Author: michael raven

  • heartstone

    Photo by Judy Beth Morris on Unsplash
    we lost those
    flowers in our hair
    when winter winds
    stole our breath
    and turned our
    hearts to stone

    i have been sitting
    for so long under
    apple trees waiting
    for fresh blossoms
    to fall

  • Towards the Within: Over the Hills and Far Away

    The Mission circa 1986, found on internet (unknown copyright)

    Yesterday, I made a veiled reference to two songs on my mind at the time that I wrote Between Shadow. And while they do not exactly fit in with the criteria that I’ve set out for myself in this series (non-English, strike; new to me, strike, darkwave/coldwave/synthwave, strike), I thought that I might as well include them for readers so that the reference isn’t lost on them.

    (more…)

  • above tomorrow

    sunlight shining through old growth woods
    Photo by Simon Wilkes on Unsplash
    a hilltop kiss
    above old creek wending,
    tangled of vale

    all grains gone gold
    in autumn hours with
    a sun hung low

    burning within, without
    you whisper a secret
    for me to keep

    my head on your breasts,
    slumber come tomorrow

  • Between Shadow

    I often wonder lately if it is my shadow drawing me into dance and embrace, if the million mile journey is here in my heart and conventional wisdom would say that I never need leave home. I give my shadow name, because a shadow should not remain without a name just because it refuses to share one.

    “Scáthach,” I whisper and it just laughs and twirls away. The mistress of shadows, in the castle of shadow, from an island far, far away. It is neither denial or affirmation, and I do not have the energy to play a neverending game of warmer and colder. If it is just my shadow, it would likely care less how it is named.

    But I need a name and so give it one.

    (more…)

  • workbook

    Photo by Peter Herrmann on Unsplash
    i can't explain
    the tears ragged
    at the edge when i
    open up a workbook
    collection of half-
    suggestive memories,
    why both urges claw
    for slamming doors
    or walking inside

    poison years weary
    and all i can think is
    i wish you were here
    whoever you are
    lingering in shadows
    in the deep corners
    of my mind