three poems/

Bits and bobs from 2006-2007.

locust drones high up
in the ancient maple tree –
we sing together

the world is five am quiet
only the furtive sound of
renegade raindrops
making that last suicide plunge
to the paver patio stones
& the lonely dove
moaning for lost love
distant thunder clothed in 
early dawn grey
reminds that strained ponderings
are just another attempt at escape,
to be the thunder –
that is escaping illusion

inching –
inching closer

i shook my fist at the man
shaking his fist at the man
who had been driving with
the  same impatience as
the first in rush hour traffic

whomever denies the
should have been
taking pictures

© Michael Raven

nor paper buddhas/

even baby farts
possess more buddha nature
than this book I hold

© Michael Raven

Another older poem with a haiku theme from 2007ish. My first daughter was gassy and were more enlightening than most books I read about zen at the time.


sing, little bird, sing –
the day grows long and the moon
may forget to wake…

© Michael Raven

This poem is from around 2005-2007 when I was hitting the haiku form hardest, before I adopted a more “free-form” variant of “haiku”.


flutter flicker within
burning ice eyes
stop-motion phantasmagoria
reliving silent horrors
of corpse flower times

jaw slung agape
recalling her ----
web tangled tantrum
screaming asylum
as the spider's footsteps echo
down the hall
closer still

© Michael Raven

a prayer for the dying/

Another relic from the reliquary; I’m guessing it dates to about 1995 based on the other dated poems found in the box next to it. As you can see, I wasn’t always prone to minimalism in poetry. Modest edits made, mostly in the nature of culling or slight modification to word order to get away from the flowery feel it had that made if feel stilted in places.

I’d point out some of the intentional symbolism, but I don’t believe in doing that with poetry.

restless, the wind's whisper
through autumn leaves
the hoarseness deafens

i am the stars 
i am the moon
i am flowing, silent, liquid

i am the turgid sickness

i drag my stiffened body
along our tangled life's skein
towards the calling --
my name whispered 
across the waves

the ninth wave,
from beyond that
white crowned crest
calling for to join
and i weep for
the restful release

© Michael Raven