ancient granite

©2022 Michael Raven

twilight with rain
time slips away
no leave given
or required
to fall stone fall
out of my skin
into the musk
beyond aura
past sour and stale
old oak tallman
drinking me roots
pushing me
under ancient
granite songs

carry worlds

©2022 Michael Raven

i carry worlds
in my cranebag

forest floor needle brown
night feather scry skies
wood ring words taut
my fungal heart gills
and waves tow tide under

songs immigrant
riding skiff at dawn
to kiss the sea
burning red

tucked inside
all

One step beyond

©2022 Michael Raven

I have been standing here, staring at the edge of the world.

People imagine that place to be on the precipice of an abyss filled with void, tumbling out before them — a cascade of nothing.

That’s not the edge of the world.

The edge of the world terminates where another begins: one of dense old growth trees and sunlight struggling to reach eager young plants, and where mycelium chatter over a mystic telegram of spores, electrical impulses and chemical lovemaking. Where thing rot and are reborn in the shadows, and leaves mask the rich soil below.

I am unmoored, unhomed, lost the thread of the tether save for the few gossamer tendrils threatening to break like spider silk under too much strain. I am a drifter trying to find a way back to the heart buried past the edge of the world, a wayfarer and pilgrim, blind with fingers reaching out to feel my way past the blinding brilliance of chrome and corrupted alchemy. I am wandering, here, at the razor thin slice of reality, wondering on which side I actually stand.

Drifter: my everywhere is home, but never do I belong.

Taking up my walking staff, my third leg grounding, I step into the shadows, leaving something behind.

A journey. An echtrae. One step beyond.

drift on

©2022 Michael Raven

shouldered
age-worn backpack
mental baggage
trickling out
corner seam holes
dust & devils
:: let them fall

i'll mend the hole, later
when the memory lint
finally drops out

waking to a
drifter within
who can see
all the world
without taking
a tattered step
beyond
the room
in which he
sits

i'm going to trade
my name
for something more
sleepwalking
sleeptalking
&
drift on

Writer’s block of another kind

I hate it when I have a story concept that haunts me, but I can’t seem to tie it together into a story.

I’m at one of those crossroads today with one of those themes that lingers on the periphery, but never quite works. It doubly frustrates because it has been nibbling at the edges for over 20 years.

I murdered more than a few thousand-score words back in 2003-2005 in serialized form (a serial killer, then) on the concept and then gave up as I painted myself into a corner and discovered that, while bits and pieces “worked”, the whole of it was pretty much rank with pretension and the kind of high urban fantasy that I grew to abhor. Plus, it had the “dark overlord” and the “worldwide calamity” that never sat well with me, which is why I can’t handle most high fantasy these days. Tolkien did it already, and a myriad of others copied it. It’s time to let that trope rest in it’s grave.

But I never quite got over it and could bring myself to entirely scrap the ideas within.

Continue reading “Writer’s block of another kind”