Category: Writing

A Woman is a World


Somewhere to the left
And a little bit high
Just out of reach
From the average guy


Even if one got close
There is a mystery
A circular maze
A lot of history


If one navigates that
Things become more real
Closer to the center
Of the moving wheel


Here she lives and breathes
With a lot of moving parts
Children, home, and work
Tending many hearts


Deeper still into her core
Burning deeply bright
Lies the longest tunnel
Running out of sight


One could get lost there
Trying to find the end
Hoping to be a lover
Before he is a friend


Once true and made
The friend will discover
The tunnel opens up
To a trail called Lover


Winding along the river Truth
Past the draping Passion trees
Breathing the sweet air of Trust
From a gentle and kind breeze


There upon the path
Is laughter and play
Silliness and kisses
Any time of day


Still further in
The way dips and rises
Eventually arriving
To even more surprises


A house nestled in the woods
Made of the finest Loyal oak
With windows of Honesty
That cannot be broke


Inside is the heart
Of this beautiful mind
The living space of a queen
The most loving kind


If one is invited in
Care and tenderness abound
Happiness and gratitude
Are easy to be found


Inside these walls
Dreams are hatched
Plans are made
And efforts are matched


Beyond the French doors
Under a canopy of Desire
Lies a secret garden
And a place for a fire


On a bed of spring grass
Near the base of a pine
With a view to the stars
And the finest wine


She will lay alongside you
And whisper in your ear
If you listen with care
Your very heart will hear


The thunder of ten storms
The rumble of earth and rock
The roar of the seven seas
The call of a hunting hawk


The serene trickle of waterfalls
The flitting of hummingbird wings
The swish of salmon swimming
And many more surprising things


When she touches your skin
A bigger truth is revealed
It is her deepest self
Being unconcealed


Try as you may
Try as you might
You will never, ever find
A more beautiful sight


As Desire descends
Into her special place
Her eyes glow with color
Like embers on her face


Her arms surround you
With bosom to your chest
Her lips soft like feather
She brings out your best


Heaven’s gate has a key
That only few know about
There in the garden
She turns it without a doubt


If ever you find yourself
Reaching up high
To the left and out of reach
Be sure to know just why


Because a woman is a world
All unto her own
Deserving your very best
More than you have ever shown


If you can’t give her that
If you have yourself more in mind
Just stop and move away
And leave her to a better kind


-Michael Parks

Zest. Gusto. How rarely one hears these words used. How rarely do we see people living, or for that matter, creating by them. Yet if I were asked to name the most important items in a writer’s make-up, the things that shape his material and rush him along the road to where he wants to go, I could only warn him to look to his zest, see to his gusto.


Write every day, line by line, page by page, hour by hour. Do this despite fear. For above all else, beyond imagination and skill, what the world asks of you is courage, courage to risk rejection, ridicule and failure. As you follow the quest for stories told with meaning and beauty, study thoughtfully but write boldly. Then, like the hero of the fable, your dance will dazzle the world.


You learn the most from sitting down and doing the work, regularly, patiently, sometimes in hope, sometimes despairingly. When you have something that seems complete, show your work to people you trust to be honest but not malicious. Put it aside for six months and reread it. Expect to be disgusted by your own early work. If writing is your vocation, if you hope that it might be your salvation, push on through the disgust until you find one true sentence, a few words that say more than you expected, something you didn’t know until you set it down.