Where Fires Glow (a poem)

Posted on 06/24/2018 by Wanda S. Paryla | Leave a comment

WHERE FIRES GLOW

I was swinging to and fro
Hair flying
Laughing out loud
Barbaric is my memory

Devil’s on the playground
Here to erase my afflictions
God turned his back on me a long time ago
Now I live where the fires glow

Back and forth my memory rages
I struggle to keep my eyes shut
I need to stay where the fires glow
Let me rest in peaceful flame

Bottomless and salty
Protection from truths
Is the pit of the damned
Where the fires glow

Some voices, they urge me
Face your slave masters
But the fires beg me
Cover your eyes for sanity

Devil holds me
Gently in his arms
God’s gone, sweet child
So stay here where the fires glow

The fires
Avengers of my ravaged goodness
I know that I’m safe nowhere
But where the fires glow

REBIRTH – a poem

Posted on 04/06/2015 by Wanda S. Paryla | Leave a comment

phoenix by sandara: sandara.deviantart.com

REBIRTH

PHOENIX

IN THE SKY

WINGING HIGH

EYES OF FIRE

RISE WITH PRIDE

DO NOT HIDE

SOUL RIDE

PHOENIX

A Future Haiku

Posted on 01/04/2015 by Wanda S. Paryla | 1 Comment

A FUTURE HAIKU

Looking back no more
Up ahead there is a star
Leading me afar

Haunted, Poisoned Doughnut

Posted on 10/28/2014 by Wanda S. Paryla | Leave a comment

I don’t believe I’ve shared this one previously. After writing this, I wrote a short story based on the same theme called, The Doughnut Murders. It’s a tad over 14,000 words, or I’d post it here on the blog. Of course, if anyone would enjoy reading it, just let me know and I can post it later this week. I figured this is a good Halloween-themed poem. 😉

HAUNTED, POISONED DOUGHNUT

Oh haunted, poisoned doughnut
You have found me at last.
You first went through all my friends
One by one by one
Until there were none

First you started with dizzy Fizzy
Oh how she was such a thin-lizzy
Prim and proper
And such a show stopper

Next there was business woman, Rita,
Who acted like such a Lolita
With her red stripper heels
And all those scandalous deals

Third there was Rose
Who thought she was so good at writing prose
Turns out it was her husband
Who wrote all those

One by one by one
You poisoned them
Then caught me in the end
I should have known better

Than to eat a doughnut
That appeared out of nowhere
And moved around from here to there
When there was no one else near

It was Vickie
Who killed us
Out of some sort of revenge
Just because we poisoned her

With a doughnut so round
We killed her dead
By a doughnut
Riddled with arsenic

Put up with her
We did
Until we could no longer
Stand her

Though our finicky
Friend Vickie
Did seek out revenge
Testing our strength

Against a doughnut
Sound round
With icing glistening
Sweetly sugared orb so fine

She stole our husbands
Then our boyfriends
Even our children
Seemed her to defend

We got tired of her wicked games
So we poisoned her with a sweet eat
And OMG! It was so neat
When she ate that poisoned doughnut

Then fell head over feet
Onto the floor of my very home
Throw her in a bag did we
And deliver her to a watery new home

But alas did she get her payback
By placing one lone doughnut in a Dunkin Donuts sack
And placing it ‘round the house
When to eat, there was nothing else ‘round about.

Dance of the Seasons

Posted on 10/27/2014 by Wanda S. Paryla | Leave a comment

I don’t recall if I’ve ever posted this on my blog before, but thought it’s a fitting time to share.

DANCE OF THE SEASONS

Seasons change, bringing anew
The turning tides ring of truth
Times come and they go
Return and leave like the life of a rose

In the beginning of a season
Living life without reason
We feel totally robust
Then fall down and bust

Life, full of too much excitement,
Eventually brings tired days well spent
Whether it’s raking leaves
Or shoveling snow; hanging wreaths

Eventually the season ends
And before we know it, tends
To enter another season, yet again
A never-ending cycle upon which we depend

And as we dance in spring showers
And keep watch over growing flowers
The sun in the sky rises higher
As the days grow longer and lighter

The outdoors begs us, come
Time to begin outdoor fun
And next thing we know
Tulips smell fine and gone is the snow

As the roses rise high
Toward the big blue sky
Turning their faces aloft
We look ahead to summers so soft

Full of hot days and warm nights
We’ll lie on our backs; watch the skies for lights
Barbecues will be lit
With charcoal in their pits

And in the last days of summer
We’ll stand outside and act all the dumber
While pretending not to know
That soon enough, there’ll be snow

We’ll toast the long days
As we nod to changing ways
As fall chases summer away
And lessens our time of play

Ushering in things anew
Yet that seem old too
And soon the raking of leaves
Give way to the hanging of wreathes

Again we’ll sit ‘round hearth fires
Discussing days gone by with desire
And we sit with our cookies and coffees
Dreaming of summer and big Slurpees

It’s the dance of the seasons
It happens without reason
Round and round it goes
And where it’ll stop, everyone knows.

Night Demon

Posted on 10/26/2014 by Wanda S. Paryla | Leave a comment

*Demon 1 by IgorKieryluk

NIGHT DEMON

I fear for my weak and wretched soul
As he haunts me through ominous night
Luring me to deadly sins so foul
Enticing me away from the light

Night Demon, I beg him, stay away
My thoughts are scary, murky; viscous
Fear of harsh judgment keeps them at bay
Demon! Don’t lead me to be inauspicious

He shrieks at me through the vast darkness
Of my puzzled, spinning, ailing mind
No drug can sedate the beast unless
There is a spell that can tie and bind

Demon calls to me, to come and kill
I cover my ears; don’t want to hear
As he cruelly tries to break my will
Scratching, biting, at my force he tears

Demon’s friends join in on the horror
Skipping like evil fairies all night
Through the most horrible night terror
I’ve ever had and I heave from fright

Insanity is knocking dreadfully loud
As my thoughts turn creepy; distorted
I see Demon, hiding in his shroud
Morals, slowly being aborted

My spirit cries to not engage them
Those suddenly hideous feelings
I pray to God to end the mayhem
My mind is weakened and reeling

No, Demon, I will not follow you
I will take control of my own fate
To God I will go; won’t live like you
I slit my own wrists, so come and hate

Hate me for what I’ve done to myself
But I will not kill someone for you
Demon, why do you laugh with such stealth?
You think you’ve won; that I’ve killed for you?
Hell’s gates are now wide open for me
That’s just fine as it is I who died
I won, really, as I’m murder free
I’d rather burn in hell for suicide

Than smolder in hell for murdering
Some unsuspecting stranger out there
So drag me down to hell for saving
Someone else from my sick night terror

Demon snorts and hoots and laughs at me
The steel gates of hell are blared open
But what’s that bright light that shines with glee?
It’s a bright beam from God’s fine heaven

Night Demon, you are not what you seem
God tested me and I passed that exam
He’s opened the gates of Heaven for me
Though suicide should be a failed exam

“That’s an old-school rule,” God said. “Now come.”
Through the vast gates of Heaven I walked
I was elated; I felt at home
Then I turned, saw the Demon still stalked

Then looked to find the kind face of God
He nodded and then they became one
Truth hit me like a lightening rod
Then I awoke in my bed alone.

Fate

Posted on 10/19/2014 by Wanda S. Paryla | Leave a comment

FATE

(This rambling is an entry from my personal journal from Thursday, 10/9/14.)

As you can see, I’ve missed some days of journal-ing. I am very disappointed. I wanted to fulfill my blog-a-day for October. I love October. Anyway, I’ve been sick. It’s nothing new. My colon, the son-of-a-bitch, is trying to kill me. It’s like it has a mind of its own.

Regardless, I know it will more than likely be my fate at the end of a long road.

So, mostly my idea is to only write in this journal on weekdays. Why? I don’t know. Maybe because I feel like it. I can do whatever I want. Why not? The rest of the world’s doing it.

Yep. People are doing whatever the fuck they feel like. I sure miss that Texas dirt road that I grew up on. I miss those chickens pecking around the yard, cows lowing, and the sound of crickets at night.

I miss singing with Blue Joe. I miss Tex and Lucky. I miss my quiet childhood. Sometimes I long for 1980 in our house on that beige and red sandy road.