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Raven Woodfort Mar 2019
I.

Words can be more powerful than deeds
if you know how to use them.
But
how do you know that you know
how to use them?

Is it
when your best friend smells
the green of your grass,
When your sister remembers her tears
in your poem?
When the stranger tastes the salt in your sea air and
When a renowned poet sees you’re a brilliant diamond? But
When will you believe them?
When would you believe
in yourself?

But
you are just an amateur and are clueless and
you don’t believe

you can do it.
When will you stop doubting
[whether you’re any good/yourself and your skills] and

start practising your art,
start placing down your words.
Know that you know
how to use them.
Believe them.


II.

Your words are like ants
on the paper;
small, few perhaps. But
when you add them all up

you have a legion of punches.
You’re a warrior of words,
powerful, mighty, gentle, defending
and building the people.
Your people.

To them
a hero is what you are
when you share your speaking pictures,
when you show your singing words,

when you believe it yourself.
You are.
You are a writer.
Write your words.


III.

No-one knows you
sees you
hears you.
You have no name
yet. When you
write like you’re not scared
type like your words have power
try different pens like
you have a hundred swords,

you will become
somebody.
When you are just
a nobody who believes
in themselves, when

you are just an amateur and are clueless and
when you believe

you will shake the world.
You will always be somebody,
no matter what.
You will.
Because you can.


IV.

You’re a writer.
You have words.
They’re yours.

You will know when you know
how to use them.
Just believe in them.
Write them.
To all those poets, journalists, writers, scribblers, who are too afraid to share or publish or show their words to anyone and everything: close your eyes. Press the "send" button. You did it.
Raven Woodfort Mar 2019
Oh! the walls of might raise voice,
Oh! the halls in white rejoice;
A coat of clouds covers them all,
Its icy magic dances a ball,
Its crystals causes our hearts to sing;
The lights and fires let amenity ring.
Oh! comforts of winter glow,
Oh! the magic of the snow!
Winter would not be pleasant at all
Without the precious snowflakes’ fall.
A more old-style poem. Blame the Tennyson & Longfellow I've been reading.
Raven Woodfort Dec 2018
The sky was in her
       eyes - blue with
clouds floating in her smile.
Her voice rushed
       of pines
in a breeze, her hair told of green meadows
  in the spring;
she scented of northern lights...

     And I knew I had met a wildflower.
To all those precious wildflowers out there.
Raven Woodfort Dec 2018
This morning I spotted Dawn
in his human disguise
walking by my window.
He had a bucket of gold
paint in his hands
and the rays of the sun
following his feet
and when I waved at him
he sparkled me a smile back
as if
we knew.
Raven Woodfort Dec 2018
The voice of
my angel is carried from me
far
away to the sand, sun, sea.
As I gaze at the waters
his eyes are no more
there, his smile cannot be
sensed over the waters
no more.
Raven Woodfort Dec 2018
There are a lot of Others out there
trying to make Their voice heard in this world
Trying to let people know Their (shared) sorrows
Trying to tell Their stories,
fact and fiction
about friendship & opposition
loss & gain
hurt & healing
through weakness and pain
to courageous and strong
Trying to.

My voice is just Another
voice amongst so many Others
just like me
Trying to stand out
in a crowd of voices
just as important
needed
as me.
Just as unique and special and
needy of a listening ear
as me.

Will I not? open
my heart to all the Others and
be the listen and care
they need to try on
While my own is
left on its own
strength that
I need to stay strong
for the Others

It will struggle…

… but survive
with the glow that
loving Others brings
Healing
the broken
supporting
the weak
encouraging
the little
igniting
the strong.

It will glow and grow
stronger
For I want to
and will.
Raven Woodfort Dec 2018
Here comes Dawn!
that august crown
with lights in his eyes
gold in his mouth
a fresh sheet in his footsteps
pearls in his song -
of which the notes aren’t black,
but silver ring in tone
Whose abyssal blue eyes
have never fallen before,
never wandered off the trail
he has committed himself to
never-

It’s the same Dawn
who has broken so many hearts
and left countless others grabbing
sighing
for an empty, transparent glance
Whose footsteps are traced
by more than Day alone:
the morning brings him thousands
of pulling eyes to pull along

Ladies! Lovers! Princesses!
hear here my advice:
the Golden Prince is a single spirit
an eagle with no eyes
for women or girls or queens or beggars
or damsels of any kind
and nothing in earth
heaven or hell
could ever change his mind
So leave him bear his heavy burdens,
he’s suffered enough, let him be
He can’t be tamed and shan’t be tempted,
forever he will be free
An old poem rediscovered and edited.
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