Checks and Boxes- poem

Checks and boxes:

 

Lo and behold, a sight to see.

Full of cynicism and dispassion for society.

My argument impassioned and thorough, 

like a slap to the cold face of humility,

The average shell, humanity lost.

From whence we came creativity crumbled

Ideals and morals – an illusion of sorting

Checks and boxes – an illusion of community.

Stupidity, idiocy this desolate democracy- never ending chaos.

We burn out like the cinders of a bright bush fire 

Like the dying sun and fauna,

we saunter through the ages and crass ruins,

marring it with our destruction.

Our intense and unruly desire to fit in,

crushed by the constant bombardment

– of peace from nations past.

 

Love is a futile intelligent design

we strive, we climb, we clamour, 

over the new phones in stores,

lining up for menial objects like robots

fresh off the factory floor

We encourage uniqueness but reject those outcasts

who embody these qualities

we are controlled by the drones of the masses. 

 

Really, all hope is lost if you ask me-

through my angst 

I see the harshness of ignorance, 

and I feel, the slap.

 Reality yields –

to my face, 

when you don’t fit into the box 

  • (c) Danielle Parrish 2017

The sound of the shotguns, music of war:

sensory response poem, see picture for more.

  • (c) Danielle Parrish 2017

 

Lonely, cold, hurt, bold, calm.

The sound of battle fire – fear runs through the veins.

Crunch, leaves, forest, ash, blood.

I’m scared for my family, my friends and my welfare.

Boom, sizzle, pop, snap

The air was cool like the corpses rotting bodies void of souls, the sound of silence deafening as the soldier marched forward.

Frail hands glide over the old mahogany grand

Blood stained keys seep into the wood

That once stood in the parlour of a family’s antique home

Alone is stands, but is not alone in song

 

Silence, music, sound, out of tune, out of time – soft

 

The crackle of the shotguns,  poisonous to peace

Faces of the fallen, heroes and enemies weep

 

Second chances are futile as all is now done

On the battlefield of silence, only one song is sung.

 

A lonely feeling, no pain just numbness– all past tensions fall away into nothingness.

 

It was the eve of the end, the silence of the battleground. The air was cool like the corpses rotting bodies void of souls, the sound of silence defining as the soldier marched forward.

 

A clearing in the woods, musty and stale held secrets and sorrows of a past mans tale. The melody of serenity plays through the chilling air.

All is lost but hope is still there.

Frail hands glide over the old mahogany grand

Blood stained keys seep into the wood

That once stood in the parlour of a family’s antique home

Alone is stands, but is not alone in melody.

 

The crackle of the shotguns,  poisonous to peace

Faces of the fallen, heroes and enemies weep

 

Second chances are futile as all is now done

On the battlefield of silence, the only song is now sung.

 

Like a child with an innocent curiosity to question:

  • (c) Danielle Parrish 2017

 

I am awake like the clock’s  never ending tick

I am a restless train of thought, running off the tracks

I am the voice inside you that burns at your core

You are powerless against my

constant  

Overbearing

unwavering  control

You are divergent

You will never stop me

I am the fuel that burns at your fire

 

Listen… L i s t e n  t o  m e!

The voice inside you nags and natters in your brain

Everyone you know

thinks you are a horrid mess

The things that make you You

irritate them endlessly…

What do they REALLY think about you?

You will never find out

You are too cowardly to question

YOU know you do not  need to be

“happy”

to be successful…

So why bother trying?

 

It will follow you – you will never feel alone

In every breath and moment it torments you

 

I am right. I know all about you

You are wrong

like a child with an innocent curiosity to question

I will always be there for you

When all others leave

I

  will

        remain…

You will never be free — as long as you listen to me…

I am all you know

Why change that?

Why destroy our bond ?

 

These voices in your head pulling at your soul

Which is right – which is wrong?

Should I even listen?

Do you even want to?

 

Let go

be free  

 

The turmoil you create will be your downfall

Be the river

that was once a stream

Forge new beginnings

Encounter your  milestones

Do not run from them

 

So let that voice inside you speak

          listen to it  

                 Imagine its perspective

                               but never let it engulf you whole

 

Anxiety is an energy

You —

Feed its desires

You —

Fuel its cruel intentions

Only you —

can smother it

Let those embers dissipate.

 

So you think you know. – A short story.

So you think you know. – A short story.

By Danielle Parrish

A young girl by the name of Clare Humphreys, finds a book at the side of the road when she was a child. A strange connection, importance of sorts, that this book will become very useful. After years of life and hauling the book around, she finds it, dusty and in a box as she cleaned out to go to college. Suddenly the once blank pages fill with words before her eyes. What happens next, will make or break the universe as she knows it.

She closed her eyes and read the first words.

Well I’ll tell you a story about life’s secrets, the good and the bad. I don’t think you’re ready, but no one ever has been, you are reading this as a message not from the future or the past but right here and now, you my dear friend are the closest thing I have to saving the world, well the universe…

Gawping  at the book she couldn’t tear her eyes away. 

See, I told you that you weren’t ready, so you think you know… Do you even want to find out?

Who are you?

I… I, call me Alto. It has been so long since someone has asked for my name.

Why?

Why, Why? Well I’ll tell you what Clare, it’s very hard for people to take you seriously when you are not physical.

Nodding in anticipation, she waited for the words to continue.

I am writing this in hopes that somewhere at some timeline you will see this and rescue me, it’s a long story but I will try to explain. So try to keep up.

I somehow broke the universe, and now it’s imploding on my, I mean all of our timelines. NOW,Now,Now don’t freak out we don’t have much time before it reaches you too. It happened when I found out the secrets of time travel, I went to the past- to far to the past, the big bang actually and it kinda drove me a little insane. All that vast nothing and then a tremendous bright light, it consumed me and now, I am literally energy… Well some might even call me an overseer or God, but that’s not the case.

Having to re-read the last sentence, she swallowed her nausea and kept reading. Intrigued and horrified at the same time, It was all too much for her head.

But what is your connection to me?

Well some may say that the chemical reaction that created the universe tied me to the closest atoms, the energy that is now taking the form of you.

What? She said aloud to the book, so you are saying that we are soulmates?

In the simplest terms, yes, Clare. So can we move on now?

I guess so then, talk away Alto.

Right, well it’s all imploding on me, my energy is like a computer that’s trying to erase the error, and you guessed it it’s destroying our timelines and,

I need you, Clare.

You are the only one that can help me fix this, many other timelines I have reached out to have ignored my message and well, it didn’t end well.

Shaking your head, what could you do? Was there anything that was possible to do anymore?

Look inside your head, throughout your life there have been segments of a code that you have been bound to see or recognize in someway. Locker codes that were miraculously your randomly assigned pin number, the date of your fist kiss, anything that you can think of that has a lot of connections in your life.

Clare thought for a long while, trying to make sense of what the book she held was saying, think Clare think, what could be the code?  

Suddenly it all started to come together, her pin number, her birthday it all made sense…

Alto?

Yes clare?

I think I might know the code…

Well anything helps, so fire away.

Clare stammered, 5, 4, 2…..7?

You might be right but there’s only one way to find out, go onto your computer I can talk to you on there as well- seeing as though i am energy, i can move my conscience and project it onto anything, in theory. But the only way I have been able to make contact is through the book.

Alto? How can you hear me ?

I thought you might ask that, I am like the air flowing, moving. But I can’t get my message across if I projected my self through your head. It would sound like your internal voice and you would dismiss it.

Ahhh, right. Clare said as she moved across her room, moving boxes and things away from her desk. She would have to continue packing later as it seems.

Now, open the notepad on the computer so you can see me type. Clare read from the book in her lap.

Ok then here goes nothing, typing across the keyboard to find the notepad application.

In a flurry the computer ran segments of code across the screen as it went black, Clare moved away from the computer as it frizzed out.

Alto…What’s, happening? She said with concern.

I don’t really know, but the numbers you gave me are the only things flashing across the screen.

A loud thud came from downstairs, her dad was moving her furniture onto the truck, to be sent to college. All these years, she thought to herself, all these years and nothing remotely interesting could have happened, you were the unnoticable teenager that every school had. But they never noticed it, how could they.

The computer stopped cold, in it’s tracks, the seemingly endless code now forming a picture, a face……she thought? The power went out, all of the house plunged into darkness. Her mother screamed.

Mum?, what’s wrong…..has something happened?

It’s too late, the computer and the book said, now with desperation. It’s too late again, no, all of my hard work, and I only ever got this far…..every time.

Alto, what are you talking about?

The voice now was losing tone, shifting and glitching a truly horrifying sound.

It’s all going to end and I am stuck in this endless loop, every morning you wake up ready to go to college, in every dimension only a small thing changes. Your hair, your eyes, your gender. Something small changes each time, but never the code, that’s the problem. The universe is like a computer and I am the error jumping from one dimension to the next, stuck to your timelines because you are the only thing that ties me to existence.

Clare looked to the window, horror on her features. The sky was black and everything was getting covered in green coding shifting in and out of reality. She screamed, was this the end?

I’m sorry, every timeline with you is now being erased because of my mistake, you are the closest thing I have ever had to love and now something is punishing me for it. Maybe, Alto wondered, if I never jumped to the past and screwed up I could have found you, but because of my stupid ambition I have ruined reality, for you and me.

Alto was dejected, losing all hope as he had billions of times before. If the universe was truly infinite would he continue traveling forever, doomed to be in the loop?

I am here for you, even if my reality is coming at an end. Clare said to the computer, her book and to anyone else who cared to listen. Looking out across her window the green and black coding enveloped everything she had seen millions of times before, never truly appreciating it because she took it for granted.

It was a matter of seconds now, the side of her house was now covered in green lines of code, all made up of those numbers, those horrid numbers that now, she wanted to forget.

So now you know clare, the truth, good and bad.

So now I know, was I  better of not knowing?  No, I was better off knowing that someday my life would end, but not like this.

Alto, can you do one thing for me?

Yes, clare?

Kick the universe’s ass for me. Clare whispered, she was short of breath, the lack of oxygen, of anything was now consuming her.

And all went black.

I will clare, only for you. I will find a way.

And then Alto woke up.

——————————————————

Are you ok Alto, you look pale?

Yeah, he said as he rubbed his head drenched with sweat, I had that dream again, Clare… Exactly the same one.

She sometimes worried about her husband’s delusions, but somehow deep down she knew something was wrong.

——————————————————–

So you think you know, it’s only a matter of time.
The end.

(c) Danielle Parrish.

Darkness bids farewell


(Sebastian Michaelis – black butler. All credits to Yana Tobaso)

I weep at the foot of life’s misjudgements

The cancerous truth hidden by governments

The darkness of the unknown envelops you
I stand alone, a force unbound

By hatred, terrorism and shockwaves of silence

My thoughts are different, my views are just so

Why do we live the life we lead, if someone is marketing hatred and greed?
But that is the darkness in all of us you see,

The darkness of self doubt and anonymity

But shed light on the situation at hand, cower before the naked truth of mans desire

To perish himself and the world in a cancerous fire.

The darkness is all it leads to now

I bid you farewell and take my final bow.

Manuscripts of the mind – Poetry

No words can reach my heart

it is locked up inside

no books or ideas can quench my mind

philosophy is a hunger and i feed on it daily

an open heart to ideas of the past expand my future

but i cant bear to loose my present

my family and my life all mundane but worth it.

so i write to you dear reader in hopes you’ll understand

a world with ideas is great but love is worth more

enjoy what living gives you,  for you wont experience it again.

I might be old but i am wise – some have said, much before my time.

but what time was it that i wasted writing manuscripts of my mind.

  • (c) Danielle Parrish

 

The annexe of misfortune: – poetry

The annexe of misfortune:

 

Cold, dreary and somber are the emotions that run through the beating heart of the annexe.

 

The smells of stale summer air flow through the cracks, a hint of spice from the warehouse below.

 

The only news is misfortune and the only food is hope.

 

Could huddling for warmth degrade their worth in the eyes of some who take away their rights to even breathe, to be human?

 

The two families merge as one throughout the year – becoming like the tides, ever near and yet ever far.

 

Thoughts of hope flow through ink to paper, the annexe calls – from within the cold dark walls, and fogged windows.

 

Radio broadcasts the outside world, it seems so foreign, and so frightening to her that people that they knew are being stolen in the night.

 

All the propaganda making Jews feel like herded cattle, only one direction- to the slaughterhouse, the annexe feels the fear of those whom she protects, a souls combined cloaking is the only safety they have left.

 

Like whispers, the nights cold air rustles through the cracks of the annexe, for fear of feeling the families have no heater – no material worth, for it was striped away when peole found out about what their worship is worth.

 

Poison is the power of some at the helm of a revolution for the masses – The poison that proves evil can see no truth – no truth of the future, or of the families  that he holds in his hands.

 

Cradling shelter the annex gives to many- although misfortune is around the corner and the sirens make breathing heavy.

 

Heavy are the hearts of  those who carry on, a candle’s light flickers- like a lone birds song.

 

Emotions as bitter as the food that they eat – fighting over who in which family has the bigger piece, of the dust on their plates that they have to eat.

 

But in this house of misfortune, a diary it does contain with the hopes of a young girl running through the papers veins.

 

From this hope, a story of the the house in which it contains- a little girl and her big family-  all but one, never to be seen again.

 

Goodbye, said  Anne- you were my only true friend.  – Danielle Parrish

(based of of the diary entry, friday 10th of march – 1944)

A bundle of contradictions:

A bundle of contradictions:

 

Alone in the annexe I sit, becoming one with the days, and the seasons.

Alone she sits, pondering about whether the war will end soon, or if her time is up.

I ponder about my family and what strength drove them through this bundle of contradictions that I call my life.

She ponders about  the restless nights, the fights and the sirens throughout the mess she calls her life.

Becoming a lady, I must sit poise, prim and proper.

Becoming a lady, sacrifices must be made, her beauty for her brain, and her heart for her hope.

I begin to wonder about the chimes, chimes that break the day into evening and the evening into night.

She wonders about the chimes, the sand shuffling through the hourglass- she wonders about her future.

 

A bundle of contradictions, I write to my diary- two halfs of a whole person but a split in my personality.

 

A bundle of contradictions she writes, anger, happiness hope and despair- two halves of a person that no one sees is there.

 

Could the war be over, all my suffering coming to end?- I am begining to view  friends as family, but my family i am starting to view as friends.

 

Could her savoirs be near?- could the new beginning break the dawn – or is this just a painting that a talented artist has drawn.

 

One thing is for certain I’ll be the best writer yet- even after death, my life will become a sonnet for the masses.

 

One thing is for certain, her life will live on- through movies, poetry and song- her words will become history every time she lays her pen to write, until her final breath bits the night .

good night. – Danielle Parrish

 

(based off of her last diary entry, Tuesday the 1st of August 1944)

The cold war of segregation :

The cold war of segregation:

A yellow star is branded upon their clothes, like cattle they herd them in droves;

A man at a podium fuels the new generation with unjustified hate, it was to late for Art college – but not to late for mistakes.

Cutting away all of their smiles with guns and gas and poisonous bile, Whilst others look on in fear, who could be next?

A war cold as the bitter jeers that are given, new laws and new feelings- none of which are justly given right to see light.

Leaving behind the voices of many who march on and get beaten till they are bruised and bloody, what life is this for Jews?

The war rages on as emotions run cold, the sight of trains and thinning cities, officers in fancy uniforms patrol marching like new gods as the death count takes its toll.

Hiding away like mice from a cat, fear and anger marches on in the cold war of segregation.

Where the only song is war and the yellow star is slowly purged from histories pages, forevermore

  • Danielle Parrish (2016). (c)

 

The side of angels – a Sherlock Holmes themed poem

“I may be on the side of angels but do not think for one second that I am one of them” – Sherlock Holmes

The side of angels

is a terrible side indeed

where experience is lacking and intelligence is in great need

but do heed my advice for i wont repeat it twice.

The game is on Watson, and I haven’t got all night.

Moriarty is dancing with the Devils tongue,

setting of explosions in the name of fun

“The people are in danger, Sherlock”

you exclaim with great heed

Yes, i know that  Watson – but i care not for the loss of human stupidity.

the world is better off with the peoples heads cut off – they run around like chickens anyway- trust me i’ve experimented every possibility

That the side of angels is righteous- and just

But i need freedom- to do what devils must.

You know i don’t have many friends Watson – in fact i only have one.

You put up with my intelligence, and i mess with you just for fun.

For that I am truly sorry, but the chase is just begun.

I may be on the side of angels but do not think for one second that i am one.

  • (c) Danielle Parrish 2016

Sherlock homes themed, man I love me some Sherlock 🙂