Parrish Chase

My poetry is young and fleeting, like the space found between Shambhala breaths, wherein I snatch an occasional glimpse of the primordial muse, hiding in the pool of synaptic juices.

Thank you PEN American Center and the R.I. Power to the Poets’ group that braves these walls to “coax the muse out of the pool” for me.

Please send me any and all comments and questions at: P.O. Box 8274, Cranston, RI 02920-0274.


Articles by Parrish Chase

Prison and Justice Writing
Friday April 2

Longings

I miss the feeling of weightlessness while floating in the ocean and staring at the clear blue sky, gently bobbing to the rhythm of events beyond the horizon. I miss the salt stinging my eyes while healing my wounds and the waves cleansing my soul while driving me under. I miss the way the crashing