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Enjoy the Poetry of Sarah Louise
Parry
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Parry
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Where It All
Started...
Where did it all start? Well,
for me my poetry fuse was ignited while I was studying A Level English Lit &
Lang. I had only come across poetry in my life occasionally, before my A Level
English module was fixated upon the great, Seamus Heaney. Once we all started
dissecting his fabulous works: my heart was sold. His angst, agression and
confidence were the catalyst for me starting to write poems, and I haven't
stopped since. At the time I had a part-time job at
British Home Stores, flogging
lights for the corporate junkies all day long and I used to get bored out of my
mind on my shifts and start jotting down stanzas on the back of receipts to keep
my wandering mind under control.
Seamus inspired me, but other
things such as the realism that spouts out of Mike Skinner of 'The Streets'
mouth inspires me, I like the way they talk about everyday things but make you
look at them in a way you haven't probably encountered before. We can except a
mono-vision of the world, or we can break free from the rest of the atoms and
paint the picture our own
way. I, like these other artists, like to paint visions in my prose of how
I see the world. If people do
not see it my way, there is no problem, for diversity and difference is what
makes art interesting.
April 9,
2006 |
The Astrologer
I want to go on a pilgrimage,
A pilgrimage away to Mars,
Get lost in crimson-cut visage.
Away from the leering lights of strip bars,
Contours cursed with macabre mirage,
Away from the drone of coughing cars.
Pastures of pure red carpet laid,
A haven for my holed-up thoughts,
Escapism from life’s charade.
Away from old possessions bought,
A rocket ship shall fly to my aid!
Banishing from the overwrought.
Planets prick my tears every time,
Estranged from dear Mother Earth’s grasp,
Eloping away from Earth’s grime.
Emigrating from her riled rasp,
Mars is a haven’s paradigm,
Away from pollution’s cold clasp.
April 9, 2006
The Poet's Letter Magazine Poetry and Live Music
Performance
10th April 2006, Monday
(Next Event My 15th)
@Covent Garden,
7 pm @ Poetry Cafe, Covent Garden.
Performing: Munayem Mayenin, Malgorzata Kitowski, Luke Wright, Paul
Taylor and Johnny Vallon. Open Mic.
May Poet in Residence Malgorzata Kitowski (Left)June Poet in Residence Tricia Peak (Right)Their pages will appear in due course. In the meanwhile do read Margorzata
Kitowski's poetry as she is the one of the Featured Poets of the April
issue of The Magazine. |
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Gingerbread Men
Gingerbread men and I walked in matrimony…
Once. I used to eat them totally happily.
Until I asked: Where are the gingerbread ladies?
I started to despise iced-on leering eyes,
His stuck-on Smarties buttons I now despised,
Patriarchy started to materialise.
I found his sexist ginger trunk hard to swallow,
I realised their ginger gimmick was too hallow,
Where were the gingerbread ladies of tomorrow?
Politics are even played out in our pastries,
I boycotted bread blokes and their hegemony,
With puffed-out buttoned and status baloney!
09.04.06
San Francisco, 1993.
What is so special about
This famed place: San Francisco?
The place all the singers spout,
In self-plugging fiasco.
Why do words linger on its
Sun-kissed, sun-tanned sweet skyline?
Why is it in music hits?
A swine: disguised as divine!
Each ballad makes my ears bleed,
This simulacra that sells,
Memories I try to recede,
Of beaches, gathering shells.
Hilly contours like her humps,
Bay Bridge postcards make me sick,
In cable cars we rode bumps,
Back in 92’: we clicked.
The memoirs trigger malice,
Her shadow darkens that place,
That dogmatic accomplice,
Whom fled with her packed suitcase.
We battled on the Bay Bridge,
She said that we’d grown apart,
She created this raw ridge,
It was there she broke my heart.
09.04.06
Lament of the Citizen
Ryan slaves all day at Morrisons,
What’s happened to all the citizens?
He stacks shelves and fills up the freezers,
Thieves his friends the Bacardi Breezers.
Fenced behind his false-smiling shop face,
Lies political angst: left to waste.
Capitalism stimulates us,
Strip shops bare, then cram on to a bus.
He wonders why we’re called consumers…
What happened to the old citizens?
We used to have power but its gone,
Swallowed up by globalisation.
He scans barcodes, while brain cells erode,
He wonders why fat cats are condoned.
The till does the math. He just sits there.
Does it make a difference if he cares?
The citizens are dead in Iraq,
The consumers live here and buy tat,
The bourgeoisie steal identities,
Ryan: a shackled cashier monkey.
We are merged together as a mass,
They are slowing killing off our class,
He tells his colleagues of his motives,
But they dismiss him as just a kid.
CLIVE
We'd watch the sunset from the playing fields,
Our hands entwined, so I knew it was real,
Splitting sun segments showing how I feel.
Clinches would leave staple marks in my skin,
He did not wish to return to him,
His thug father who reeked of piss and gin.
I used to wish that we lived behind the bike sheds,
His youthful cheeks all gaunt and underfed,
His school shirts splattered with spots of red.
He chugged on roll-ups on a massive chain,
Nicotine numbed pain and clogged up his veins,
Without me: he said he'd of gone insane.
He defends his daddy, says that he's ill,
Even though he thrives in his own sick-swill,
He'll leave him not a sausage in his will.
I remember him well, my boyfriend Clive,
My first love I just could never deprive,
Sometimes I wonder if he's still alive.
Sarah Louise Parry was one of the Featured Poets of the
March Issue of The Poet's Letter Magazine.
Read more of her works
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Love-Bites
Your love-bites loiter long
after our break-up fight,
We were in passion’s throngs,
I know we’re not tonight,
I don’t care who was wrong!
Won’t you just make things right?
Your love-bites are overt,
Garishly glaring out,
Red, traffic-light alert,
They made my parents shout!
It’s not the bites that hurt,
It’s you that makes me pout.
Your love-bites languish me,
Your given souvenir,
Our names still carved in trees,
In gluttonous veneer,
Scratched in cars, done with keys,
We were love’s pioneers.
Your love-bites are fading,
Like the memories are,
Now, I find them jading,
I don’t wish upon stars,
Gone is masquerading,
And scratching love in cars.
09.04.06
Dumpville
The ebony night he crossed me,
All the stars smirked in irony,
Broken skies of matrimony,
The cats chortled in symmetry.
Twilight tides froze stationary,
The clashing clouds could not agree,
His jiggered jeers stung like a bee,
The cats gorged on mice greedily.
His ego thick like clotted gravy,
A colonial wind as crude as he,
Cruelly waking me from reverie,
The cat’s jaws dripped blood in bravery.
The cat’s eyes on the road’s rind decreed,
Owls offered knowledge from the trees,
He severed “us” through soliloquy,
The cats of the night and I were free.
Our Gaff
Among the wads of working class woodchip,
Among our union daubed with sprays on streets,
Among the Seventies swirly shag pile,
Among cheap off licenses and penny sweets.
Lonely libraries chastised due to joyrides,
Women with shaved, short hair who’d down their pints,
Bingo, the lottery, the tote trim dreams,
Blazing car carcasses lit up the nights.
Biro bashed tattoos of buxom beauties,
Ladies of the night kept the cobbles warm,
Deep in the centre I found my true love,
Local men read nount, but the gee gee’s form.
Discarded johnnies riddled pavement,
I used to pass her walking to the shops,
Where sick carpeted from the night before,
The odd kebab divorced from it’s partner, Hops.
She was a fine rose dressed in black hipsters,
The plants cried out! As allotments were wrecked.
No peroxide and naff nylon for her,
Her hair done at a top salon with specks.
Among the blue disco of screeched sirens,
Among the scattered syringes we packed bags,
Among the mess, we did a Midnight Flit,
Among love: we escaped the skags and slags.
Copyrights to the works by Sarah Parry appearing on
this page @Sarah Parry.
Sarah Louise Parry was one of the Featured Poets of the March Issue of
The Poet's Letter Magazine.
Read more of her
works |
