#theraven
On a morning merry, of the merry sun, I was awakened all of a sudden,
for there came a rapping noise, not once but thrice,
rapping-tapping of a native knuckle, outside my orchard fence,
thus in a question of 'what' I bustled, rustled past my window lace,
there was a bird, the raven's cousin,
a crow on my orchard fence.
I flinched from the window, and opened my door,
and asked the crow, perched on the fence, me before,
"what shalt thy name be? for the peasantly bird, thou seem to me,
who had a peasantly flight past the neighbour's flower-mess. "
for t'was not the raven knowing that single word, but a crow who may speak something else
quoth the crow "Nevermore, Nevertheless..."
Jan 29
Jan 29, 2026 at 5:31 AM UTC
Not even Black
***** brownish grey
with wings that do not fly
only good to cover his eyes
discarded by rejection
he only comes out at night
on crinkly legs
walking by the riverside
the trees nod for they do not care
in the park
pretty women meander at dusk
no one will see him
no one will bother
there will be someone always
to ring the bells
Apr 26, 2025
Apr 26, 2025 at 7:05 PM UTC
every day, he looked out the window,
his inhibitions toppling over like dominos;
he gawked at the blackbirds, all the same:
he could not tell a friend from a foe.
he never thought he’d go so far -
as to slay ‘the raven’ with a crooked crowbar;
his conscience dripped with sins, and rose -
a thorny heap of fallacies, charred.
he blamed the world for all he was;
convinced in his soul that he had a good cause:
it wasn’t enough to redeem his faux pas, so -
he bore the tag of an ill-fated outlaw.
of all the names, by which he was called,
who knew - one day - he’d cease to show up?
a child dead of his innocence, who
never learned how to -
as they say -
‘grow up!’
Jan 3, 2025
Jan 3, 2025 at 9:25 AM UTC
Once upon a day of spring, while I thought, in the early morning,
Over many an empty and ignored notebook paper on my floor—
While I was writing, nothing shocking, there was a sudden knocking,
As of something frantically pounding, pounding at my chamber door.
“ ‘Tis the poet’s muse,” I uttered, “knocking at my chamber door—
I’ll let it in, nothing more.”
Ah, with sorrow I can recall how onto pages the words would fall,
And every phrase was brought to me from a tempest to the shore.
Eagerly I searched the sands;—digging for them with frenzied hands
I would find my poems, but I can—can never find them anymore—
For the wretched but beautiful language that was once my being’s core—
Beyond my reach, evermore.
And the symphony of a distant dirge filled me with a sudden urge,
Enthralled me—thrilled me with lavish courage felt certain times before;
So that now, in spite of what is real, I opened the door with zeal
And asked, “Muse, will I never heal? Am I destined to find empty shores?”
A buffoon was I, for nothing but a whisper far off from my door.
Quoth the whisper, “Evermore.”
“Be that word your leave, fake muse, you mirage!” I howled with grieve—
“Stay no longer in my presence, knock no longer on my door!”
But the whisper, the muse, remains still lurking outside causing me pain—
Incessant knocking, there’s no refrain—more papers strewn on the floor.
I plead with the muse, I beg it to take flight from my chamber door.
The muse just states, “Evermore.”
Jun 1, 2020
Jun 1, 2020 at 11:35 AM UTC
3 AM, I roll onto the floor;
No use trying to sleep anymore.
Anxiety shakes me to the core;
I walk to the bathroom, I lock the door.
The raven pecks at the window, so I let it in;
It tells me there's no escape from my sin.
It says that I've failed, and I'll fail again,
It says it never lasts when I try to repent...
I humor the raven, I listen to its lore;
I begin to think it's right, as my head grows sore.
Will I ever different from who I was before?
Quoth the raven: "Nevermore".
Once upon a midnight dreary,
A midnight I have dreaded dearly,
I crawl to the sink, and I can't help fearing
The raven's words I hated hearing.
"I'm sorry!" I cry, "I want to do better!"
But how many times have I written those letters?
How can I ever pay? I'm the hopeless debtor;
And I can't always hide in the fabric of my sweater.
The raven tells me I'm a figurative *****
I'm huddled in the cabinet, writing metaphors.
Will I ever have a mind free of blood and gore?
Quoth the raven: "Nevermore".
Why won't you leave me alone, you Godforsaken bird!?
To hell with you, and your pessimistic words!
I'm sick of being beaten, broken down, and disturbed;
You might be right, but you might be absurd.
I will try to change once more, as the night gives up its reign;
For a short while, I will return to being sane.
But the night will come again, as the sun can not remain,
And with it comes the raven, waiting at my window pane.
Why me!? Why me!? What does it bother me for?
I tried to do what's right! I can't take this anymore!
Will it ever stop peck, peck, pecking at my door!?
Quoth the raven: "Nevermore".
Jul 4, 2016
Jul 4, 2016 at 2:18 AM UTC
Forgive me sir Edgar Allen
Poe I must write this out because it's maddening
Me to no foreseeable end
I stand here, right noe, at ravens end.
I walked outside the chamber onto the Astral plane
And saw the thoughts, scribbles and pops that amounted in crowds insane
What was in my sight by no means plain
And I stood there, contemplating at ravens end.
An ebony bird flew onto my shoulder looking out at the subconscious murmurings gathered by the pink and gooey Boulder
He crowed loudly, silencing the ideas so I could speak
I shouted to them "FELLOW CITIZENS WE MUST OVER TAKE THE PEAK!"
"WE MUST SEARCH OUT AND RECLAIM WHAT MADE US UNIQUE!"
And the raven crowed again, it seemed as if it wished to speak.
Rousing the ideas were, and creativity flowed back into my head
Reactivating circutry that was once long dead
And outside the lab where I was laid to rest
A raven flew back home to his nest
He crowed loudly, so loud that one could hear what he had to say at the neighborhood store
And so I quote the raven... nevermore
May 11, 2016
May 11, 2016 at 1:30 AM UTC
In the deathly silence of the calm, I feel the clamming of my palms
As I lay awake in the dead of night, so often as I’ve done before
One thought echoes out, as I begin to be filled with doubt
How these feeling come about, about someone lingering past my door
But, I know I’m all alone and no one stands outside my door
Just my imagination, and nothing more
From the dead of night, a sound pierces ever slight
My ears perk up and my mind begins to explore
Where the faint noise comes from, while my body lays numb
In the darkness of the slum, this hum I can’t ignore
A heed or warning, resonating past my enclosed door
The sound rings out “Falling For”
Who is this trickster, trader, inside my home, a dangerous invader?
Calling out to me from beyond my hardwood floor
In the dead of night, amidst four walls void of light
If I scream, will foreign ears here my plight? Or will I be no more?
Has my time come to pass for all the wrongs I must answer for?
As the whisper calls out “Falling For”
My thoughts begin to carry, how I should be more wary
Am I being tricked? True meaning behind this “Falling For”
This devilish trickster, whether Ma’am or a Mister
Swindled me in a twister, my wealth and name I can’t restore
Unaware of this chaos looming, the loosing of the war
Is this what I’m “Falling For”
Or maybe love, my damsel calling, perhaps my heart is what’s falling
To the one that I so eagerly adore
Thoughts of grandeur fill my head, for a prospect to join my bed
Where stars and sky, the mind has read, finally the weary sailor arrives ashore
Greeted by his enduring spouse to whom long ago he swore.
That she, and only her was the one he’d Fallen For
In the dead of night my mind still racing, for the sound my ears still chasing
The whisper ever so slight of “Falling For”
Kept me up all night and going crazy, my thoughts once clear now are hazy
In the deafening silence, my body lazy, to venture out past my enclosed door
I struggled battling for the meaning my mind telling me folks of lore
Of this destined fate of “Falling For”
In the dead of night, rang out a murmur, ever so slight, the noise got firmer
Beyond the walls outside the enclosed door
Down the hall in another room, a forgotten token within a tomb
Where the noise began to resume, a music box within a drawer
Broken saying the same two words kept replaying, “Falling For”
For it was this, and nothing more
Jan 24, 2015
Jan 24, 2015 at 1:54 PM UTC