after Alone, by Edgar Allan Poe
We understand you Poe,
You saw the world through a darkened
lense-- The passions you sought
were from a spring that was filled
with pleasures most twee--- One's
sorrow is uniquely painful from
another's, don't fret now Poe, for there is
worse to come-- That is not true
Poe for the Ravens who know you won't
let you love alone-- No one is
there to prepare you from the storm
of grief --But, the Ravens here
wish to bring you the joy of a little
peace-- the buzz of a bumblebee, the
soft hills that surround the
cliffs of the mountain-- the light
patter of rain before a downpour
so mighty-- Poe forget not, after
the trees have shed their leaves and
a silver glow fills the sky-- the dawn
of spring lurks 'round the corner too--
with its lighter rays that look so
ancient and cool-- The murder
says the blue you see is merely
a coating of deceit --- To hide
our clouds and the thunder that
shakes us-- Don't worry about the
cloud-- For the demon in your view
was but an angel in another form.
Rabid, renegade ravens, rise.
Relishing rancid refuse; repugnant.
'Round rural relics, resounding ruthless retorts.
Retrieving realm revelations.
Rival reckonings; regimes ruptured.
Repent! Release. Repeat..
Reconcile. Rejoice. Retreat.
‘When you are not fed love on a silver spoon, you learn to lick it off knives.’ - Lauren Eden
lilies and ravens
dance together making mud puddles
thick as salve caked on deep wounds
stemming not the ooze
tinctures from droppers
bitter herbs labeled for survival
use only as directed
replenish nothing
rancid birthday cakes
gleeful candles form dancing shadows
glassy story-telling eyes
yearn desperately
gleaming steel knives slice
neat little rows across the table
the sacrificial altar
where naked I lay
ignorant children
don't see the bullies in their own homes
doling birthrights like feed for
ravens and lilies
Written 8 April 2025
For the contest Light or Shadows hosted by Suzette Richards
Two ravens sat up in a tree.
She wondered what they'd eat.
"Don't worry, little chick-a-dee",
he said, dreaming of rotting meat,
"Bodies as far as we can see,
a most generous treat -
I can all but guarantee
mankind's doomed defeat."
crows began flying in like cloak-laden witches
landing on the Iowa scarecrow with the rotten head
they were picking at it now, eating out the pulp
laughing at it, making that evil caw sound they do
it seems macabre one said, and they all laughed
feeling like Poe’s raven, only brighter and smarter.
hoping someone would write a poem about them.
wondering if they could outdo the raven’s fame.
Edgar my dear
Why do you have that spear
Is that your plan?
When in a jam?
Scare the bloody Kansas City yellow and red
When they fight the fowl volture appearing dead
Spirit Haunting
Spirit Daunting
Blazing under the Baltimore sun
Until Poe's poetic message is done
No swift moves will be here
Only Chiefs carcasses holding their Daly beer
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.
Ravens, clever birds,
but pointed as cursed scapegoats.
A black plumage and
a husky, rebellious voice
often inspire injustice.
when
ravens
cry it will
oft' foreshadow
death
red mountain
stands still
black ribbon
cuts between
you aren't always
still
not if by faith
I can cast you into the sea
still
is never
forever
but still we are
not so long
have I
not been the traffic
cutting between
still
to know something
I would cast you into
the sea
but these problems
I need
red mountain
big rough ugly
barren pile of rocks
you comfort me
vultures, ravens, and crows
soar up your slopes
roost on your ridges
nest in your
craggy clefts
don't worry
stone mamma
I command you to be
still
forever
poor scavengers and
I need you
this ceaseless stream
of fud
dividing us
I cast
into the sea
with my little mustard seed
red mountain
lie still with me
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.
Green was her face and ebon her hair,
features young, body withered sinew.
Her enormous eyes gave me a scare.
And, from one nostril, a ruby grew.
I stayed behind the large, surging crowd,
who drank her brew then made eerie sounds.
I was Press and we were not allowed
to view what happens on witching grounds.
Evil story would ensure glory;
not prepared for unheavenly ride.
A black gale blew, thickened by gory.
With it, black cats, ravens to her side.
Undead emerged shedding dirt--a fright.
With wrinkled hand, she stroked ugly doll.
Snakes sliding from ears, she rose in night.
So scared was I--wrote nothing at all.
October 17, 2022
for "12-16 Lines of a Scary Halloween Rhyme"Contest
by Tania Kitchen
howmanysyllables.con=9
Rhyme, abab
murder in the field
or is it an unkindness —
it’s conspiracy
Flight of the Ravens
Twilight skies reverberate with ravens in anxious flight,
Like shades of ebony in the shadows
When light faints into midnight hues
Blush of amber early evening elegance blotted out,
In a rush of shaggy wings
By a murder of mythical Celtic kings
Who ancient mourn Bran the Blessed
To dance the Celtic myth in flight
Against the gasping day pressed up against
A dark moon rising,
Strident caws haunt young visions and ancient dreams
Absent of the lyric whine of chanted song
To mourn at the edges of dusk
One raven fallen from the hands of the wind
Into the silent chrysalis of death
Grieving squawks resound as mourners rise
In perfect synchronicity of aerobatic grace
Leaving bits of string and empty sable pinecones
To ever mark their eulogy.
9-28-22
Contest: A Flock of Birds
Sponsor: Julia Ward
This is based on a true story of a raven in our backyard.
Ravens mourn. They remember events and also leave gifts.
Bran the Blessed is a Celtic myth about ravens.
In Greek mythology the raven is white.
A flock of ravens is a murder.
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.
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