Best Ravens Poems
Two ravens in the summer dusk
Were, back and forth, debating
From two phone poles, loud and brusque
They kept deliberating
When one gave their rebuttal
The other answered back
But far be it from the kettle
To call the raven black
And while I stood observing
They looked at me askance
A creature undeserving
Of a simple sideways glance
On this one thing they did agree
Those two birds of a feather
And, mocking all humanity
They flew away together.
7 Ravens
In a terrible time of famine, war, pest and inquisition,
a master Wicca giving homeless boys a apprentice permission.
They had to maintain a household in an isolated place,
working very hard to earn some recognition to face.
Collecting woods, herbs and edibles to survive
building a garden, harvesting some fields to strive.
When the moon was new the master summonsed the boys,
teaching them the art of magic, using dark power like toys.
The very same power was keeping those young men imprisoned,
some tried to run away, but got lost and ended up same place wrested.
He turned them into ravens, spying on innocent prey,
and gave them that illusion of freedom that they can fly.
The deeds of darkness had its toll and innocent hearts rebel,
they could not take the viciousness by mental means able.
The Wicca promised them the virtue of ultimate power,
focusing only onto the abuse by tragic endower.
The ravens tried to work together against the masters will,
but could not fit his evil visions to conquer the needed bill.
In disguise of 7 Ravens they had to visited villages,
creating distractions for the dark master to take advantages.
One Raven got injured during some chaotic rage,
a maiden of gentle touch, nursed the captured creature in a cage.
Not knowing that a boy is in this disguise of a bird,
and the young man was in awe of all he heard.
She was talking about a charming prince she dreamed to meet,
giving her the stillness for the loving longing as a deed.
The raven recovered and the boy’s heart was enchanted,
flying back to the brothers and the master will granted.
He told his fellows about the beauty he is feeling,
and knew it is the way to conquer all fears and controlled stealing.
They decided to fly to those villages to find some maidens of charm,
exchanging bodies to create loving features with no harm.
Soon they hearts where all full of joy and virtues abilities,
much against the masters witching capabilities.
His own manipulation fell against him by circumstance,
leaving nothing left to do, giving those young men the advance.
They swore an ode, never to use the art of dark power,
living a life with the meaning of celebrated love in any hour.
Still hearing from time to time the voice of a Crow,
sounding like the croaking noise of…. nevermore, nevermore.
Inspired by Edgar Allen Poe
Eerie rusty gates creak for me;
Gothic ravens swarm in surreal glee . . .
___________________________
April 28, 2019
Poetry/Crystalline/Gothic Ravens
Copyright Protected, ID 19- 1140-194-02
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Written for the contest, Crystal Clear
sponsor, Joseph May, Inspiration- Image #8
First Place
murder in the field
or is it an unkindness —
it’s conspiracy
As black birds, bad luck shadows us,
For we have many personas like trickster
Or ill-omened out caster, cast away
No matter how our broken speech sounds.
Our mere presence spark uncomfortable discourse.
How many chances can they take with our lives?
I’m cursed, within this unnoticeable room,
Where my only odds are fight or flight.
Except, my wings have been clipped, so it’s pointless.
Still, I’m dubbed as the freedom fighter,
And yet, I remain locked in a steel cage.
My sanity splits into delirium.
Fear burrow ever deeper into my fragile soul.
Anger begins to throb inside my once gentle heart,
When the sadness starts clawing at the darkened pupils.
All the while, the hunger instills its own painful symptom.
So, I peck, I claw, I snap at the lock,
While screeching the dialect, everyone forgot.
As one of them, I am voiceless.
A handful of grain is tossed in, with little care.
Above, the water rains down from the silver jug.
This occurred, till one hand unlocked it.
I struck her— blood had trickled down.
I clawed— I struggled for the sweet scent of freedom.
I hopped—I hopped from that oppressing cage.
Willingly, I followed her out of the devil’s domain…
Never to return.
O’er the waters of time, with attention quickly drawn,
I, Thought, soar through the heavens with Memory at my side.
By thorn and thicket, we have passed. At times we've struggled through,
as all around us tears and shreds, and yet... time we abide.
Travel we, birds of like feather; black as night and strong as day,
A reflection, one to another; two arrows taking flight.
We chance upon the wind, unyielding as the grave,
Our ballad, sight and sorrow; two ravens in the night.
7/13/2014
(Inspired by Huginn and Muninn, Odin's two ravens)
“The Monk Windows, Ravens, Angels and Embryos Forming”
Dawn arrives
in the black and white
misunderstood in the abstract
you can see the
embryos of thought forming
always inside us
the children
white angel wings
cover sleeping pages
where raven wings
spread like evensong
in storm clouds cutting
through the dissolving glass
lighter things
are never as they appear
like windows forming
where black monks stand
commanding their understanding
and the ghosts of the future
call the fallen years back in
holding court
staring back with their
vacant hollow faces
waiting for some repetitive
tiring confession from
the yawning windows
before their irreverent blessing
you listen for the sound
that follows the lightening
but all you hear is
the loud beating
of your heart
falling through
the soul’s hourglass
it’s over-percolated dripping
lighter things
are never as they appear
like windows forming
where black monks stand
commanding their understanding
Dawn arrives
in the black and white
misunderstood in the abstract
you can see the
embryos of thought forming
always inside us
the children
the message
sealed for breaking
through the glass house
and its never-ending ceilings
(LadyLabyrinth / 2022)
gvlm
“Window” / HVOB
https://youtu.be/rDNGrBY512w
rewrite of former poem
We are shiny sleek, black birds,
don’t underestimate our wit,
we are of the corvid family,
the most "intelligent,"
We are passerines,
the largest of their kind,
19,000 feet up sometimes –
look and us you’ll find-
For thirty years or more,
we may fly upon this earth,
weighing up to 4 1/2 pounds,
but only an ounce or two at birth-
We mimic other’s speech,
and are among the smartest fowl,
we’re clever and we’re shrewd,
and like a wolf, can howl,
A constable, a conspiracy,
an unkindness – we’ve been called,
teamlng together for take-downs,
we often make larger prey fall-
We make complex decisions,
and love to frolic and play,
even with 54 inch wing spans,
we can do aerobatic tricks all day,
We nest in desert rock cavities,
or in tall forest conifer trees,
and high up in beach cliff crevices,
hanging out over the coastal seas-
On land we take others’ food,
that we’ve managed to cunningly seize,
letting others do the hard work first,
then taking what we please-
In ancient times we fueled the myths,
of symbols good and bad,
and though we have a wide repertoire of calls,
Our croaking may drive you mad……
Where Ravens Cry
Beneath ancient boughs, where woeful ravens cry,
Our souls entwined, chilling winds around us creep.
The fragrance of midnight blossoms drifts nearby,
As dense fog enshrouds the glade in cryptic sleep.
With every touch, spectral fire ignites the sky,
Like graves in soft silver light, desires dig deep.
A moonlit serenade whispers through the trees,
Love’s dark melody carried upon the breeze.
Under the starlit sky, our bodies entwine,
Beneath a shroud of mystic mist, passions play.
Azure eyes, like haunted sapphires, darkly shine,
And guide my love through the night’s bewitching sway.
Each amorous moan, a ghostly lover’s sign,
An unholy union, our vows will betray.
A moonlit serenade borne on raven wings,
In our pounding hearts, love’s dark melody sings.
When it comes Springtime lambing on the farm
The bleating sheep send out distress alarm
For the black ravens and carrion crow
Locate their prey and glide in on the flow
Ebony ravens with diamond shaped tails
Are now in flight over West Riding dales
Seeing as their wide spreading wings unfolds
their acrobatic chases, dives and rolls
In mating rituals that they display
Ever watchful in likely passing prey
From Arctic to Mediterranean
Ravens favour suitable carrion
In coastal regions they perch to survey
the nests for speckled eggs the seagulls lay
Highly intelligent amongst their peers
Approximate life span of thirteen years
He awoke to the sounds of his alarm
Tedious sounds he heard bearing arms
Though gunshots blazing through his spine
The sounds of his are now yours and mine
His dead weighted arm hit the clock
The sounds disarmed for now it stopped
Back to war with his own prudence
Back to spar with the sounds of sense
Again the rat tat tat of the alarm
Played as though the taps of the army's song
The noise of never love to end the charm
Of escape from his cave beyond his own wrong
The alarm grew louder and more vicious than before
It spoke to him as if the Raven were in lore'
He could see Mr.Poe writing wills of the torn
As the ring of his lover fell from high above Heavens door
Rat tat tat, there is goes one more time
Rat tat tat, in its constant devil chime
Revealing my true wit as I laugh at the mourned
For now is the time the Raven is re-born
The alarm clock from my bed side table of sleep
Lay screaming a poetic ring in a forbidden beep
What once was a crow perched high on my door
Is now is never time as I sleep through Lenore
The black and white images of the lonely mans bird
Lay now in a rainbow as the dust wore down the third
For dimensions tell the tale of my dreams own lure
For dimensions tell the crow to die now in her slur
As she speaks to me again in the rat tat tat form
What was once perched high in her time now is in scorn
As she lays down low next to me in my bed
And her name is not Lenore but Mary Jane instead
It was on the eve of Sunday, November 2nd, 1834
The day grew dark and gloomy like it never had before
Island sounds in diminish, a hush befalls my ears
The community of Amhuinnsuidhe was about to enter fear
A Princess known as Raven who died in years gone by
Foretold before her death beware when Ravens fly
For out there in the Minch a mist will waft it's way
Azure skies will fade and turn a graphite grey
Periodic clouds of jet will shadow in drifts of gloom
The underbellies of the Ravens show, soon they'll share their doom
And on the tor she'll stand silently looking over her lands
Dressed in black, in her now greying ebony strands
As she turns to face the village, her Ravens circle overhead
Whilst the mist now starts to settle revealing the islands dead
Ancient burial stones now rise from their overgrown sacred grounds
Shadows from a forgotten past arise in ghostly abound
Cloaked darkened shapes slowly drift on their mists of time
Silent in their approach to Amhuinnsuidhe they'll undermine
Carnage will be their cater to avenge their Princesses death
To cast out all the living to leave this community reft
The above I read to you, are the memories of who survived
My ancestors escaped this day, and I'm thankful they never died
As I look out on the Minch, at grey clouds looming in the skies
My mind recalls words earlier read, beware when Ravens fly
This is James Fraser's entry into Constance's 'Among the Dead' contest
The Queen mother is dead.
Reigning for more than half a century.
despite the media buzzards that swarm around.
She was the angel of charity.
Bridging the moat between medieval and modern.
Colonialism and autonomy.
None the less-God couldn't save her.
The people are in misty mourning.
Waves of haters are pissing the crown.
which now lies in a shady king's court.
Despite the madness of the moment
(great grieving- international uncertainty)...
Somehow it's still all about
those attention craving ravens
Harry and Meghan.
Warm summer afternoon
Seven Ravens
from Sycamore tree
descend
one by one
landing on velvet green -
As Butterfly
flitters away -
Free
huge black ravens
hit the branches
strips of bread