Long Ravens Poems
Long Ravens Poems. Below are the most popular long Ravens by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Ravens poems by poem length and keyword.
I was a successful, fashionable florist, in mild green days of elegant gardens,
When an orange sun beamed its pleasure, like locales where lavender begins.
I formed arrangements for many occasions, drawing beauty lovers from afar,
As pretty planets arrange for a meeting, after wild rumors of the newest star.
And crowded hours were filled with summer, like pearly dews crowd morning,
Until ruby butterflies are playing tag, and gemmed damselflies are swarming.
Friends felt I might always be found, in some area of flush bloom fragrancies,
Like raven midnight's march to daybreak, with its warm, varicolored agencies.
Fond family held festive feasts, in fading hours of sparkly, fuchsia sun falling,
As whippoorwill songs clashed with red robin's, midst magenta stars gawking.
I lived in the house of tangy, saturated noon, when flowers were in full glory,
Like the most beautiful day of a woman's life, when a bride she's come to be.
Scarlet, saffron and other hues glittered, within the soulful sector of summer,
As starlings sang songs along my street, and sun rose and retired, a stunner!
Neighbors were nomadized at times, as honeydew moon nestles in new night,
When visiting me on eves of silk and satin, when fresh June was at its height.
Silver clouds were saddled with summer sun, in suddenly days of sweet rose,
Like grey encumbering smoke from autumn fires, when in plum mists it flows.
Raven noon was in green treetops, as the inarticulate ravens were squawking,
And fading time seemed to stand still, but ephemeral moments kept walking.
One day I woke to a gorgeous view from my window, daisies pink and yellow,
In the wide field right next to my house, glowing in the rich, sunshine mellow!
It put such a smile on my face, oh my! Like flocks of pretty blue jays going by,
And I kept seeing daisies everywhere I went, like a pearlescent moon on high!
I beheld African daisies and shasta, and pom pom-like chrysanthemum ones;
Along with fine lustrous gerberas, in all colors found, in wild green kingdoms.
I wondered at my strange, good fortune, in seeing beloved blooms anywhere;
Like the young, butterscotch days when Mother said, 'We're going to the fair!'
For awhile, I saw sweet daisies by day, and it seems I dreamt daisies at night;
Like a brief mystic spell of rapture, when hidden beauty's freed from its plight.
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
Pulled one perfect day from the heart of summer,
Went with my wife, the kids, a friend
Down to cruise the monuments
To study those menhirs we set for marking passage
Into collective memory.
We ascended the virile spire
Erected in honor of our ponytailed First Elect,
The children pleased to gaze out on a toy city below us.
We descended and walked down the long flat mirror of water
To where Lincoln, strong and sad in bronze
Sits forever troubled by his sundered nation
In his cool, dark, echoing vault.
Then lunch, and a visit to the commemoration of our most recent sorrow;
We cross over and walk the Wall.
Row on row,
Stark white upon shining black
The rollcall of the dead processes by.
It's crowded today, but no one speaks
The silence here is a crashing thing that falls all around us
As we walk and search
Some for names, some for answers,
Some for both, or neither
Ourselves for I know not what.
And in the black
Flowing past the names, and names, and names
This perfect day hangs captured in its light:
Cotton clouds on blinding blue
Grass greener than new money
The faces of children, dogs
And a parade of young couples -
It all hangs there, flowing over the terrible list,
Reminding all how they should be here too,
Those not-so-long-ago lost.
But then, in a sense, they are here
And that's why the silence crashes so.
58,000 empty chairs are here.
58,000 phantoms,
The Bad Conscience of a good nation.
58,000 Not-To-Bes are here:
Not-To-Be husbands, fathers, family, friends
Not-To-Be Victories and Not-To-Be Dreams
58,000 horrors of Loss.
In the midst of these shuddering reveries
My blissfully distracted 7 year-old son
Plucks a small, perfect feather off the lawn,
As black and glossy as the wall itself,
And carries it idly along.
Once out, we stop to talk with one of the Fallen's many advocates,
A great Viking of a man who notices the feather
Who says right away,
"Ah, a raven's feather. Odin's birds, who bring him Wisdom and Rememberance."
I saved the feather, knowing what I do of ravens:
Those sombre, croaking birds,
First on the field after battle
I stroked its silky black and wished
Odin's birds would visit the common folk more often
And croak to us of Remembrance, and Wisdom.
Staring in the mirror when I'm down with these scissors I found.
With my wrists out and prescription lids littered around.
I've scribbled out a bitter letter in wicked accounts and written down twisted sentences in crimson.
I drown in no bounds it got me tripping out grouchy for outlets.
Now my hound pulls at my trousers.
When I'm face down drowsy with a mouth full of downers.
I'm pale looking clownish.
I ain't clowning around, see my self esteem floundering.
Out for the count as hells demons seen prowling around me proudly twisting and dancing entrancing.
Slipping away fast last vision left glancing enhanced with a mixture of doubt.
Knowing there's no one to laugh with and be found here alone with a sinister frown.
I've got to get out.
Haunted in this mysterious house that time forgot.
A place where damp rises and shrouded in all types of moss and lichen, rotting with the slime from condensation.
A sodden formed Forrest where I'm under sedation.
A clock work decision I watch myself gazing transfixed on my mission across amazing mazes.
As dreams fade into sight I stay silently praying.
Embracing the night watching day light escaping.
Remain in this safe haven I'm taken away safely remaining unshaken, grey and unshaven, eight shades of my aura shadows the ravens.
The creature with talons and the beak of eagle seen clutching a talisman to defeat it's evil.
I see through people. Phycic and tight lipped.
Leaving hindsight to guide you through life is wisest.
Am I dying or buying my time in this crises like I'm finally deep in abyss.
Analysing my past thinking did I even exist.
Forever with bliss since I slipped away tearful
Surviving myself I won't ever be fearfully trapped in this labyrinth with Pan and he knows me ghostly he came close cosey and held me closely through apocalypse start dropping atom bombs not stopping Babylon.
God got him banished like exhiled angels deep into faranheit heat like my minds a scotch bonnet.
The child of the scorch trials in the maze at night.
Was made strict then was bitten by count
Dracula.
Come the blood sucker parasite cancerous spanning round my brain like the legs of a tarantula.
Tendrils gargantuan.
Attaching the canula straight from the ambulance.
Inserting the catheter.
Wired like capacitors.
Body kept alive with 240 volt adaptors.
People in my school have names for someone like me.
Freak, crazy, weirdo, a spawn by the devil's decree.
I took note of every malicious word they ever spoke,
knowing that before long they'd no longer make me a joke.
None of them knew how truthful were their mocking words.
They had no clue I could spread my wings to fly among the birds,
with ravens that caw out for blood at the stroke of each midnight.
I'd fill their haunting dreams with images of daunting fright.
A snip of dried herbs, a pinch of fungal root, boiled in fat of fowl,
a concoction for me to savor, secreted to me by my mother, an owl.
Eyes that see through bloodshot color, they would see them too
when the full moon was high and the sky turned dark cobalt blue.
No help will they receive from a scream or gyrations to be free.
They soon will know they should never have made a mockery of me.
The time is near, my brew is cooled, now it's my time to have fun.
Tonight their dreams will be nightmares, a gift from the evil one.
With their eyes closed, they will envision they are being chased
by hundreds of bloodshot eyes, the likes of which they've never faced.
Black robes adorned, scepter of wormwood waved from my hand.
Eyes... wild bloodshot eyes, will seek vengeance at my command.
Fog advances to the bedrooms of those who sleep in peace.
My adrenaline is pumping, just a few more minutes until release.
A snarl of satisfaction I feel curled upon my blood red lips.
You won't belittle me again with your taunting nocuous quips.
NOW! I gave the order for the eyes to creep into their dreams
But my heart is beating too fast. This was not part of my schemes.
I can't see a bloody thing. What's happened to the spell I cast?
How long will this blindness torture me? How long must it last?
A truant officer was sent to see what had become of the freak.
Through a window he saw many ravens, all with bloodied beak.
No body was discovered. All that remained was a robe of black
and a note scratched upon the floor. "Too late to take it back."
::::::::::::::::::::::::::
December 26th, 2015
Deep and Dark Contest
Sponsor: Broken Wings
Oh hello there! Again!
Aah!
Yes!
You there!
Such lovely young pretty plaything, a female?
I presume?
With the beautiful expensive suit!
I am just seeing you there like a dream of crimson and horror!
Oh sorry!
At my age, your mind starts to wander.
And a Wanderer I am!
A wanderer in pursuit!
Where are you going my dear,
boy or girl I don’t care.
Can I follow you there?
I stay very near?!
Oh don’t mind me, I’m just a wanderer you see!
I am just bringing light to the world
a bringer of light a bearer of sight if you will.
Oh is it?
Is true you just live down the avenue?
I see!
Can I walk with you a little, please?
This is a mighty fine place you have here,
a beautiful quaint little town,
quaint and clear…
all nestled back in the valley.
Hummm!
Yes. Indeed!
No one can hear you screa-rrr-I mean
no one can hear you in a quaint little place!
What is that?
Oh!
Yes! Indeed!
I’m sorry you may be worried
but don’t you fear I’m quite harmless,
don’t you see?
What are you seeing?
Oh, that!
that’s just ravens wings
tucked neatly near a bone-white spine
and onyx claws!
Nothing to see, here…
Oh, my fingers?
Oh so long, sleek sharp like razors
strong to rip you apart.
Sorry sorry, pardon me!
No need to run!
No need to struggle
Daggers slicing your flash!
Oh! I’m sorry did I mean to hurt you!
I am just passing through a wanderer you see.
A light bringer of fire and rage!
On my way to the Detonation Fields
Feeling my way through this blasted world.
Laughing at the powers that be!
Wait for the wormwood to fly…
Oh! Don’t worry about me!
Can’t you see I’m not staying,
just passing through!
I bring you fear and loathing.
But don’t you worry
I am everything!
Everywhere!
I know you are alone
but come closer,
a little closer,
please.
So, I can see you in this empirical twilight.
No need to struggle….
My fingers are strong, indeed…
Tightening, as you struggle to breathe
Can’t you speak?
No, I guess your crimson mouth speaks,
NOT!
Don’t struggle so…
I’m just a wanderer, you know…
I have such sights to show…
So come with me to the Holocaust!
Can you feel the infernos heat…
Hear the damned scream.
Sweet music!
Don’t you hear it too?
OH, sooooo sweet!
Ah YES!
Yes…
indeed.
For a long time, I dreamed
Of a place where fairies doth sing
Heaven perhaps or a never before seen sight
Filled with love and celestial lights
Where I can see the Aurora in the twilight
or witness an angel living in disguise
Oh, the beauty and passion of a fresh dream
Pure, like the heart of an innocent child
No longer do I find joy in things I have seen a thousand times
For let it night or day, what hath come and what may
There is sadness in me that cannot be expressed through poetical lines
Thousand years ago, I saw the tree of life
But to me, it spoke of nothing but lies
There were many roads I looked upon
All promised fake happiness that is long gone
Speaking through prophecies that were sweet
Doth every time the same tale of sorrow was a repeat
An endless journey of suffering,
Man oblivious to the reality, considering him to be everything
Indeed a beautiful thought that spring
I have seen the ravens singing in apposed
Each now and then spring comes and goes
The smell of a field filled with wheat or the beauty of a rose
A boy blushing at a girl, the birth of an innocent love story
Seeing angels doing God's work or reading the devil's diary
I have witnessed life’s enchantment in all its glory
I have seen mothers singing Lullabies
Of a peaceful world where children never cry
"Sleep dear child, for in dream angels will come and hurt all bad guys
And after you wake, God will turn this hell into a paradise"
Yet I know, everywhere I go, a dreadful melancholy thought
That the promises will soon prove to be lies
The soldiers in war will all die
That their children and wives will not be able to survive
Curse of immortality, I have seen kingdoms rise and fall
In the heart of a demon, I have seen the belief in God
From the mountains to the sea
There is nothing more left for me to see
And lies loneliness no pleasure of life can fulfill
For I also once loved, but now lies only memories
When will this suffering end, this constant guilt?
The monster I am, all the innocent people I have killed
Curse to the immortality by which I live
The meanest gift gods had offered me to give
All the sadness, broken heart, and fears
A song of songs, too deep for tears
28 April 2022
For the Contest " If I were Immortal"
Sponsor " Anoucheka Gangabissoon"
COOKING POT
I looked around me, everything was dark
as if my own eyes were completely shut,
that the would have come to an end,
my eyelids were very heavy,-
like I had a sleeping spell on me,
I was seeing things that were given me
very bad dreams,-
the stars are all on dim
they skip around the sky,
upon the sea, I have seen the reflections of he
standing over me,-
the colored moon beamed upon the land
upon everything my eyes could see;
I tried so hard to open my eyes
But I couldn't it was as if I was dead,
I dreamed many dreams in my head
I see things of an ancient time,
I felt I have been bond to my bed;
as if I was quite insane of true madness,
in my mind, I saw a different set of eye
looking back at me from another time,
I see slaves dancing around me,
crying out to a king that stands before me,
the sky was dark; the fair is hot;
I could see a big cooking pot,
words of their time weren't of mine,
you could feel the evil all around;
the anger browed in the pot,
words of truth weren't in their mouths,
lies and so much hate with not faith,
Witches are casting out their evil spells,
giving a queen life of a living hell,
their face turned to me
as I started to scream,
I have seen many things that come to me
like something of darkening dreams,
they were very old holding no youth,
I forget your name they would say
In a cloud of smoke;
frogs are being tossed in the old cooking pot,
a chicken tongue, blackbird eyes,
bugs of the desert land,
the thunder in the ancient sky roared while
the storm moved on by;
I see holly ones being persecuted;
the words of accurate knowledge
was told to never be promoted on the land
where the old witches stand
on blood, stained sand, that was a command,
words of truth are forbidden;
enemies casting names of thee into the pot of hell
while somewhere rings a bell;
bodyguards took the prison ones
out of the cage; those who have lost their way,
ravens are flying around to eat up on the dead
the ones who have lost their heads,
words of temptations of the flash
dancing around the cooking pot,
my body started feeling cold
I didn't have any more control
while lies where being told,
my eyelids were heavy as they could be
I was cast into a deep sleep.
Poetic Judy Emery © 2001
The Queen Of Darken Dreams Poetic Lilly Emery
Vincent…
This is the time of the year
When I see the ravens and the crows
Especially in an open field...
It's when I think of you…
I catch myself remembering…
I have to stop myself and breathe…
I daydream of our starry nights
I think of the ravens and the crows…
I think about your untimely plight
I wonder if you ever felt like me
If you ever felt my presence near you
And I wonder now….wherever you are
If you ever missed me too.
Could you have ever imagined
Could you have possibly known
That I’d still be thinking of you
Missing you...
After more than one long century.
It’s only been a hundred years or so
Since you severed off your ear
Since you shot yourself
Since you killed yourself
Since you shortened all your years.
If I had been there and loved you
Could I have saved you from yourself
Would it have made a difference
Or would everything have turned out the same
Would we both still be feeling lonely
Would you still be thought insane?
I did love you Vincent
I just could never let it show
I didn’t know how to tell you
Back before these 100 years
I just kept hoping
that somehow you would know.
Whenever I am in Chicago
I visit the Art Institute and sigh
As I gaze upon your starry skies
I stand before your paintings in wonder
And look deep within your eyes.
I always have to ponder
If you painted thinking of me
I know that you always knew
That I loved your greens and vibrant blues
I see that you tried to show me
How the stars reflected you in my eyes
I see the colors that you have chosen
Have always revealed your truth.
When I see your painting
Of the ravens and the crows
I know that you remembered
How the sky that day looked too
How it felt to have autumn ending
And winter closing in
How wonderful that day was
How happy we had been.
The last time we were together
Everything seemed so right and true
I had no idea
Your heart had turned so blue.
Your feelings always hidden
You never said a word
How things would tragically end
There never was a clue.
So now I stand here after 100 years
I still miss you Vincent.
I really, really do.
I wonder if you are thinking of me
And if you are happy or if you are blue.
(November 16, 2010 Wausau, Wisconsin)
(c) Copyright 2010 by Christine A Kysely, All Rights Reserved,
Rats in the cellar, squirrels in the tree,
things aren't the same as they used to be.
When I left for school with my li'l lunch pail,
I didn't expect a penguin to swallow a whale.
Such an injustice, I've never seen,
a cantaloupe falsely imprisoned a bean.
It's unheeded screams, uncontrolled laughter,
when it's trolls that live happily ever after.
Doors off their hinges, pancakes are stacked,
biscuits are burning, windows are cracked.
Termites in the baseboards, rabbits that fly,
pigs that regularly take to the sky.
Voices that whisper, mad dogs that bite,
winds that go howling and look for a fight.
Wrapped in cellophane, mixed in a blender,
taped up in cardboard and returned to sender.
Rainbows and ravens, kaleidoscope dreams,
leafless branches, gallows lit by moonbeams.
Music boxes, pink ribbons and bows,
tags come on packages; tags come on toes.
Curtains lifted, sick, unsavory scenes,
gear wheels in gear wheels run strange machines.
Dissected, disowned and double-downsized,
unaided, unacknowledged and unrecognized.
Puzzles, conundrums that cannot be solved,
water plus turpentine make witches dissolve.
Pimentos are diced, harsh words are spoken,
nightmares are jumbled; eggshells are broken.
Lost in the doldrums, eyeballs protrude,
walking on blisters, a horse latitude.
Spineless jellyfish, lackeys and flunkies,
silver tongued vultures, branch swinging monkeys.
Experts and pundits, paid authorities,
Kool-Aid in canisters, down on your knees.
Bishops take pawns, the fat lady sings,
fires ablaze on black nights with kings.
Shattered stars, fragmented stones,
shining splinters, bleak, burning bones.
Songs without meaning, songs without words,
sung by unseen phantoms and silent birds.
Refrigerators with pictures nobody knows,
eyes staring back, no answers disclose.
Spiders and spinning bicycle wheels,
buffalos, bandits, and slippery seals.
Electric toothbrushes, electric chairs,
lethal injections, pushed down the stairs.
Pieces on the floor, a sad state of disarray,
the gift you've left me is insanity's bouquet.
You stole my cookies, pilfered my cat,
laughed at me roundly and turned me down flat.
Mice it in the attic go chitter chatter,
have I lost my wits or gone mad as a hatter?