©2023 michael raven
awash in the material with its broken windows & neglected soul breaking ground for my church not built with hands under yew and ash aglow in the winter night faint, the carrion call
words | spirit | alchemy
Ever notice that most people never really like reading poetry? Perhaps there is a reason.
©2023 michael raven
awash in the material with its broken windows & neglected soul breaking ground for my church not built with hands under yew and ash aglow in the winter night faint, the carrion call
©2023 michael raven
perhaps -- just maybe i am a little tempted that succubus promise of living beyond the edge of a world gone mad from lost lunchboxes to rude shouts in the assembly above with their tanks and their bombs and their guns zombi zombi hey hey hey hey ho toss that phone onto that wide mountain heath and scrub skittering on scree and into the fells to follow living stone and bone etched with indian ink
©2023 michael raven
rose raw & ruby
lips, petals drawn
velvet back to
kiss, i could die
for this die for this
echo muse consume
& drowns me
in song, can you
hear me shrieking
over the maelstrom
ich bin hier allein
marian
Sure, I posted this a while back, but today feels like a great day to bring it back.
They sought it with thimbles, they sought it with care;
They pursued it with forks and hope;
They threatened its life with a railway-share;
They charmed it with smiles and soap.Lewis Carroll, The Hunting of the Snark
©2023 michael raven
splinters and broken stone i crawl underground and wrap the earth around
©2023 michael raven
i cannot lie-- i wait to watch the veils fall just as if these pictures of you are not moments frozen in time
©2023 michael raven
three staves black foot and wing he watches waves at the precipice waiting for winds to carry him carry him home
©2023 michael raven
winter songs on the wind wraiths of what we had once been the damage needles piercing ice needfire just out of grasping fingers' reach
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