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Quoth Theraven Poem
How fast to wiles I fell my damask rose,
awake from slumber slept untold ages.
To gaze so deep in ocean eyes repose,
and print whispered prayer on mind's pages.
Your soul in gleaming shadow found complete,
a thirst no other want or wish contrived.
Nor cherry grown upon the branch so sweet,
without cold and dark of Winter survived.
What heart loved without a madness looming,
secure from injury sure to tarnish.
Unbroken, though lone in sadness' glooming,
and held away from love's fruited garnish.
How true the dove devoted in flight still,
that lasted in love, more than ever will.
Copyright © Quoth Theraven | Year Posted 2019
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Quoth Theraven Poem
I'll always be here for you,
where else would I go.
But for you, my heart is lost,
in dream..
to counting sheep,
and always will be so.
I don't need a better picture of you..
than the one that plays in my mind.
Two hands held so close to my heart,
and you always were so kind.
Keep me near like a smile..
one you used to hide.
A whisper of your beautiful name
to my faithful heart.
It's never too far..
after all,
my hands hold back approaching tide..
to catch you when you fall.
I'll always be here for you,
where else would I go.
Copyright © Quoth Theraven | Year Posted 2021
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Quoth Theraven Poem
The mustard seed
a wild mustard seed took flight
carried aloft in gathering light
over thistle'd sage and poppies
in countless colorful copies
as brash rain showers subside
the retreat of angry clouds abide
scolded by the Northern wind
in search of infinity's final end
once barren hills, now painted gold
snow geese forage with fledgling fold
amid the flutter of swallowtail's wings
from soil sprouted seedling life brings
'til once more mustard's children are blown
from heaven's heights the earth is sown
~~~Dedicated to my Uncle Joe~~~
Copyright © Quoth Theraven | Year Posted 2020
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Quoth Theraven Poem
Medicine Hat Appaloosa
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Remember free will too has been gifted,
with freedom allied to fate's fickle choice.
Tendered words uttered still..now uplifted,
God provides each one a life and a voice.
Ere life ebbs and scrimshaw scrolled hands beckon,
find strength in Medicine Hat horse's paint.
Flesh prized and spirit bold, yet to reckon,
respectful head bowed, pray it isn't too late.
Of sarcasm's sharp sword, one can ill afford,
cursed hubris' price which is never repaid.
The cost of soul's vows torn in broken chord,
word's sting or solemn praised tapestry made.
To cheat one's own heart with standard-less staff,
turned now to stone, to write lone epitaph.
Poet's note: The Medicine Hat Appaloosa is the poem.
Quoth TheRaven - 7 July 2019
Copyright © Quoth Theraven | Year Posted 2019
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Quoth Theraven Poem
A straw man stood fixed upon timber firm,
gazing at Autumn's gilded, moonlit prize.
He, the king of Earth and the winding worm,
she, the pale darling of cold starry skies.
Left in fallow field of harvest' soiled gown,
with sun bleached woolen coat so neglected.
Besotted by her face in freckled frown,
though light falsely owned in Sun reflected.
Few seasons counted in scarecrow's race,
lonely journey, long eons moon must know.
She left locked ever more in Earth's embrace,
while he lay fallen soon in Winter's snow.
Jealous moon keeps watch o'er his button eyes,
from Venus, Mars, and star's envied night skies.
22 October 2019 - New Fall Sonnets Poetry Contest -Sponsored by Emile Pinet
Copyright © Quoth Theraven | Year Posted 2019
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Quoth Theraven Poem
Is there a way you can show me your silence?
This world is deafening to me
Can I find the words that I'm seeking..
Dream of a quiet place with only you speaking
Teach me to hear with my other senses
draw down all these distorted fences
Want to listen through the day with you
the whole day in a quiet song of you
just of you
learn from your solitude
I want to., now and forever
know what it is to feel through only those few
the touch of your hand
replace the fragments of a symphonic band
Invite me to your silent world
show me the other side of sound
a place where tranquil peace is found.
~~ Dedicated to a great world poet and friend Demetrios Trifiatis ~~
Copyright © Quoth Theraven | Year Posted 2021
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Quoth Theraven Poem
From outfield judging eyes await your plight,
though sweat and stupor feign to your ruin.
Now pull up your trousers, cinch your belt tight...
glaring down from mound, pitch straight and proven.
Blurred ball unleashed, pitcher's swift arm uncoiled...
tho' bat be av'rage, the batter may not.
Cauldron-like blood boiled, fever'd swing loyal,
now away to skies, all eyes on prized swat.
Faithfully she watched from merciful stands,
clouds roll away from fancy, fated rush.
His chance to meet life, alone in her hands,
though startled by a bat's powerful crush.
Will you strike true in life's bewilder'g plan,
carried on shoulders of heavenly fans?
Copyright © Quoth Theraven | Year Posted 2019
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Quoth Theraven Poem
What softness in silence amidst the cacophony of a spin cycle world war.
Lying next to your glow in sleep's stillness, careful of your bandaged hand.
Watching your breath enter and leave, the rise and fall of such loveliness.,
reminded of our miracle wings as they unfolded in the evening heat.
Was it only yesterday..,I walked the River road to find the station on Market street. Only to trip on newsprint from the war drive, that smile so alive, when I tried to doff my cap.
I can still smell the Mercurochrome, as I winced at my torn khaki covered knee..,
washed and mended by such tender .30 caliber case casting hands.
Sleek Stearman mistress soars, airborne rudder and ailerons trimmed and steady..
in mind-bending dizzying free fall and effortless flight.,
though may just try to kill an unwary cadet, who fell deep in Cora's eyes...
I don't know how to leave your side, much less find the words to say good-bye.
And when the war is over, I'll call on you proper...
when the skies are cleared of Jerry's buzzing crates.
My squadron mates call and beckon me..to climb aboard the train.,
for there's a war to fight and win.
When I return we'll take Fee Fee Church road to the Delmar loop trolley,
and stroll the path along Creve Coeur Lake under the Summer sun.
Singing hearts will soar while Sons in Service flags flutter in distant windows,
and must remember that painted pot of peonies for your mother's grave.
Patched khaki trousers sway softly now.., next to Lady Pepperell floral sheets,
and blue cotton bib overalls, worn on second shift at the Ordnance Plant.
I wondered if you caught my glance.., the blue corselette and matching bra..
in Summer's sighing clothesline, unashamed among the stars.
And when the war is over, I'll call on you proper..
when the skies are cleared of Jerry's buzzing crates.
But the squadron calls and beckons me.., climb aboard the train..,
for there's a war to fight and win.
We'll jump and jive to the jitterbug and boogie woogie to the Bugle Boy of Company B..
Glen Miller will bring the big band Serenade, while Count Basie keeps rhythm and time.
Will you try on my cap, or better still my wedding ring?
And don't you know I'll call on you proper Cora..
when the skies are cleared of Jerry's buzzing crates.
To the city by the river, and your silken clothesline..
I'll take your mended hand, like you took a flyboy's heart.
World War II - A love story
Copyright © Quoth Theraven | Year Posted 2020
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Quoth Theraven Poem
A hardened and disciplined man drove to the grocery store lost in thought,
with setting of sun, the long day's work almost found it's end.
Hoisting his daughter to shoulder, he walked from the parking lot,
and barely noticed her hair smelled of shampoo and pool chlorine blend.
He searched for fresh loaf of bread, and pound of peaches,
careful to tally up each purchase with well-honed skill.
With family's dinner waiting, and worn wallet short on wages,
thinking, that tank of gas will have to wait, and hoped it will.
Looking up from the myriad of baby food jars in the next aisle,
slowly he became aware, as a dense fog clears on a whim.
Now noticed a woman with mouth played in a strange smile,
her instinctive gaze fixed on something behind him.
He turned to see what elicited her quizzical beam,
and his heart melted at the sight in the shopping cart.
A straw haired helper, fast asleep, slumped over in a girl's charmed dream,
her little head now resting against his arm.
The day's worries quickly fled, tough exterior, now stripped senseless,
life's hard lesson and true measure of a man's love now shown.
Left wondering how a resting child could leave one so defenseless,
and that, which a man holds important..,could be so wrong.
Epilogue
I live the rest of my days wiser and more carefree.
For my darling little one, it wasn't I that carried you,
but you that carried me.
Copyright © Quoth Theraven | Year Posted 2019
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Quoth Theraven Poem
No end where love's found
no beginning, though there must've been
I can't recall, seems it was always there
going on and on..
No life better known, restless like the forest
hearts awaken at new sight and sound
teasing I see, so pleasing..
two corners lifting at your mouth.
You can go on now, find me..
the place you always knew
waiting, silent as a stone
body and soul lost to you.
A place with no beginning
no tomorrows, nor sorrows
we'll leave them at the gate.
Oh my love, I can't breathe,
can hardly bear the wait.
Copyright © Quoth Theraven | Year Posted 2021
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