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The sun shines over those green trees
It makes the river greener
My mind happier
The birdsong makes the silence
Sound like a symphony
I can hear the leaves on the branches
Trembling by the soft and fresh wind
My feet in the cold water
Make the trees reflecting on it all blur
Those ravens remain quiet for once
This place makes the ravens peaceful
This is my definition of enchantment
10.08.19
KIT
Remember when I was the eagle on your wrist and
We would go hunting in the early light of day
Walking up and over Blakey Ridge into the misty grey?

So close together in our passions and wayward ways.
We were proper lovers then, bound by instinct and the need
Tip to tip and claw to claw to know our fully encountered greeds.

I regret you let me soar into the cloudless future so foolishly desired.
Letting me go, untying the invisible shackles holding me
Finding myself with no way back wherever you may be.

A man grows to fly away they say, a woman to build a home.
I wish my heart and my need to roam had not been so compelled -
Instead being a Raven, loyal, true, and clever enough to be held.
There are old regrets of certain times & decisions.
The unkindness was done to us, but now we are the unkindness.
We are people turned victim turned survivor turned raven,
Grouped together to fight the evil we were violated with.

We are creatures of pain, and we are creatures of protection.
We are creatures of mourning, and we are creatures of empathy.
We are creatures of misery, and we are creatures of wisdom.

And we will croak, caw, warble, and scream
Just so we know we are not alone.
I am putting together and planning to publish collection of poems by survivors of ****, ****** assault, ******, or ****** abuse. If you fall into this category and would be willing to contribute a poem or two, please email it to me at [email protected]. Please consider this. Have a good day!
Deep in slumber,
Drenched in rain.
She sleeps
Exhausted from pain.

Her heart bleeds,
Emotions enchained.
In chaos
Nothing is gained.

Burning in darkness,
Engulfed in flame.
She can't even remember
Her own name.

A sky filled with ravens,
Visions of a heinous face.
She watched
As her lover fell from grace.

She cried in sorrow,
But, it was in vain.
She woke up to realise
It was that nightmare again!









Tanay Sengupta, Copyright © 2019.
All Rights Reserved.
Okay, things got a little too dark. Sorry.

Disclaimer: All characters and scenarios are simply subject to my imagination. Please use your discretion while reading this.
Edward Jan 7
ravens tear at me,
each clinging to their own piece.
rip me endlessly.
Two ravens are perched on a tree,
One speaks to Death
And the other is never heard
A lonely life we live, the Ravens of the world
Deidre Lockyer Nov 2018
There is one dark light in the firmament
Brewing poison, it hangs watchfully
Waiting with hunger for the first sign of breakage
The first scent of vulnerability
Uncoiling in slippery skilled determination
Seeking ingress, seeking blood
He is the sleight of hand l hung my heart on
The secret lie that skinned my soul
Fall of the house of hope
Gutter liar looking at his next victory

Innocence you will die beneath him
Every touch will rob you of sanctification
In the temple of naïveté he is a streetwise hustler
Born of a killing moon
Drunk on theft as he cuts through defences
Needing fresh meat, hunting game
He is the deceit, the gaslight
The rending of my sacred veil
Fall of the castle of faith
Sleeping well as he has no heart

I had sandcastles in my eyes
Glass lilies in my hands
He nonchalantly crushed them all
Smeared his name across my beauty
And laughed
“Lighten up, baby”

But tides turn and mermaids call
Now the beach is deserted
Storms boil the ocean, purging
I cast his name into the liquid fire
And end this
“Namaste, baby”

There is one dark light in the firmament
Amid clean clouds of evening it coils in contempt
He shall not see me, he shall not touch me
For him, no more my blood
With the screams of ravens l have flown again
Turned from his flowing bitterness
I found a little light of promise
New belief in the budding of me
Resurrecting tomorrow
As l will it so mote it be
Nis Aug 2018
In the state of Oregon
the roads of air have names of snakes
and there's a smell of music in the air
music of flowers, scent of love.

Even ravens laugh, and cry with laughter
even ravens smell of snakes
and have names of love.
Blossoms cry love and ask for more,
but it's not to come,
because the grey men creep,
and their grey hands reach
my heaven on Earth.
Kind of a reaponse to Nevada, a poem from "Un río, un amor" by Luis Cernuda. Th name of the states act as placeholders for surrealist heavens, although I have been to Oregon and Cernuda probably didn't go to Nevada
Danielle Jun 2018
Ravens dance upon highwires.
Flashing pinwheels spinning in their beaks.
The merry-go-round grinds,
Its rusted gears, squealing into the wind.
Book pages whirl and fly off into the sky.
The fox’s cry to the butterfly
Went unheard in this whitewashed night.
Probably going to end up re-writing this for a fourth time, but for now it's good enough to post on here and see what kind of feed back I get for it.
a certain morning stiffness
in your joints

you find your face
in the bathroom mirror
and wish you hadn't

the puzzled wisdom
    of middle age
wavers from your eyes
deepening wrinkles
   of many laughs
   many frowns

   how many more?

   nevermore ?!

the room becomes aflutter
with poesque ravens
the presence of absences
fills the void
your life is on the brink
of deconstructing itself
to the periphery of the universe
a discourse of silence
forever becoming ... becoming ...
what...?

   nevermind!

so

you close your eyes
   hard
for a minute or two

when you look again
you meet the stare
of a not-so-bad-looking
man in his best years
  
   graying sideburns
   receding hairline
   20 pounds too many
      BUT
   a firm decision
   to work them off
  
   still a bit sleepy
   yet determined
   to shave
      get dressed
      have breakfast
  
   and teach
   that wonderful seminar
   on 19th century poetry
   to eager graduate students
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