raven queen/

©2021 Michael Raven

mor rig ana
great queen ana
tuatha dé danann
tuatha dé ana
tribe of ana
tribe of... earth

soil soul
blood and soil
fáil destiny filled
onyx stone
first kiss a raven
then fuck a crone
all the same all the same
it doesn't matter
in the end...

her gift alone
not my gift

blessing skill
blessing song
blessing words

my raven fyjia
her ears and eyes
and her...

ana macha nemain
my patron
queen of death
queen of life
queen of sex

now i know your 
haunting face
in the flurry of
your wings
now i know your name

sleep... sleep... sleep...


©2021 Michael Raven

hawthorn, hag stone
piercing mists bone
woad & wood
bark tongue, black skin
burrow painted song
eye jaundice i
pricking brier heart burr
aching dark blood heart
rent fetid muscle
burst screaming sinew

in the heavy rain
all cats are grey

shadow walking/

©2021 Michael Raven

i walked
through the dolmans
with footsteps like thunder
on shadowed stones north
in the night mists
a flurry of feather
marking my way
no laughter from
the silent conspiracy
watching in my wake
cræfting my wyrd

a secret garden/

©2005, 2021 Michael Raven

my heart is black, cancerous and decayed…

		tenterhooks, pull back unveil

 		the rent fibres, the judas bonds

	relayed, the crying cradled child

what tension, my aching soul?

	what fugue, my dancing fingers?

the languishing betrays

		secret hanging gardens

			brambled &

				gone to seed…

my heart is grey, ashen and filled with dust…

		a chronic smoker’s ragged cough

		   throwing out

       the blowing desert sands

what vast ocean can quench this thirst?

	what rushing river washes the spasms?

the garden,

		ravished by shadow armies


				to waste…

my heart is bleeding red, ragged and torn

		cut in velvet and pasted poorly, not sewn

		pierced through and through with hatpins

	beating arrhythmic


		the garden walls fall in silence



untitled from 03oct1996/

©1996, 2021 Michael Raven

the sun came dancing through
mystic autumn fog
the fairy frozen crystal
encased grass
and lilac
silence throbbing melody
-- the new day
    quietly rising...
and her ghost is still here
her fingers gently tangled in the hair
in the back of my head
and her hand resting upon my hips
her lips occasionally kissing my neck

voices of children waiting for buses
break the spell...

There are things I’d change about this one these days, but left it as is. The image is the original from a notebook.