One More Raven
A Sonnet Inspired By A Beautiful Painting By The Glittering Fox
Introduction
I have written about Ravens before, here:
This is my sixty-third piece inspired by Angie Livingstone's inspirational artwork. I love the beautiful autumnal colours in this work.
Our book, "The Art Of The Glittering Fox", is now available on Amazon throughout the world.
This poem is a sonnet
This is her Facebook Page
This is her Etsy page
The music is "The Raven Song" by Wendy Rule
One More Raven
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The Raven Sent Mister Poe Mad
With His Constant Window Tapping
Now He's Here, And Edgar Is Sad
On A Standing Stone, Wings Flapping
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In This Realm He's The Raven King
Spiral Energy From Stone Flows
To The Raven's Heart And Black Wings
He Is The King, All Creatures Know
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Earth Mage By The Stone Circle
Raven King Looks Toward The Stars
Watching The Druids Cast Their Spells
Black As The Abyss, Perfect Dark
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When He Spreads His Black Wings Of Night
Raven King Bathed In Golden Light
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About the Creator
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Compelling and original writing
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I asked my grandmother how she knew she'd fallen in love. I am not sure I ever did love him, she said. This was before I met my husband. I was naive, a naked spring, a raw nerve of a thing. That cannot ever be me, I knew. Sadness swept in gently like a Moscow thaw. It is no simple thing, looking into a woman's vast soul and seeing its foot bindings. Now, in Italy divorced with my skin singed off, when I say I don't love him mean: I have succeeded at feeling nothing most days and it mostly works. Do you want the comfort of Nothing? Do you want Nothing, too? Be warned: you'll never be free, even when you are nothing. Here is what doesn't work: Accepting the stages of grief. Talking about it. Sitting with the feeling. Missing himβno, the person you were when you believed in death do us part. Writing poetry. That, too. When I say I don't love him I mean: I feel capsized in an endless, starved tide. What sometimes works: selective memory. You must forget ripe tomatoes and his beard and feeling perfectly sheltered in a big blue world. Forget coffee in bed, laughter watching TV, blowing out the candles on the birthday cake and the quiet all-encompassing knowledge that you are chosen. Remember only how love turned to a banal everyday survival act, a trapeze act unsure whether he will catch you, how the warmth stagnated and became sour, remember the foot bindings and remember the resentment boiling in your veins as you stick it out for the kids. Six-hour Netflix binges help, too. A man's fingers tracing your spine. Frozen pizza at 2 a.m. Random trips to the museum just to stand near things that last a while. The realization that crying wonβt change anything. Seeing that life is just a dream, and refusing to participate in your own suffering. Bite your fist. Walk on eggshells around joy. When I say I don't love him, I mean he didnβt break my heart, he just stopped touching it and it forgot how to beat right.
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Comments (7)
Loved this and great imagery,
Words and images are a perfect match. Great job. (You do such a fantastic job on her artwork. Here's an idea-Write poems on other famous works of art from paintings to sculptures.)
I agree with Lightning Bolt, Mike. This entire piece is a striking moment of magick in her finest hour! Beautiful work! I love ravens, by the way, and think we can never have enough poetry and stories honoring their divine presence!
I love this a whole lot. Poe and Druids and Raven energy spiraling. It's a mystical mix, Mike. You always serve up a feast for the senses-- words, music/sounds, art. Love it. β‘πβ‘
Absolutely beautiful accompaniment to the artistic work. I love the last two lines especially. Great piece!
Fabulous Mike I love it ππ¦πππππ
Fantastic :)