’m the

Different Drum Beat poem.

DIFFERENT DRUM BEAT I couldn’t bite my fingernails, or swallow bubble gum. I was terrified to pick my nose. I marched to a different drum. The smell of grade school lunchroom food made me lose my appetite. Kids spread ma

A DIFFERENT STRAIN

The weight of the world and gravity And life’s enormous complexity Seem focused on me deliberately Causing a constant fatigue. Exhausted from Digging up memories, Accepting such harsh realities And lacking the healing ab

DISCRETE

Obscure life story leaving more questions than answers. Three names to choose from. Each summoning a different image and account. Which name fits? Or do none of them? Where did you come from? What do you do when volumes

DISDAINFUL DIFFERENCE

I watch Agnes on a summer afternoon. My focus is on sleek repetitive movements of the iron. Translucent steam rises from droplets of shaken water. The Coca-Cola bottle, a fixture on the ironing board. A misty filter flo

Distance poem.

DISTANCE My sons are far away. Desire for wings is now sadness with old eyes. Janet Brice Parker

DISTRACTION

Reality differs from minute to minute, the time, the place, the people therein it. A focus can change, an consuming obsession becomes with distraction, no longer a question. A narrow space over occupied gives way to expa

DIVORCE

What’s in front of me is what I do no thinking beyond that. No contemplating on the past destructive memory vat. If I think about the life that was I conjure up the best, forget about the lonely times and all the emptine

Does God Wear a Hat poem.

DOES GOD WEAR A HAT? Daddy wore a hat and stretched out waiting arms whenever he saw me coming whenever he suspected harm. My earthly father loved me beyond my wildest dreams, but I can't get a grip on the love that come

THE DOGS (TO DADDY)

We’re going to the dogs. We hit the pool hall again. But we can be so sweet sometimes, think we can make amends? We’re going to the dogs. Eddie beat me five out of ten. But I worked on Mama’s P.J.s and got them cut and h

DRAWING ON NOTHING

Drawing conclusions requires no pen. Unproductive Seems like a sin. At a loss for words And I’ve lost the art I’m trailing off And falling apart. 6-30-1987

Dream # 65,876 poem.

DREAM # 65, 876 In my dream, I saw a man with long dark hair. He lived in a house of many rooms lined up like black dominos. Ebony rectangular boxes with dots of white lights from candles outlined in fear. Accoutrements

DREAM OF THE LION

The lion walked through the doorway, stepped onto the porch and roared. His beauty was magnificent as he stood in rich golden splendor against the dark doorway. I saw the vision and felt his power from the sidewalk. I sl

Dream Provider poem.

You made provisions DREAM PROVIDER for my capricious notions. You listened to my dreams and desires and you made them available to me. You encouraged my steadfast love for

DREAMING OF DREAMS

I look forty-seven, they say. It’s a compliment, for sure, but, overshadowed by being sixty and in pain without a cure. I walk around as if nothing’s wrong. I dress like I’m thirty-two. I fake it and make it until I can

DREAMS OF SUMMER

Tender leaves erupt into spring. Trees fill in negative spaces that winter’s blank canvas left behind. No more Stark limbs, cracking and readying themselves for early darkness. Naked black against a cobalt blue sky. Summ

drivepoem.

WHOSE CONTROL? I’m driving toward the end of the block. While turning a corner I notice the clock. The clicking sound, my ring on the wheel. Now deadly silent time to kill. Moving through the pouring pain. The lights ahe

The Drummer

I’ve been reading the Bible and praying off and on. I quit going to church. It was targeted toward very young people, muscled up he-man types and subservient women. The music was so loud that it bursted Through my eighty

Easily entertained poem.

EASILY ENTERTAINED Sun’s warmth on our faces, cold breeze plunging into our backs. We’re here together holding hands and crossing the street. The smell of coffee, musty books and fresh baked bread winds around creaky woo

Eastwood

My daddy, Clarence Otto Brice, developed Eastwood, a subdivision in Oneonta, Alabama, a small town of around 5,000 people. Some of you might remember, and some may have forgotten. In the 1950s, my daddy had a vision. He

Echos poem.

ECHOS Echos of Daddy walking strong. Easy smile. Life's memories folded with sad eyes. Janet Brice Parker

EDDIE

Glorious smile! Soft southern wit that causes laughter so deep it emerges on days when you aren't around. Exciting! getting to know your mind, an encyclopedia of music and wires. A philosopher unaware , a gentle healer t

Eddie’s Birthday

I remember when you were twenty six that fall of seventy nine. You looked at me through youthful eyes. I never thought you’d be mine. You were younger, far from my age and our songs had not become one. Now we look back o

EMOTIONAL SURPRISES

I leave And then I leave again But while I’m there, I care For such a varied assembly of humanity, people who at first glance have little or no appeal. I never thought I’d be hugging them goodbye Now, I cry. 6-1-1987

END OF A FRIENDSHIP

We blur the rocky friendship and let time go on too long. Freedom to find people with with whom we can be ourselves, be transparent (imagery-"glass") Rocks behind blurs of evening shadows. Altered time among stars. We wi

THE END OF PERMANENTS

Baby boomers watched their mamas head for the beauty shops. They emerged with ammonia emissions and tight little curly crops. The smell was too much for daddies to bear. Some of them slept on the sofa. And though they sa

ETERNALLY YOUNG

I brought my youth with me on my travels through this life. Young thoughts have been inside of my head all these years and even manifested themselves in my appearance. Others seem to see me as younger than my time on e

THE EVEN KILL

I suppose there are some people existing on a plane that’s foreign to euphoria, removed from grief and pain. Evenness and unevents afford such great accord, they’ll sacrifice the highest highs for an orderly reward. My l

EVERGREEN

The boy-sized ten speed, unaccustomed to light, was carefully bumped down the attic stairs. Dust and flat tires did not hinder the sound. Click, click, click across the living room floor. I recalled that Pneumonia Christ

Excess does not bless poem.

EXCESS Too much is expected too many rejected families feel disconnected and don’t get along. Why did it happen? Trimmings and wrapping, nonbelievers clapping over money they’ve made. The importance of Santa Claus doesn’

EXCUSES

Are explanations accommodations for those we wish to appease? Perhaps we’re only fooling ourselves. Who is it we’re trying to please? 5-26-87

EXPRESSION

Creativity comes in spurts. Ability gives me a way To pencil in-spiration So they can see what I say.

AN EXTRA DAY

Ice formed on bridges giving us another day of weekend. I awoke at nine to find you sleeping soundly beside me. gray barren harsh light took on a glow around your face and beard. Your hair with it’s unpredictable curls l

THE EYES OF A SON

Quiescence fills the house. Darkness pervades as I ask you to sit with me under one remaining light. My internal structure cries out in pain just from looking at you, from knowing you began in my womb and grew into the m

THE FACE OF THE MOON

Budding trees, aroma of spring, memories of canoes gliding across shaded water. The smell of an old cabin and taste of iron water. Plank floors with a soft patina created by years of girls’ movements in tennis shoes. Cam

Facing Sixty poem.

FACING SIXTY Youth taken. A heist, an offense. Stealing downstream days which are sometimes remembered. Janet Brice Parker 2003

FACING THE CHANGE

Hormonal interruptions. Sudden prickly heat. Alternating attitudes. Nothing seems concrete. Monthly numbered cycles as common as the moon. Counted days aren’t counted on. Predictions lost, marooned. Irritations magnified

FALLING STILL

FALLING STILL It’s October now. We’re grasping the last of summer’s sun. Sitting on the porch, screened in to protect us from fall’s night bugs. We listen to the best music ever and sip bourbon until supper time. It’

fallpoem.

RECOLLECTION Somewhere, down in there, though numbed by the alcohol, is the memory of a football game where we began the fall. You introduced a part of me I’d never known before. I learned that blooming late must mean th

FAMILY OF FRIENDS

Families of friend can fill a void with welcome and warmth. Three of our parents have passed away. Brothers and sisters divided up into growing family sections. A Christmas eve visit at Cat and Dody’s old rambling house

FARSIGHTEDNESS

I must be more than I think I am there are those responsive to me. the little on which I feel I am built seems to them a lot more than I see. I wonder and ponder, “How can it be, am I made of more stuff than I thought? D

FEBRUARY SUN

February sun, gifting us with longer days. Anticipation of spring, when this heavenly body’s rays will reach down and wrap a luminous blanket over the evening hours. February sun speaks to the tides and secrets glisten i

Fevered Times.

Puny, sickly kids. popular in the nineteen fifties. We had the “in” diseases and stayed home from school. Rheumatic Fever and Uncle Wiggley books were passed from house to house. I built walls of pillows on the bed. They

Flower House poem.

FLOWER HOUSE For published poetry and art on Kudzu Monthly, 2003 Thick silky scent through patterned hills blends dew and orchids. A canvas full of shifting splendor.

FOLEY

It’s peaceful here at the cabin in Foley, Alabama. A miniature version of our home in Priceville. We sit on the screened in porch and drink bourbon and listen to sounds, different from home. Different birds, and a breez

FOREIGN WORDS

Sweet fine features quiet movements with flowers and water in his pool parents who love and protect him grandparents living on opposite ends of the earth language and cultural barriers his youth does not know yet we will

FORGIVENESS

Hanging on devours me, as if I were attached to a limb, green and fresh, with no possibility of breaking. My heart and my hands are calloused. I imagine the limb snapping on it’s own. I am fearful of letting go, deciding

A FORM OF PROTECTION

I drape myself like an unused couch Covered for vacation. I’m hidden by the clothes I wear- Bags or a variation. I hibernate beneath the folds Exude no definition. The massive sheets Protect my soul, My body from envisio

FORTY TWO SOON

My periods come when they damn well please, No day of the month do I feel at ease. I wait in vain for thirty six days In a bloated, neurotic menopausal phase. Little things eat at my very core, I eat peanut butter and pa

A FRIEND IN NEED

How are you doing? It’s great to see you my kids Are driving me nuts. I’m going to take more time for myself No ifs, no ands no buts. He’s golfing again and Working late He missed Tim’s soccer game. But he talked so swee

FRUIT FOR THOUGHT

Tomato bits, pieces and seeds thrown into dirt beneath the only spot in this wooded area that soaks up sunshine. I saw them one autumn day. Vines and more vines which were producing small clusters of fruit. I quickly co

Full Circle

Five women were laughing and talking. Sisters I supposed. They sat in a circle telling stories and reliving past antics when they were girls. Pulling pranks on their cousins. What fun growing up together! Fighting someti

GAINING FROM LOSS

Since you started losing your mind, Your deepest secrets are emerging from a soul I never knew. You weren’t aware of the hidden reality until you started losing your mind. You tell me I am “smart and always have been.” Y

A GENEROUS MISTAKE

I gave and gave to you. So much so that you thought you were entitled. You saw me as an ATM. Thought you could petition my generous nature, and receive upon demand. My first freely given dollar to you caused a counterfei

GETTING OVER

I’m resting up. Arms outstretched in bed staring at the ceiling fan, sun shining through the window. It might be 9:00 or 10:00 o’clock in the morning but it doesn’t matter because I’m making up for years of lost sleep, l

Glaring White

I’ve had enough of HGTV. Most is like it used to be. “Mid century modern” is all I see and all white walls are depressing to me. Pit groups and tables are boring and bleak No lamps, no stuff new floors don’t creak. Hopef

GLITTER MOON

For published poetry and art on Kudzu Monthly, 2003 Cool blue-violet sky imbued this sculptor's waiting. Rendezvous with form gave the breeze a fragile knife. Janet Brice Parker, 2003

GOD BREATHED

“It can’t be” they say “It is not in the realm of possibility. But of course there are forces out there gods and goddesses, mythology and unexplainable energy at work.” But a “God breathed” book? It never happened. There

GRACE

Grace came in the morning. Northwest's chosen child. Born with yellow Dandelions sprouting free and wild. They brought her into a brand new world on a day in early spring. Blessed by ocean's soothing roar and snow-capped

Grains of Sand

I don’t like matchey I don’t like symmetry Pillows coordinated on a bed Don’t appeal to me. I guess I’m a free spirit I guess I’m wild and free I’m just an old hippie Who’s in tune to what I see. I like plaids and flower

GRANDDADDY

Granddaddy used to laugh with me and say he was on my side While others told of my failings until I would run and hide. Donald said I was ugly and chased me with a bat. Mae told me I wasn’t pretty enough to wear my hair

GRANDPARROTS OF

THE CARIBBEAN We went to a benefit concert put on by the Rotary Club. We could hardly wait to get there. Island music and Mexican grub! The night was perfect and balmy as we carried our folding chairs. A tent with sparkl

GUILT

I’m living in the moment By thinking of the past I concentrate today On all that happened last I spend my time reliving How I should have been I live my yesterdays today Time and time again I know I cannot change things

GULF PORT, FLORIDA

A community lined with old houses. A Florida from the past. Soft breezes bathe our inner beings. An escape from winter back home. Treasures to remember and savor until Alabama’s chill blossoms into spring. The air of lus

HAPPY HOURS

What can I write, since I’m not depressed? Do I write about sunshine and being so blessed? Shall I drip with honey and never berate? Such precious and sweet things I’ll pontificate. I sleep until ten and wake up jammin.’

haroldpoem.

Surprised were the girls who whispered and glanced. They thought I didn’t stand a chance. Thought I’d be in my old circumstance. Thank you, Harold for the night of the dance.

HE IN ME

A glimmer of understanding. An impression upon my brain. A peace from the overall picture. An eternal link in the chain. An acceptance of one direction. Answers I can’t verbalize. I only hope you will see them in my acti

HEALING THE CHILD

Something had happened as she stood in the dark hallway of the big old house. A breeze blew the filmy curtain and fear shrouded her innocent face. I took her away to a land of peace and cleansing waters. I nurtured her a

Heightened Feelings

Heightened feelings run the gamut from joy to despair. Elation over church songs, secular music, men, women, the beach, Depression covers my head like a dirty, old scarf. Colors become faded and run together like mixed h

HELLO

It’s hard to say, “good-bye” even for a short time. You’ve become a daily inspiration, with your words bumping around in my brain, keeping me alert, generating emotions that skyrocket into joy and plummet from sadness an

History's Highway poem.

HISTORY’S HIGHWAY Payne's gray pavement. White lines travel through the center of bleak asphalt. Only narrow strips of light hold her focus. A contrasting ribbon looks connected from a distance, like her deceiving person

Holding the Last Dream

The dreams are evolving and becoming more vivid. They are the only times I have with you, yet I never know if or when you’ll appear. I ran toward you. Velvet sleep contrasted with my pounding dream-heart. I saw you getti

Homesick

I get homesick thinking of traveling afar. I don’t want to see foreign structures or spend nights in ancient halls. My heart would long for home and its clean, virgin sheets. I ache for our dwelling even though I’ve neve

A HOPE

There’ll come a time when Winter’s sun Won’t chill me to the bone. The rays extending low and long Will leave my heart alone. I’ll live in peace On rainy days And hear with tranquil ears The sound of trains And sad refra

The Hope Beyond

The route laid out for us turns slippery with transparent drizzle. The soft drops dampen gray roads. Barren trees give a hopeless nod to the stark reality of winter. A slate sky mimics the ashen hue of the road. But the

THE HOUR

The hour slides into my thoughts. I feel a brush across my face, as if a hot wind was initiating a plan to hold me captive, to do it’s dirty work and have me in it’s grasp. The hour is the same each day A time of dispiri

A HUNGER

I’m hungry for the spirit. Not shallow material things. The opening up and pouring in of all that the spirit brings. I need to look myself over, admit all the parts that I see. I’m too hard on the wrong, too blind to the

HUNGRY FOR FRUIT

Brown eyes. Deep dark caverns collecting pieces of her soul. She stares into space void of reality’s images. An empty pit hungry of limitless fruit.

I COULDN’T DRAW A STRAIGHT LINE

STRAIGHT LINE I’m curious, this line, they say. Is it in their imagination? The one they mention when learning I draw. For them, a demarcation? Limiting. It must be straight. If need be, use a ruler. Paper thin perceptio

I Never Knew

I’d rather be at a party than drinking wine alone. I’d like to talk with Hemingway and Gertrude Stein and maybe F. Scott Fitzgerald. I’d like to ask them their secrets on what not to write. Maybe I was born too late. Too

ILL FITTING FORM

I’ll never know what was inside the you that I observed from four year old eyes. I saw the beginnings of a mold you were forming. A shape for your only child to fit into and make you proud. But my psyche did not conform

ILLNESS

Sickness affects my vision. Reality seems out of sight. Bacteria begs for dominion. I lose track of wrong and right. I suffer from fear and delusions, see faces I’d rather not see. An avenue open to demons. Can’t recall

IN DEW TIME

I wasted a lot of water today as I played with the spray of the hose. I washed every leaf off the patio then I washed all the dirt off my toes. I watched the sunlight catch the drops as I saturated the ferns. I thought a

IN LIGHT OF CHANGES

We were heavy we were right Nineteen seventies we saw the light We encountered learned gestalt Discovered primal They all could be bought Spent a hundred on a weekend Not quite fixed but on the mend Learned a lingo commu

IN REMEMBRANCE OF DONALD

I was always underfoot. An irritating little sister-cousin. I liked your friends, I wore your clothes, I sought your approval And sometimes you’d come through, Like the night you took me to The schools dance because I co

IN THE MIDDLE OF THE CIRCLE

In their “immortal” youth they decided upon one. One child, who wouldn’t intrude upon their plans for exploration, travel, freedom. The child was lonely and withdrawn. She watched large families and felt a hurt deep insi

In the moment poem.

IN THE MOMENT A spring-like day in the middle of winter. Brilliant sun warms the tops of barren trees. A breeze as light as the day. I am living in the moment. Savoring. Letting the balmy air fill my lungs. Raising my fa

IN VAIN

Desperation days gone by. Obsessed with reinforcement. Innuendos kept her high, affirming each endorsement. Superficial nourishment sustained a cold starvation. Vacancy was close behind brief moments of elation. Approval

In vain poem.

IN VAIN Buddha Damn! Now what cha gonna say? Mo HAmmad! get outta my way! Zoroaster Bless! Take his name in vain Bahaullah Blah is such a pain! Make Christ pointless everyday with what you say cuss His name and watch you

In your presence,

I feel healing, rushing liquid pouring over me. The sensation of your love is conscious and like no other. I imagine your dancing in circuit movements around my broken body and mind. You fill me with sacred laughter. You

Inane question.

Barren trees like arrows, point to the galaxies. Directions reach stars that no longer exists. Invisible lines followed by no one. Vapid winter trees criss cross the day sky and are punctuated by limited leaves. They fad

INSIDE OUT

Thorns that I don’t let you see are slicing grooves inside of me. Burning ropes and binding knots infirmities , visible warning shots? Am I trying to keep your world intact or protecting myself from how you might react?

Insomnia poem.

INSOMNIA Sleeping was empty. Tired night's secrets came against smooth silky sweetness. Missed glow of white uncombed snow. Janet Brice Parker

INTERPRETATION

I’ve dreamed that some close friends Are dying. Perhaps there are deaths within me. Maybe symbolically speaking, The dying is setting me free. I feel I am slowly disrobing. Exposing each layer to light, Surprised by the

INTIMATES

Entertainers got us through high school with their exaggerated faces and forms. Mimics and mimes who helped us avoid eye contact. Storytellers with audiences who obliged, and diverted their eyes. Janet Brice Parker

IRENE

Irene sits at a table alone. Not wanting to be bothered with idle chit chat. I wonder if she thinks in German. Irene’s husband was the brains behind Von Braun, they say. And maybe he was. She walks in the icy cold and to

It’s February

It’s February. But a seventy degree day lifts our spirits and soothes our bodies and minds. The sun sits slightly left of center— not exactly the bright blaze of summer but still shining on barren tree branches. Abstract

JACKSON VINE

The Jackson vine travels across wood and hot scratchy roofing. Slow growing plant, like southern utterances. Young tender shoots leap into the atmosphere lost and waiting f or direction. A guiding hand to place them alon

JAMIE

The hurt extends to an immeasurable depth of sorrow. Forced to leave connected, lingo, laughing, nick-name closeness that only lasts in a narrow window of time. And the window is closing on Jamie. No desire to form anoth

Jamie Paints poem.

JAMIE PAINTS For published art and poetry on Kudzu Monthly, 2003 The studio is her's today, and liquid joy creates watercolor coveralls and hair and hands and face. Three years old, with freedom in a pan of colors bright

JEALOUSY

When I feel Jealous I am afraid of Isolation, separation.. When I act jealous, I am isolated, separated.

JESSICA

She’s asleep now. Her long arms and legs tangled among the covers and hanging off of the bed. She came to us, a light brown child, so young and tender. A baby, really. A piece of clay, ready to be molded into a

JIM

We never knew, as he passed through our lives, and lightly kissed the girls’ lips. He was witty and funny and fun. I never saw a hint of pain in his translucent blue eyes. He held my hand when we went to the movies and h

JOE

Quiet calm. Ready to listen and respond with a balm that soothes my physical pain. Shining gratefulness fills me. Your empathy is real like a heavenly being sent to lay your sweet head on my aching shoulder.

Journal Meanderings

Just because we knew each other in high school, I guess you got the idea we were friends. You started emailing me after we were grown. You’d act nice for a period of time, then out of the blue, you would attack me. Hatef

JOWE

He’s turned into something I don’t even know. He’s turned fifteen and lately his voice has turned low. A sweet disposition. My agreeable child is grumpy on waking gets moody and riled. Questions I ask him are answered wi

JOWE

I think we must have similar souls, The identical way our perceptions unfold. You enter my mind, my heart, my thoughts. You physically hurt when I am distraught. You dream what I dream of woods and the sea. A curse or a

JOYLESS

Short lived joy from selfish pursuits Like the glow from warm red wine Dissolves and leaves us wanting more Advancing our decline Gratification - material things Mirrors offering answers Reiterating what we know - We’re

JULY SHOWER

October shower. Lush leaves thick on tall trees. Hot water soothes my aching body and I Iinhale the scent of rust on the soap.

KRISTINA CALLED

Kristina called to tell me, to give me the wonderful news I’d be a grandmother one more time. I was wondering, “pinks or blues?” She said she didn’t know yet what the new little baby would be. We laughed and talked, I co

largerpoem.

LARGER THAN LIFE Some people don’t grow, they just grow old, with the same intents and grounds. Established truths, givens that never suggest going out of bounds. Some people don’t travel, they lack the desire, although

Larrypoem.

FORGOTTEN Larry sits in his stagnant room. Memories are eked out, rationed. Elders sit in their lofty place dressed in the latest fashion. Secrets of the leaders play in Larry’s drunken mind. Twisted tempting thoughts th

THE LAST BALMY BREEZE

Yesterday I felt solace in the breeze. Balmy strokes across my skin brought particles of sunlight to relax and soothe my bare arms and face. To massage my forehead and brush back my hair. Today I awoke to gray outside my

The Last Carrousel poem.

THE LAST CARROUSEL We saw you there with your beautiful child. Her perfect flawless face pressed against yours. Your face was twisted, distorted, but your child didn't know that. It was hard to look at you. Our worldly p

THE LAST STAGE

Sentiments evaporated. Photos and flowers, overrated. Wistful sobbing while thinking back I’m either numb or I’ve lost the knack. Penetration, deep in the past with little emotion just part of the cast. Those days of dra

THE LAWLESS ONE

The lawless one will come. He won’t be dressed as a cowboy in a black hat. He will be beautiful and charismatic. He will draw you into his maleficent aura and you will bow down to him. He will do signs and miracles and

LIBBY’S CATFISH AND DINER

Two minutes up the road and seventy years back in time. “The good old days” surround us. Regulars order catfish and fried green tomatoes. Waitresses are known by name. Pitchers of cool tea and water are passed around by

LIFE GOES ON (SO TO SPEAK)

I always thought to have a life, I had to be attached. The sky, the trees weren’t there for me unless I’d met my match. I didn’t know that I could breathe or call a house a home unless I knew you’d be with me. I’d never

LIFE IN A NUT’S HELL

I might be gonna lose my mind I might just crack into. I’ve put it off for several months But a breakdown is overdue. I want to go home to my mama’s house, Let my body and soul be fed. I want to go off to a quiet beach A

Life is a-loan.

Janet Brice 11-27-1988

LILA KATE HARRISON

Lila, melodious song in the air, born in the midst of summer. A perfect gift, Lila Kate. God sent symbols, flute and a drummer. A Friday’s child with southern roots and a lovely musical name. Morning dew and a waiting su

LINGERING GHOSTS

I wonder what Edith’s doing, if Floyd still tunes her out. If other next door neighbors are plagued and having doubts. The flashbacks overwhelm me, create a cold despair. The houses I turned into myself are neither here

Lingering Still poem.

LINGERING STILL Mary Frances is lingering quiet and still. Billie’s reclusive and sad. Olga, they say, is seriously ill. and Mama is worse than bad. Darlene grieves her husband’s death, but faith glows in her demeanor. C

LISA

I miss your intellectual take on things. Your brilliant responses to my lost questions and absent answers. I miss your wit punctuated by words I haven’t looked up in the dictionary. I feel like I am living life while you

THE LITTLE GIRL

“There was a little girl who had a little curl right in the middle of her forehead. When she was good, she was very very good but when she was bad, she was horrid”. Mother Goose” and my mother. I remember when I was only

LONG DISTANT

Incommunicado due to some distraction Or possibly non communicative, Lacking a reaction. I’m not quite sure the attitude Impossible to trace. Wondering if lines between the miles Are written on the face. Janet Brice 10-3

LONGING

I wonder if on the other side We’ll have the ability To visit a time in our life on earth We’ve longed for especially. Of course, when we get there,’it’s probable We’ll forget about worldly things. Maybe the longing won’

LONGING NOT TOO LONG

I wonder if on the other side, we’ll have the ability to visit a time in our life on earth we’ve longed for especially. Of course, when we get there it’s probable, we’ll forget about worldly things. Maybe the longing wil

LOOKING FOR THE RIGHT ONE

Carrying deep your put-down style. Ten years with you is quite a long while. My questions are met with lofty answers while laughing at me. Condescending manner. You treat me like I have no sense. You shake your head in s

Lost in the Fifties

Ronnie Milsap sang “Lost in the Fifties Tonight”. I was there in the fifties. Ricky Sommerall was in love with me in 1959. But the feeling wasn’t mutual. I was in love with summer and Girl Scout camp and pretending I was

Louisiana Cry

Sweat rains down on Louisiana faces. A bitter sweet history in swampy moss covered nights. A pungent gift from honeysuckle’s short lived stay. An infant’s cry penetrates his mother’s heart. Sugar cane waits for the duti

Love Story

I had lots to think about that year I was out of school. I watched Howdy Doody, Liberace and Kate Smith on TV. Those were our only choices. That was in the 1950s when less was more. I had pneumonia, rheumatic fever and T

MAKING THINGS

Lost in a process, taken away absorbed creating something living in the spirit and knowing peace. Aware that the actions exist to glorify and grow our souls. Blowing a blade of grass pressed between my thumbs creating so

Mama’s Gifts

I gaze into and around the curl. It is soft and shines like spun gold. She took it from my first haircut, tied it in a ribbon and sealed it in an envelope. It is part of the collective memories which fall out of my rust

The Me Box poem.

THE “ME” BOX Let me tell you my story. Me and what I’m about. I just read your poem Let me tell you, let me tout. I had the same thing happen to me once upon a time I know you’ll want to read it in this box about your rh

ME MYSELF DREAM

I was abandoned in the dream. Left alone with no way back. I felt embarrassed standing there, barefoot in my plaid flannel bathrobe. I was hopeless, crying, until I saw myself through the store window. My hands banged on

Meditation Gardens poem.

MEDITATION GARDENS Encinitas. Pacific coast mist delicately combines with richly woven soil to create colors for the thankfulness of open hearts. immaculate expanse of intricate gifts nurtured by human hands. No interfer

MEETING MY MENTOR

I finally met Fannie Flagg. Stood in line for hours. I didn’t want to nag. (Should have taken flowers.) But she had to know who I was and she had to know who I knew. She just had to know because her daddy knew my grandda

Memories

The future gets closer and closer. I’m closer to heaven today than I’ve ever been. Maybe I only have minutes left. We never know, do we? No one can ever know. That’s a given. That’s life, that’s philosophical….. wow. Me

MEXICO’S SHINE

Mexico’s shine. Bougainvillea, neon flowers. Luscious concoctions make me hesitant to exhale. I want to own the colors and aromas. A lifetime of nature’s pallet and perfume. Mexico’s glow riding upon the sea. Perfectly r

THE MIME IN ME

Expressions of the mime, varied frozen faces. Masks to wear so laughter hides the sadness he embraces. I glide along In silence Through Cold relentless time. Disguise what Lies behind the paint And imitate the mime. Jane

THE MIRROR

I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and was reminded of that indefinable point between youth and maturity. A certain stance or tilt of the head can cause a young face to dissolve into an older, familiar appearance

MIST

A delicate mist of green abounds over my path along the river. Baby buds, minute blurs, one next to the other like dim watercolor spatters created with a toothbrush. The very first indications of spring for those whose a

MOMENTARY LAPSE

Pulls, tugs and twinges and regretting the fact that while looking forward, I sometimes slip back. Instantaneous, the thoughts enter in, leave me weak then escape like the wind. There’s hardly a moment to grasp what I fe

Momentary Memories

They came to the beach every summer. A long list of temporary friends, short lived companions. Kids for me to play with for a week or two. Just long enough to form an attachment, to want to stay in touch. To write letter

More Questions

I am sad and happy and fucked up and proud. Sometimes quiet Sometimes loud I’m a filthy rag The Christians say Where do I turn To find the way? Did Jesus come To put us down? I rather doubt it He’s committed and bound. B

More Than Ever

More than ever, I’m missing them all. I’m startled by the smells from past encounters. They’re more than memories; they are real. I am literally inhaling what and who used to be. I am closer than ever (as is everyone) to

Mother Load poem.

MOTHER LOAD I'm afraid of looking like Mama. Her fragile beauty disappearing into a blank stare. So, I brush on mascara, eye shadow, and color my eyebrows. Create a frame to alter genetics. Mama's chiseled features, porc

The Mountain

A place of peace and lush trees. Birds greet us on warm summer mornings as we quietly sip coffee on the screened-in porch. The mountain called to us thirty-six years ago, and we put down roots in this pastoral paradise.

MOUNTAIN SONG

I dream about days on the roof. surrounded by wooded scents. tree bark and pine straw. Our house sunk deep into a mountain, with easy access to the roof. A place where I could spend hours. I stayed outside,winter and sum

MY ANSWER

Whirling, unclean particles made their way into my lungs. Did my mother bite into the earth where fruit was deadly and vegetation corrupt? Or were infectious demons waiting to embroil my existence at birth? If my crippli

MY AUNT VIVIAN

I just realized it today, Vivian has gone away. I decorated the sun room so fine and thought, “she’d like it this way”. She affirmed my accessory mania, my compulsion to fill up a room. We agreed on the need to adorn our

MY BIRTHDAY

Guess who was born on an autumn night? Dark and stormy at ten forty-five. October thirteenth, nineteen forty four. And a Friday, to boot. Mama was scared to the core. So, bring on the ladders. Bring on Black cats. Bring

My Cousin Calls

My Cousin Calls My cousin, Sonny calls and his voice sounds like it’s wrapped in a soft cotton blanket woven only in the Deep South. His accent is like my grandmother, Mae’s, Marie’s and all the rest of the brothers and

MY EPITAPH

Don’t come to see me after I’m gone, Assuming I’ll hear you from the lawn. A shell in a box, that you’ll place me in has nothing to do with the now, just the then. I’m no longer living on your sweet earth. I’ve discovere

My Texas Cousin

In winter, while school books still lay open before me, my thoughts wandered to my cousin. Each summer Karen and her parents—Bill and Sylvia Nelson made the long drive from Texas, all the way to Alabama to visit our gran

Nanny and Rita

Nanny was beautiful. Her clean fresh dress fit a slender frame. Her shiny hair was slicked back into a small low bun. It smelled like the innocence of baby oil. She maneuvered the hot iron across our starched clothes and

Narrow World

He said, as they kissed that night, “Give me a daughter to love. I promise that you and she will always be enough. If she’s a girl, she’ll never know the suffering of going to war. If we have a boy, we’ll have to live a

NEARSIGHTED

He dropped a bomb, he fractured my shell, I thought we were happy, I felt we were well. The finding fault should have been a sign. I was deep in contentment, jaded, blind. The peace in my heart, commitment, devotion was

Negative Spaces

A sea of opportunity spreads out for exploring. Waves reveal soft foam formed by salty black holes. I am inspired to paint the negative spaces and leave the rest To God. 2-25

nestpoem.

COMPARING NESTS Brand new houses, families, dogs, fences. Sounds of swings, basketballs, parents at six o’clock. Next door, new house, life, outlook. Freedom. Quiet rooms, old dogs, raised children. Looking back but also

NEW ORLEANS

I was occasionally taken out of school in those days. My parents, placing importance on culture and travel, would appear at my classroom door and whisk me away to a Broadway musical in the city. “I’m gonna wash that man

newagpoem.

BEWARE! OF THE NEW AGE-NDA Step right up, let the answers begin. Sit back, relax. There is no sin. What you think you see is sleight of hand. Don’t be confused. Peace lives in the land. Come to the light, I’ll be your gu

NIGHT DREAMS

Sea Journey's shadows slip through moon's dreaming. He comes to me in smiles and youth. He holds me and I am a child again. I awaken to loneliness, and desire for the dream to broaden and extend. To enter the day with hi

Night Music

New Orleans is beautiful on sunny days. The trees in Jackson Square form a canopy of shade for artists and musicians. Music fills a complex city— lively, sad, bluesy, and jazzy. Talented tap dancers entertain visitors an

Night Visit

I awoke to see a light encasing a somewhat human form. The being flew around The ceiling and seemed not to take notice of a fast spinning fan. He swept around but had no wings, No identifying features, just an elongated

Nightly invasion poem.

NIGHTLY INVASION You don’t mingle in and out of distorted faces. You are not part of a fragmented scenario, void of interpretation. You forcefully intrude upon my silent hours and blemish my dreams. You are as visible as

No Blow.

Some of us smoke and some of us chew, but we won’t blow our horns at you. We roll down our windows, enjoy the long summers. And when we pass, we wave at each other. We gladly let you enter the lane. We move right over. I

No Mo Rhymes

I ain’t gonna post no mo rhymes. Givin’ y’all a break ain’t no crime. I got th’ blues, baby, ’cause y’all ain’t into my words. Y’all just stomp on ’em, baby, like they was dirt. Yeah, I got th’ blues, mama, ’cause you ai

Nobie en Nem

Nobie en Nem We’ve loved y’all since you weren’t much more than babies. You’re in your late thirties now but you still come to the house. We laugh and talk about when y’all were little kids and we had spend the night pa

Northern Rain poem.

NORTHERN RAIN Northern rain changes to sun. Nothing interferes, and calm holds hope beyond time. Janet Brice Parker

Not so Fine Lines

How many years have you contorted your face? Opened cans, with your mouth out of place? Have you spent a lifetime squinting at the sun, instead of putting your sunglasses on? Is it necessary to hold your mouth open when

NOTHING BUT LIPSTICK

She wore nothing but lipstick upon her sun-kissed face. Graceful gray wisps of hair wandered from her long loose braid and played around her ears Bright speckles filtered through her straw hat to highlight smile and frow

Nothing Seems Wrong poem.

"NOTHING" SEEMS WRONG My children were raised with mismatched chairs, color and pattern and nothing in pairs. I piled up pillows on painted iron beds, used hand-me-down sofas. Each decade was fed. Our friends came over w

NOVEMBER SUN

Blinding winter sun penetrates dormant trees and wounds lonely eyes. Cool yellow-gray star, flat like dry paint, casts it’s lugubrious raw color onto city structures. Tasteless signs lie in wait for winter sun’s sharp sh

A NUDGE

How do I know I am lonely if my soul is sound asleep? I have no drive or ambition. I’m afraid of plunging too deep. Creative desires lay dormant, my thinking goes nowhere at all. I’m blind to a path or direction, I”m dea

OBSERVATION

The other planet on which you reside is staring me in the face. Light years condense, our worlds collide and we occupy separate space. 9-10-1987

OBSESSING IN THE SAND

Let's get away from everything. The beach will heal my ills. And you'll forget about working hard, cold weather and the bills. So, here we are and I'm walking far with warm sun on my back. The ocean's roar, such a soothi

THE OCEAN

Azure liquid moves and pushes against The current until soft foam rises and dissolves into Waiting wet sand. The process is repeated as eternity stands still. Janet Brice Parker October 2024

Ocean Waves

Gin and tonic on a breezy afternoon. Lime enhances the drink and our memories of the beach years ago. We were falling in love. Sand squeaked under our feet as salty waves rushed toward us. Our love didn’t come in waves B

OCTOBER

White foam and a crystal blue sea. Sand as white as sugar. Extended summer in October. Soft breezes touch my face like a cool drink of water quenches my thirst And Eddie by my side every step of the way. This wonderful m

Oh Rita...

I want to consume you in my dreams but You never stay long enough. You just began your nightly visits after my fifty years of grieving your death. We are in the third grade, segregation long gone. I enter the classroom a

The Old Car

I am 81 years old in this July of 2026. I’m thinking about the past and calling up memories. My very first memory is crisp and clear in my mind. I was three years old when I walked out onto the screened-porch in our f

Old Folks Boogie

I met a bunch of old people From the class of ‘63 I cannot believe those ancient souls Graduated with me. What on earth happened From’63 until now? Dick Miller and I were class poets We plagiarized and how! I hadn’t beco

ON A BAD DAY

He’s seventeen I hate his guts his snide remarks his blatant cuts. He’s so damn smart he could rule the world The only thing worse would be a teenage girl.

ON BEING UPROOTED

“Bloom where you are planted”. Well, what if you feel stranded? What if you’re in Kansas - Worse than another planet? What if some “sweet” lady Gives you her “sweet” smile? And says “just make the best of it” And you sta

ON VACATION, 2024

I lost my glasses I cracked my tooth. I fell on the sidewalk now that’s the truth. My hearing aids quit working, I could not hear. I got depressed, so Let's have a beer. I picked skin off my foot until it bled. I think I

The One poem.

THE ONE Glorious smile! Soft southern wit that causes laughter so deep, it emerges on days when you aren’t around. Thank you! For joyous hysteria. Still fresh after knowing your face all these years. Exciting! getting to

ONLY

Time to read, paint, imagine. A room of my own with a door that lead to another world. Quiet and peaceful. My belongings were mine and in order. I pushed a refrigerator box into the living room and lived in it for a week

OPAL AND ARLO

I saw a familiar stranger down at the dollar store. I spoke, she spoke, we chatted awhile and then she told me more. Her ministry at the prison had blessed this country lady. She had fallen in love, deeply in love with a

OUT OF OUR ELEMENT

You're strangely out of your element. So, who are you to me? I know I know you, without a doubt. My mind's playing tricks on me! I think and I think and I'm sure I'd know if I saw you surrounded by rooms and people who p

Outsider poem.

OUTSIDER She never tied a sweater around her neck or wore knee-length kahki skirts. She didn’t know how to tease her hair and she didn’t know how to flirt. She wasn’t that skinny, and she wasn’t that tan. and her hair wa

Pain ripped at me

like a fast pitch to my stomach. Emergency room, bent over double. Drank putrid green slushy without an umbrella in it. X-Ray lights blinding and burning a brand into my suffering. I’m here wondering about the ebb and fl

PAINFUL DISTANCE

There you are three little blonde rabble rousers. Diagonally two thousand five hundred and forty miles away. My heart breaks with love for you. I imagine your days of running, happy, blueberry covered mouths, unaware of

Pamela

We began by commenting on each other’s poetry on Authors Den. I read your book and you read mine. Your writing was superb, and the page-turning mystery had me impatiently waiting for the end— what a surprise! Now you lea

PARENTHESES

Our voices offered up to God in song are relegated to parentheses. The “women’s part” is brief and then silenced while your booming voices take command. We are “subservient with brains of balsa wood.” Legalistic regulati

THE PARROT HEAD BLUES

_________________________ Published by the Margaritaville Newsletter, Oct. 1986 _________________________ I woke up from a nightmare believing it was true-- I didn’t have two dollars. My Floridays were through! I didn’t

Pebbles poem.

PEBBLES Watching pebbles in afternoon shadows. Cold walks disturb my nights and time's window stands still. Janet Brice Parker Nov. 2002

PESSIMISM

My parents are watching their old friends die And thinking of bad things ahead. There’s little enough to look forward to And more than enough to dread. And I am beginning to notice That life”s not as light as it was. The

PHOTOGRAPHIC MEMORY

Years ago, I took a photograph. Not with a camera, because I didn’t have one. I’m glad now, that I was unable to capture the scene on film. my observation abilities grew that day. the panoramic view presented itself befo

Pictures of Otto poem.

PICTURES OF OTTO There is a hint of someone in me. Great-grandsons who are yet to be. The line of my jaw, the tilt of my chin. They'll see themselves there when they become men. Janet Brice Parker, 2003

PIERCING THE SUBSTANCE

The dream came and revealed your supremacy. How could my breadth have been so small as to question your sovereign nature? To wonder at medicinal necessities that take me into frightful realms, wake me in a pool of sweat

poems for paintings.

1930's Jazz Deepest black night of city streets and shadows brings beautiful music behind life's walls. ---------------------------------- Bongo Man He shone in the shadow moon. Water flickering and silky sky. cushioned

The Poet’s Muse

The poet’s muse always says, “Write what you know.” Draw from your experiences— yesterday’s and today’s joyous and painful moments. The sadness washes over me, then pulls me into the ocean’s depths, where a gentle relief

Politicians Poem.

POLITICIANS "Prestigious" lions unraveling revenge. Shouldering odds and placidly pressuring floods of hot crowds.

Pollyanna Peace

Peace. You say you desire peace. “Bring the soldiers home.” End it. Simplistic thinking. You hate people. People who have different opinions from you. But you want peace in the world. Forget the murders, bloody accide

POSITIVE THOUGHTS

The hand of God is filling negative spaces with spatters of green, purple, yellow, red. A rearrangement of new life and the vivid results of windblown seeds. Rains are coming in torrents, washing and giving nourishment t

The Prayin' Tree poem.

THE PRAYIIN' TREE Trees tower over the house. tall and thin with thick foliage at the top. Their limbs stretch out to reach the sun, to capture light-nourishment and satisfy thirst from massive clouds. I try to throw th

PREPARATIONS

I’ve begun the leaving process and writing these words. I talk to God on a regular basis. Today I put old pictures In a fresh new album. I’m fixing up the furniture that Has been passed down. I’m cleaning out my closets

PRESET

I’d like to know what makes you tick, As long as you go clockwise. Janet Brice Parker

Process of healing poem.

PROCESS OF HEALING I sit across from her and discuss the past, present and the importance of living in the moment. She introduces possible action. Her warmth and congenial nature put me at ease and I immerse deeper on ea

Prophesy poem.

PROPHESY Kristina called. Her voice was laughter and joy. I could see her beautiful smile and the sparkle in her brown eyes. Kristina told me about the child who was growing inside of her and that I would be a grandmoth

QUESTIONS

WHERE IS GOD??!!! WHAT AM I ABOUT??!! I MUST HAVE FORGOTTEN TO SEEK HIM OUT. 5-1-1987

REASSESSMENT

Postponing the inevitable Was partly due to the stuff. I thought dividing up our things Would be emotionally tough. Besides, I liked the way your desk Impressed and fit right in With antiques that my mama had - They made

A Recollection

I paint when I want to Or when someone pays. I’ve been drawing and painting and writing Since 1956 when Mama and Daddy Got lessons for me In Birmingham, Alabama. I climbed the stairs at Mrs. Cone’s Rickety old house. T

RECOLLECTION

Somewhere, down in there Though numbed by the alcohol Is the memory of a football game Where we began the fall. You introduced a part of me I’d never known before. I learned that blooming late must mean The blooms burst

RECURRING DARKNESS

My dreams are in dark places Underground hotels Poorly lit roller rinks where faded faces continue their circular dance Crowds of people roam in dismal dim lights I cannot locate the ones I am looking for I cannot find m

REMEMBERING

You must have been there to tickle his toes and give him a hardy “Bon Voyage” He had to have seen your face, felt your touch as he lay in your arms before his departure. Less than a year in this world he spoke your name,

A REMINDER

Bitterness emerges sometimes When I least expect it. It slides between the purest thoughts Surprised when I detect it. I thought I’d ironed away the past, The creases smooth as satin Wrinkles left were hung outside To fa

Remorse Relieved poem.

REMORSE RELIEVED She sits on the tree swing waiting for rain. Her toes rearrange stale leaves and push dry grass into exhausted soil. Thirst grows as green withers in a pool of speckled sun. While suspended in rhythm, a

Reprieve poem.

"Don't you people understand? I've painted for fifty-five years!" "Oh, don't waste your natural talent, girl. You're causing me dreadful fears." "I want you for myself to call, anytime I please. Paint my child, paint my

RESURRECTION

The Christmas Cactus leaned in the direction of her slanted back porch. Many clay pots with healthy varieties of ferns and flowers lived throughout the winter in the windowed room. She had a gift for growing things, insi

A REVELATION

The pain of guilty grief relies On what I think their eyes surmise The hurt that’s felt When I am free, reveals The very depths of me. Janet Brice 12-17-1987

Ricie’s Porch

July Heat July heat bathes my waiting skin. Winters linger beneath too many layers of suffocating sweaters, socks, and boots. My grandmother, Ricie, waited impatiently for the gloom of winter to pass so she could resume

RICKRACK

I need to share my craziness But my friend is all together, I want to discuss the fragile edge we begin by reviewing the weather. her kids are fine, her flowers bloom, Her husband’s her constant supporter. I lost my job,

RITA

I wonder what you’d look like now I know we’d still be friends The loss I felt all those years ago Was held so deep within. Fear and rage and anger lay Inside this lonely child. Emotions trickled out in ways Interpreted

Rita Diane

Seventy years ago your seven year old life came to an end and I felt like mine did too. I was only twelve when you passed from This world to the next We were best friends companions who thought We’d be old ladies togethe

River Song

The singing river they called it. The Yukis carved canoes out of fallen trees. They paddled across the massive body of water. Enemies hid behind rocks in wait. But ancient caves offered protection. A place for fires and

Riviera Red Place poem.

RIVIERA RED PLACE For published poetry and art on Kudzu Monthly, 2003 The "Redneck Riviera" is the place I love to go. Sugar-white sand, see-through sea, and a pace down low and slow. Newspapers aren't for reading, but s

the road poem.

THE ROAD He’s on the road and five o’clock means solitude. She sits and rocks. Anticipation, his favorite meal, long cool drinks are not in the deal. The gravel’s crunch from the wheels of his car. The weekend begins and

Rocky Soil poem.

ROCKY SOIL Warning to a friend The hot meadow grows desire for a stranger who doesn't belong. Janet Brice Parker

Ronnie’s Glove

You let me take your baseball glove home with me. A hopeful sign, something to seal our liking for each other. I sat on the front steps, holding the soft, sweet, rugged smell of broken-in leather. I wanted to keep it for

Room to Sea poem.

ROOM TO SEA For published art and poetry on Kudzu Monthly, 2003 Trees and houses stop short of a lofty place to sit and dream in a room for seeing the sea. Janet Brice Parker

Rough Buff poem.

Rough Buff Sleeping naked. Dripping sweat. Sticking together so tight that pulling apart mimics the ripping pain of a body sized band aid. Summer night’s heat. Winter’s down cover magnified by gas logs. No season is righ

SADNESS AT SEVEN

The day grew heavy and my heart beat loudly in my chest. It sounded like the lonely ticking of Aunt Wilma’s clock. Winter colors were vivid inside my long, late afternoon shadow. Fear and dread became the shadow. I wante

Sanibel for Daddy poem.

DADDY I thought that I would hear him in the sea or on the breeze. I wanted him to sit with me beneath the lush palm trees. I imagined he would be there by the waves and ocean foam. But as I saw the things he loved, I fe

Searching

Searching, searching for a solution. An everyday treasure hunt. The answer to the emptiness that plagues us all. Window shopping day and night, ordering with no order in our lives. There is no method to the madness. No r

SEASIDE OF ME

I wasn’t born on a balmy day, but summer is in my soul. On snowy days I dream of ways to get out of the cold. I fly away in my mind to palm trees and warm sand. I close my eyes, drink it in and stay as long as I can. I c

THE SEASIDE OF ME

I wasn’t born on a balmy day But summer is in my soul On snowy days I dream of ways To get out of the cold I fly away in my mind To palm trees and warm sand I close my eyes drink it in And stay as long as I can I’m part

The Seasons of Life

Every year it’s the same old thing, the same old litany. Excitement in April, sadness in September. Time to increase the antidepressant. I keep those flannel sheets at bay as long as I can, until I finally have to cover

The Secret

She was beaten down, treated poorly. For years she tried not to look the other way. To glance at those who pulled at her heart. She was an actress, playing a role for family and friends. She appeared fine, happy eve

Seeing the Sound poem.

SEEING THE SOUND Since I have lived in Nashville, home of the country stars, I've seen some famous people riding in their cars. Not only do they drive, they eat and walk around. They go to local restaurants and even shop

SELF PORTRAIT

I’m serious, funny, fun and no fun. Witty, a bore, bright as the sun. I’m guilty, honest, insecure. I use my looks, my appeal, My allure. I’m brazen, abrasive, sensitive, shy. Afraid to accept, inclined to deny. I’m loos

Senility poem.

SENILITY Confined to winds never remembered. Each moment exists in senility's halls. Time was where light hearts danced. Janet Brice Parker

Seven Pounds Up!

I want to see the spark coming to light up my creative side but I’m laying off Jim Beam. I’m afraid my muse has died. Afternoons on the porch with Eddie and a summer breeze toasting each other lovingly, and dreading the

SEVENTEEN

He’s seventeen I’m letting go I’m giving up what’s no longer Mine to hold I struggle I worry that he won’t Be safe but I try to be strong, let go anyway. And I get something back better than gold, we talk he’s open I’m f

SEVENTIES

From house to house we wandered and played at being relaxed. Loads of baggage encumbered and needing to quickly unpack. We acted out the answers, they seemed apropos At the time. We were high On taking chances, not drawi

THE SHADOW BOX

I made a shadow box for you to lead me forward onto the road of healing. Eighty-seven years in a nine by twelve compartment. From childhood until the last cruise, in such a small container. A connect-the-dots biography w

Shadow Grief poem.

SHADOW GRIEF Watching pebbles in afternoon shadows. Cold walks disturb my nights and time's window stands still. Janet Brice Parker 2002

Shagalicious poem.

Diamond doors and fifties floors Greeted our travel-tired entrance. Rounded edges and iron legs Had we gone back in time perchance? My mother’s placemats and bedside lamps And a fireplace that looked like home A sleek sm

She is the cause of my worrying. My mama sent newspaper articles to me while I was away at college. Girls had died doing everything I did. The more she tried to control me, the more rebellious I became.

I went to the creek on Sundays with lots of friends. We drank beer and skipped church. I took a night class and walked across the dark quad to my room. She worried about my safety but at the same time, treated me with co

She loves me, she loves me not poem.

SHE LOVES ME SHE LOVES ME NOT I’ll visit her today and as always, I do not know her mood. I cannot see into her mind. If I could, I might never go. The wrath that lies inside her delicate frame is like heavy metal sudden

SHOW ME

Show me who you are and what you want of me. Reveal the plan that you formulated from the beginning. Make yourself known to me in ways that compel my consciousness to experience your presence. Breathe into my desperate c

SHOWER OF GRIEF

I burst out crying in the shower tonight. Missing Grandaddy who died years ago. I never really grieved then. College life and being in love smoothed the lump in my throat. I was too alive to be concerned with death. When

SIGN-US FINISHED!

I don’t feel that I’m going to sneeze. I don’t even feel like I must. Years ago when I cleaned, a weekly routine, I sneezed and I coughed and I cussed. When I dusted and mopped and wiped, tears rolled into my nose. My ey

SILVER IN SLOW MOTION

Cool mountain stream ripples and rushes among slippery moss covered pebbles. I roll over smooth rocks and tumble laughing under waterfall’s liquid delight I raise my face to nature’s rushing silver brilliance and catch g

Sisters poem.

SISTERS We pray in the morning on the telephone and express or undying love. By afternoon, we’re fussing and fuming about insignificant stuff. At noon, we make up and compromise and talk about everything. We’re looking f

SLEEPING ON THE SURFACE

The folding together of her body among pillows, sheets, blankets like petals that close at night. Dark sky looks down and sets the stage for dormancy, unconsciousness sinking into absence of surrounding cosmos, earth, hu

Slightly Tipsy

The Gin makes me want to write. Sometimes it comes without the drink and sometimes not. Squeeze that lime one mo time and I just might give you a rhyme. Beach calls that summertime drink. A glass reflecting blue ocean

SNIFFER

I'm a sniffer. I sniff magazines, new and ancient books. Old wood inside of bureau drawers, concoctions made by cooks. I pull clean sheets right off the line and press them to my nose. I go through stores and sniff my wa

SOMETHING ELSE

Daddy’s doing something else. He’s not watching down on me. I will see him one sweet day, but for now he’s surrounded in peace. Things of the earth are of no concern to the daddy I once knew. He is busy, engulfed in cele

SONG OF THE SOUTH

Southern accents are easy and smooth. They fit the lifestyle, they Slide in the groove. But youth comes along and mimics its’ peers. Some come from Yankee town and what they say Is unclear. Now they all talk so fast, no

Sonny’s Call

His accent is like my grandmother, Mae’s, Marie’s and all the rest of the brothers and sisters. That sound, as soothing as honey, is the only family link I have left. We talk about his father, my mother and other ances

SORTING YOU OUT

All those years of matching your socks, straining my eyes to see. Charcoal, black and navy blue. They looked the same to me. But just the same, I put the thought and time into mating each pair while you were wearing them

Sound Barrier poem.

SOUND BARRIER I hear your voice on the phone and it takes me down to south Alabama. Deep rich tones echo ancestors who mimicked Negro slaves. Melodic interpretations of an alien language they were forced to make their ow

SOUTHERN BOARDER

Anonymous in this town. A comforting feeling, I guess. Jay walking through a parade of waves. Invisible, more or less. Observing a checkered heritage. Grandparents were pillars and rocks. Scattered among the towers of st

Southern Breeze

Breeze from the fan. Oscillating reproduction. Takes me back to the fifties At Mae and Grandaddy’s apartment. The fan staves off summer heat In gray asphalt, Steel mill Birmingham. Mae’s pretty handkerchief wipe

SOUTHERN SNOWFALL

I watched the snow fall last night And awoke to crystal white, packed against our cabin. The cleansing smell of snow. The sound of silent brightness. Southern snow, a rarity. School was out for a week. In my young mind,

SOUTHSIDE

Every apartment and house in the dirty city holds particles of soot. Redolence of Birmingham’s putrid steel mill and exhaust fumes from vehicles speeding through the streets of southside. Mae's cooking temporarily masks

Stale Perfume

Stale perfume suffocates the people around her. It carries with it a dusky fog that releases itself into the dingy bar. The gloomy hours of morning encourage her to have just one more intoxicating glass. She feels old an

STILL LISTENING

Silences weave throughout our days, Suspended conversation. Racing reactions, An empty well? Lack of information? Your stories told, My laughter hushed Are we waiting To be replenished? Quiet smiles, An anxious fear Is t

Stock Up poem.

STOCK UP They'll quit making the things you love. The things you depend on, that fit like a glove. When you discover the perfect goods, you either stock-up or "knock on wood." I'm a hoarder, a packer, a grocery store. I

STORIES

Stories are universal from our family histories. Tales to tell and laugh about, the best of memories. As we step into the past. we embellish and accentuate to make the legends last. We pass them around and pass them down

STUNTS

Pulling stunts, but filled with remorse. Because he got caught, he’s sorry, of course. Janet Brice Parker

SUBTLE DEMONS

Dancing amid sparks through vibrant, illuminated silver-white symmetry. Abstruse poison weaving within. Predacious upon pure contrast. Dark tyranny begins. Janet Brice Parker

SUCCESSOR FAILURE

There are things about myself I fear, Features I deny Traits I’d much prefer to leave dormant, deep inside. There are qualities my mother had I’d just as soon forget. Human flaws attached to me I haven’t banished yet. So

Suicidal poem.

SUICIDAL (written about years of sickness and pain) I mourn. Crisscrossing rivers and valleys. Cradled between the moment and my desire for heaven. Janet Brice Parker

SUMMER

Honeysuckle and red ripe tomatoes. Signs of summer. Fleeting days followed by oncoming darkness. But this summertime girl enjoys every moment of mint tea and long days. Lush plants and tall trees that call me to look up

Summer Dance

I miss those times at the beach when we’d boogie the night away. We don’t really want to nap at midday. It just overtakes us. Instead of submerging ourselves in the ocean’s foam, we empty all our energy onto a soft foam

Summer Mind poem.

SUMMER MIND Why must we match the seasons and blend in with the trees? Who decided long ago we'd dress to fit the breeze? Yellow and orange do nothing for me. Then black comes after that. Deep dark colors to wear on days

Summer Stay poem.

Summer Stay Monday music nights. Easy breeze blowing from the Tennessee River to cool our hot-day bodies. Boats cruising and trains moving across the distant bridge reflecting massive connections in sunset water. Dogs, c

Sun Revealed

Sun shines beneath a chill in my bones giving momentary relief. Flowers froze overnight along with my obstructed anticipation of things future. I stoop to pick up a piece of paper. Pain penetrates as I ascend and discove

Susan Sarandon?

I’ve been told since college. But more of late. You‘re the spittin‘ image! There’s just no debate. You’re a dead ringer! Were you separated at birth? Everyone has a twin. “Is this a blessing or curse?” I’ve been stopped

Swamp Song

Silver-gray moss drapes across a sun spattered street. Golden patterns dance under a sanctuary of live oak trees. A richness that only the south can provide. Bayou calls in swampy voices. Echos of memories from a time lo

Sylvia

Sylvia was way too beautiful for the small Southern town to hold her. So she left for college with new clothes and a pack of Lucky Strikes. Sylvia’s daddy, Otto Brice, wasn’t exactly rich, but he was well able to send hi

SYLVIA (my aunt)

A comedian, full of life. A beauty in her younger days. I wanted to be like her in oh, so many ways. I longed for her wit and her turned-up nose, her mischief appealed to me. we saw the best in each other, I believe she

Sylvie Sage

Sun shown through crisp autumn leaves on this favored Midwest Child. As she lay wrapped in her mother’s arms, her cries became sleepy smiles. She was given a name, music to our ears Which sang a lovely song Sylvie Sage,

Talkin’ Bad

The English language has gone to pot. Is it “is,” or ain’t it not? My mama taught me how to talk. I could say mischievous before I could walk. My mama’s teaching I still recall. Shouldn’t bad English be against the law?

Tans poem.

Glamour Fades Tans are fading. Enhancing brown, that made smiles brighter, appears to seep back into naturally light skin. The harm that is done, does not manifest itself in the young. The damage cannot be seen. So, ther

The target poem.

Words pour from a deep dark cave of time. Echoes of sixty years make my skin crawl, cause my flesh to feel afraid. Words all around me that won’t go away. Forgiveness does not remove them. “I wish you had never been born

The Teenage Vampire

She had a baby for her parents to raise. What a “lovely gift” in their old age. She lives at home and sleeps all day. Has dogs like rabbits that wander astray. She works at the Grease-and-Go for minimum wage. Then she go

TELL ME SOME MEMORIES

The following poem was inspired by Ronnie Allred, my long-time friend and classmate. He spent time with us after Daddy's death and made us laugh. We were talking about how I couldn't remember much about high school beca

TEMPORARY DANCE OF THE DEVIL

the devil danced around me he clapped his hands in conquering glee and summoned all the right people to shower me with their love and intellectual prowess with their gifts of alternative thinking foggy smoke filled rooms

Temporary misery poem.

TEMPORARY MISERY Gray day looming. Part of the cool gray family, leaning toward blue. Too much time to think unproductive thoughts. Twenty-four hour virus distorts and threatens. Indistinct images interlace in and out of

Temporary Simplicity that

travels through generations. Spherical mirrors and crystal balls, floating rainbows that break apart, leaving colorful droplets, fountains of evaporation. Short-lived transparent beauty. Timeless delight for a child. Joy

TEST TUBE

I watched Oprah today, we've got to talk! You're hiding some things, let's take a walk. We need to confess. Let's go on a trip. Our life together is starting to slip. Did you see someone who turned your head? Do I look b

THANKS BE TO THE MAN FROM GLAD

I got rid of a lot of garbage that had collected in my head. I put it in a bag for God and let myself be led. the thick and heavy rubbish that had poisoned up my mind disappeared and things got clear, I left some pasts b

That Sunday feeling

What’s wrong with me? It’s been 80 years since I was made to go to Sunday school. It’s been around 76 years since Daddy beat me into going to church. I am married to the perfect man for me. I love having friends over. I

That “Grandmother Hole”

All you had to ask was, “is that a turquoise ring?” With that simple question I was hooked on your name:“Birdie“. It suited your smile, curly blonde hair, your outgoing personality and artsy nature. Immediately I thoug

THEN

It’s too bad I wasn’t eighteen When it was time to be I decided to live my teenage years When I turned thirty-three I was tired of being Mama The demands outweighed the rewards And Papa was out of pocket We struck dissim

Then and Now

I was thirty-one then. That was fifty years ago. Those times— fifty years ago— were crazy. Hate and lust overtook me. The music and drink marched to my rapid heartbeat. I was desperate for attention, and I got it everywh

Then is Now

I hear the young folks are looking ahead to things that came before. Before they were born things a little worn So what, they still want more. They want old cameras (if they can still find film) and they treasure old for

THINKING BACK ON THE LACKING

THINKING BACK ON THE LACKINGS A coming together existence, after years of falling apart. A day I used to wonder about, at night with a racing heart. I hated the life I was starved for. Eternal, continual needs. Was disgu

Those Boys

Those boys hold my beating heart in their hands. I cry over it all— their births, their sweet, soft skin given to me, along with murmurs. Even their cries touched my very being. At six and seven, I loved their dirty h

THOUGHTS

I go so deep within myself Trying to figure it out I’m better when I just don’t think Or ponder what life’s about I’ll never unravel it anyway The mystery’s too great So I will sit and think about How not to contemplate

TIED

Late afternoons we walked toward the sun. Twenty vacations and almost that many beaches. The scene was always the same - Steps in silent anger. The waves beating, feeling beaten. Desperate for the pain to end. What was i

Time foolery poem.

Time Foolery Winter is an eternity, it seems. The cold creeps along like an old lady crossing the street. The nights suddenly close around us, as if God abruptly pulled a light switch. Sunny days show up on TV movies, no

The time is now poem.

The Time is Now I lived for this time. I dreamed while awake as I poured cereal and made birthday cakes. I could only imagine the gladness and joy of endless hours and grown-up boys. Time to read and do nothing at all. T

TIME LEFT

Red leaves filling in spaces from the cabin’s view. Red, yellow and brown dots taking over green. It’s just beginning, though. Multi-colored death falling slowly to the ground. More weeks of heat, more months of warm. Th

TIME OFF

Quiet days. No searching For stones To lay a path. Straight ahead No left no right. A rest In the aftermath. Janet Brice 11-17-1988

Time's Highway.

Payne's gray pavement. White lines travel through the center of bleak asphalt. Contrasting strips look connected from a distance but the monotonous repetitive patterns quickly break apart and disappear behind moving vehi

The Tire Store

The tire store on Highway 67 is an institution. An artistic unplanned filth is almost inviting. Dirty doors reveal years of Oily hands. Plastic bobble heads and a well handled snow globe sit atop an old rusty metal shelf

TO A FRIEND WHO’S HAVING A 30s CRISIS:

If you should ever contemplate straying, disobeying what Mama was saying deploring all that’s Victorian, discovering what’s hovering considering uncovering letting your mothering Take a back seat. GO! With the heat (what

TO BRICE

You fill me with glorious joy, though we’re miles apart. You make the demons in my soul evaporate into nothingness. I dip myself in a pool of sadness and know it’s time to call you. We know each other because we are a pa

TO EDDIE

Dear Valentine, I owe my heart To you and you alone. You brought me from a cold despair When I felt hope was gone. You showed me how to live again And gave me love unmatched, Delivered free from your sweet soul, No bindi

TO MY CO-WORKERS

Just give me some time to imagine don’t alter my train of thought. Good intentions interjection might end up not being bought. Janet Brice 1-13-1988

To Run

You love a girl and she loves you back. That boy you stayed with for so long— that boy who abused you made you run. You ran to a girl who loves you, and you love her back. 6-26

TO THE CHILDREN

DOWN THE LINE Please pass along these meanderings, my soulful diary of sorts. rampant recordings of ups and downs, melodious and distorted chords. I hope you all will hear me, Know something of what I was. I’d like to le

too much thinking.

TOO MUCH THINKIN’ Now, I’ve thought about the heavens and I’ve thought about the earth. I’ve thought about the planets, life and death and birth. I give myself a migraine and I spin out of control when I question if ther

Too Much Time poem.

TOO MUCH TIME I must not stay in this house today and listen to the ticking of the clock hastily ticking away seconds, while particles of dust slowly drift through streaks of sun. I stare into the mirror, already tired f

A TOUCH OF BITTER

Teenie boppers in made up disguise or over forty with bulging thighs. Whatever passes catches his eye While passing me up and passing me by. Middle age crisis on an aging man, fighting the slide of the hour glass sand. M

THE TOWELS

The Raggedy Ann and Andy towels are fifteen years old. Bright colored terry cloth to dry your bright little bodies. Impatiently waiting to share a naked cleanliness with the very air about you. Now, you shine your cars w

THE TRAIN

There's something unsettling about a train. I hear it's sound, rediscover the pain. The howling whistle disturbs my night and plucks the same feelings when heard in the light. Hopeless and lonely, longing and cold. The s

The Treasure

Dust-covered plastic flowers, tired from traveling through time. Musty carpet— a smell of the past, releasing particles of an era gone by. Rooms cry out for a face-lift, while old curtains dissuade a waiting sun. Sadness

Tripin' poem.

TRIPPIN’ I’m off again to the land of sun when it isn’t covered by smog. Although we’ve been there many times, the big bridge is covered in fog. But we’re heading out, not to see the sun or the sights of a great big city

TRUE SISTERS

The first time I saw you, you were slowly walking by the condo pool and combing your short, wet hair. I thought to myself that you were a beauty. You had on a one piece swimsuit while the rest of us girls had on bikinis

TURNING EIGHTY

When I turned 80 I cut my hair 13 inches was all I could spare. I lost my hearing, got hearing aids Love handles appeared but I’m Still the same weight. Although I am skinny, my body has ripples, Krinkles all bumpy, and

A TURNING POINT

Something had to turn me around Though my last choice Was turning away. I longed to be seen by an impartial me And to hear what I Might have to say. I needed to notice my worthiness, Acknowledge and learn to accept the p

TYPI CALL

I’m looking through my address book. Self centered crisis time. Willing to foot the long distance bill. Just listen to me whine. Been busy in recent weeks, you know. Not sure where I have been. All of a sudden the walls

UNDERSTANDING, LACKING

Words like birds fly over my head. The dense fog which is my brain cannot comprehend the language of the cosmos. Bright star-given expressions flow and pour out through brilliant poets. Mythological references abandon me

UNPREDICT ABILITY

Who knows where she’s been when she isn’t so nice to you? You may not be a factor, though recipient of the mood. Yesterday your face was bliss. Today, a sight from sore eyes. Accessible easy target, takes you somewhat by

UNRAVELING A MEMORY

I remembered your blue gym shorts As I was sorting through the laundry. I forgot you were gone and I was looking for them I wanted to feel their familiar softness as I folded and Placed them on your shelf. They had been

Untitled

They come over me sometimes, usually in the fall. The feelings overtake me even though I can’t pinpoint exactly what happened to cause them in the first place. A chill makes me shiver although the weather is still warm.

UP TO ME

I sit at home with my talents, and utilize them between laundry loads and moods. Beautiful original paintings, amaze my friends. Words are sometimes chosen to appear in Times Roman or Franklin Gothic. I could paint on su

vanity pressure.

I know this is a crock. I know this is a sham. The ones who “seek” your lovely book are writers, like I am. We’re suckers for a piece of vanity and pride. So take my bucks and bind your book while you take us for a ride.

A VERY CLEAR, LUCID DREAM WHICH, I BELIEVE WAS A GIFT FROM GOD

This is a dream I had which was a gift from God on 10-9-2025: I was able to interpret it and I've almost never been able to do before. I was in a huge crowd of people, kind of like the audience at the TV show, American

Vicki

Your gaze is weary now, but your laughter still echoes the merriment we shared back in those sorority days. We clinked our glasses with spoons and sang, Ring Ching Ching Ring Ching Ching Pi Beta Phi! Lines on our face

VISITS

Raspy morning voices comfort me as I awake. Coffee dripping in its silver-gray percolator Smells like home. My aunt talking incessantly, My grandmother and Mama preparing breakfast. Granddaddy sits and waits while slurpi

WAITING FOR THE STORM

Solitary and quiet today except for an occasional exchange with the dog. Waiting for the storm. Spending some time outside in that foreboding yellow-hot atmosphere. Enjoying the warmth, yet knowing, from experience, the

WANTING WHAT I DIDN’T HAVE

I erase. But still the imprint is embedded in the paper. I want to rub the carbon in, go back and try to savor. Janet Brice Parker

WAR

Alabaster-hued streets. Abandoned days midst smoldering buildings. Survival cradles desire. The world's doorways elucidate a messenger and music is found in hope. Janet Brice Parker

THE WATERCOLORIST

His pipe was a fragrant addition to his personality. Quiet demeanor, pleasant smile. A beacon in the crazy sixties when sepia clouded one’s thoughts and monopolized paintings. The top of the watercolor tube wouldn’t budg

Way Back Then

You were 17 when we first met. Shy and quiet. Not much to say to me. You were the brother Of a boyfriend I didn’t need. I’ve always liked you better. Even now when I am 80 and you are old too. You make me feel I

THE WEEK

There was a glow around us. It lasted the week and long after. Days and years to relive a healing balm that Washed our souls. A family with a history As complex and varied As our personalities. But the intense love we

WHAT CHEW SAY?

Nobie says, “whooo, yo skirt is tight!” “But it can’t be. I’ve lost weight.” “Janet, you crazy. Tight, mean goot” “Tight mean you lookin’ fine.” “OH! I see. I’m going to remember that.” Whitney says, “whooo, dis ham

WHAT IF?

The radio says That a convict is loose. A tiger escaped From a nearby zoo. A hurricane’s spawning And headed this way. The sun’s getting closer The heat’s here to stay. What if the convict Breaks into my house? The tiger

What Not to Be

I was only five when I first heard the words strung together. They came from a mother who was supposed to teach me how to live, how to be kind, how to love. But she didn’t. “Why can’t you be like Betty Anne?” My young sk

WHATEVER

(Playing around with words that I'm going to have to look up again in the dictionary.) Storm-worn concentric peals of dissonance, peroration. Rediscovering sanity. Cicatrix, relearning sleep. Janet Brice Parker

WHAT’S IN A NAME?

The Bettys and the Susans and the Jerrys and the Bills grew up inside the perfect town and roamed around the hills. There was no fear in that small place When Betty walked to town. And Billy gave her one quick look then

WHERE ARE YOU?

Where are you tonight, sir? Dancing in the snow? Are you living out your poetry Do you see words, high and low? Do you knit together images and put them inside your coat? press them tightly to your breast, and save the w

WHOSE CONTROL?

I’m driving toward the end of the block, while turning the corner I notice the clock. The clicking sound, my ring on the wheel, now deadly silent time to kill. Moving through the pouring pain the lights ahead are dimmed

WHY DOES BAD ENGLISH

HAPPEN TO GOOD PEOPLE? Why does bad English happen to good people? They’ve gone to school, They’re not forgetful and feeble. They slay the King’s English, and give no thought, to being college grads. “It don’t matter and

THE WINDOW

The window holds my attention and rain-soaked Nandinas. I sit in my constant chair looking out on drops, temporarily captured by sprouts of spring. My mind is saturated with fear and boredom. Sadness overpowers me and tu

Winter denial poem.

WINTER DENIAL I lost all memory of winter when we walked through aromatic breezes. Girls in tank tops, silky with lotions and fresh shampoo. Day’s end lingered and gifted us with a slowly waning colorful sky. Blistering

WINTER SUN

Winter sun spreads out on a brown field. One dead tree shadow interrupts the grass and paints sharp intersections and parallel arrows. The two o’clock hour counts out lonely heartbeats and hurtful memories. Dark comes qu

A WISH

I want to get under the covers and hide, Get into my long johns, forget what’s outside. I don’t seem to like anybody today, I work to survive and get minimum pay. I’d like to go crazy for a day or ten, be irresponsible g

WISHING WELL

The hole in my soul reveals itself When dawn is slowly breaking. Bodily hurt from feeling alone Shakes me into waking. A screaming void that can’t be filled Expands and my heart beats faster. Remedy found in calming pill

WOODLANDS

Woodlands surround us. We see new growth from wildflowers springing forth and reaching for the heavens. Thick trees tower over us. Nature abounds in our own private rainforest.

WORDS

Words are palpable to me. Refreshing streams of a pen sliding across chaste white paper. Mind formed messages transport me into the past. Memories with scents, tastes and a visible radiance of nature. Unwearied breaths t

Words Fail Me

I try to talk to people and seem somewhat intelligent but often my vocabulary fails. My words tumble over other words and fall upside down into tall grass. I’m not quick with comebacks. I think of them later when I’m alo

Writer's Block poem1.

WRITER'S BLOCK Before the thought of an end to writing, word's laugh lines pen memory. Time after is only in dreaming. Janet Brice Parker

WRITER’S BLOCKS

I will not sit here with writer’s block. I’ll put something down instead. I won’t clean the kitchen or fold up clothes or get back in the bed. A “block” obstructs, deters, confines, and the creative mind shuts down. I wi

YARD SALE EXPERIENCE

Cigarette smoke and bad vibes hit me in the face. Beauty in her piercing blue eyes. A dichotomy backlit by a table of confusion. 2023

Yellow Scissors

Your name was Clint and we were in Mrs. McFerson’s first grade class. I hadn’t become shy yet. That came later. I danced on a classroom table and asked you to be my boyfriend. You said, “no”. So I offered you my yellow p

Yoga Pants

They were all in line at TJ Maxx. All in black and showing their cracks. I counted 15 all showing their butts Showing everything from back to front. Is this the fashion fad of the day Or is it something here to stay? I s

YOUNG SONG

Peter, Paul and Mary are old. I saw them on TV. If I had closed my eyes and heard I’d have sworn it was ‘63 The heart doesn’t change but age acquires the knowledge that youth sings about. Peter, Paul and Mary remain Unch

YOUR MEMORY

Your memory gets me through the days and nights when I can't sleep. At three a.m. I search for things, hidden, buried deep. Your memory conjures treasures lost. I long to call your name. But you can't hear, you can not t

YOUTH REMEMBERED

Remembering the pleasant times aroused anticipation. I fantasized on future days - confident expectation. Looking back seemed close at hand ahead lay unwrapped gifts. Approaching age for a twenty year old was nothing but

THE “CLASS” of ’63

Guards are dropped respect is gained for those we barely noticed. Hearing tales of human lives that are not candy-coated. Dressing up from the inside out. Not needing to impress. Admitting flaws of younger years. Desirin

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