Author: michael raven

  • jigsaw daze

    my madness song at
    yellow paper tigers
    stretching from walls
    i arm claw trying
    to find a way out
    all the while
    grinding glass teeth
    & chewing at tinsel

    i have earned my way
    to straw dog state &
    mantic ghosts of that
    neverpast & nevermore, sing:
    shake shake shake dog shake

    an ugly break at mirrors
    in these jigsaw daze
    no one could know
    there would be
    so much
    blood

  • casting runes — 30jan26

    pertho
    what does this
    stormwashed beach offer?
    let us toss bones, rattle teeth,
    carve our skin &
    slip with the undertow;
    what treasures we may find...

    A poem prompted by a randomly selected Elder Futhark rune.

    Today’s rune is pertho, which has a disputed meaning and there is some indication that any proposed meanings might be based on a corrupted interpretation. The general consensus is that there is likely some relationship to ørlǫg (fate/destiny), luck/gambling or perhaps hidden knowledge.

    Please visit my Elder Futhark pages at sceadugenga.com for additional interpretations of the runes based on multiple references and personal reflection.

  • Half-penny thoughts — 30jan26

    An interesting word came my way recently (I “collect” interesting words) and, while I understood the concept outside of the actual word, I didn’t know what it was called.

    That word is “aphantasia”, a condition in which a person cannot visualize mental images, and it impacts up to an estimated 5% of the population. When you say “tree” they cannot conjure up a mental image of a tree when they close their eyes.

    There is actually a spectrum of how well people can mentally visualize things:

    (more…)

  • mantra

    ...michael don't dream
    michael don't dream
    michael don't dream
    michael don't dream
    michael don't dream....

  • Twilight aching

    Photo by Cornelia Munteanu on Unsplash

    She covers me in twilight aching, as filtered by summer leaves. Shadowed within shadows gloaming slips down, descends, pours over me.

    Blind to consequence, she moves through the weald seamless, with feet drifting on wraith. A kiss on my grey lips passing, breath crisp to the taste and pale fingers linger mists on cheek before she wisps away.

    I am wicker-bound by convention though the distance moves well beyond time.

    Flint for my eyes, sharp, though always blind I must be. They scrimshawed my bones to mask the words from me. Lips set to suture, to trap my voice to me.

    Waiting on the fires, mists’ kiss watching, twilight aching over me.