Author: michael raven

  • etchcarve

    Photo by Dylan Whoriskey on Unsplash
    i carve the etch of me
    all whalebone & darksea
    a riprap black taking
    all wavecast offerings
    adding to that nightinked
    & lowing in underwave,
    that etchcarve of me

  • tossing a rune — 16jun25

    mannaz
    tangled on wyrding
    bonds stretched to strain
    cairn flags flutter in
    the winds set aflame

    Another rune poem of mine, where the rune is selected at random.

    Today’s rune is mannaz, which has a core meaning of “man”. The extension of the rune also includes “mankind” or “human”. Going further, some have interpreted this rune to mean rational thinking, family, social order and self-awareness.

  • stranger am i

    i stranger am i
    unknown to be
    i stranger am i
    fatigued to be
    trial as k
    no answer find
    weary talking in
    wandering warrens
    of stranger am i

  • Wot up?

    Image of a writing journal and a pencil.
    Photo by Dariusz Sankowski on Unsplash

    I’m going to be posting less often over the summer. I think so, anyway.

    Why?

    I have a couple of irons in the fire, among other reasons:

    (more…)

  • there be lions

    That is what one gets when one listens to rumors.

    Rumors lead to hope. And “hope”, as the song goes, “is no good”. You would think we would not learn to base our decisions on hope. That is what we get for thinking, as my grandmother was fond of saying.

    Better to put that bear to slumber once again. Help him to hibernate and sleep this long, cold winter of the soul away, away.

    We can try to explain but the words come out all wrong and we speak of pain, people think we like it here. Ever the tears to hide, slip on a smile — wooden and hollow — and give in to the dreaming on.

    Even if… there be lions. Ever and hungry.

  • underneath

    Photo by pedram ahmadi on Unsplash
    the peopling ages raw
    meat hook hanging
    — don't pretend to kiss me,
    this savage morning hurts

    let me dance the razor's edge
    the deaf talk my broken digits
    the blind point my way home

    underneath, i weary stone

  • toll

    Photo by Alla Kemelmakher on Unsplash
    how lonely the tolling of
    the bell sans clapper
    as come those mists of
    yon forest vale

  • fireys

    there are days i wish
    i could be all fireys
    and toss my head away
    so that i could
    get all chilly down
    and think clearly
    for just one day

  • Half-penny thoughts | 12jun25

    a path in the middle of a dark forest
    Photo by Wes Hicks on Unsplash

    I’m doing some spiritual alchemy this morning. You know, calcination, dissolution, separation… yada yada yada. Fancy words for a messy process.

    As most of you know, I don’t have much patience with fancy language to describe simple things. I also don’t have much patience with elaborate processes when the processes themselves should be (and tend to be) simple.

    Stepping back…

    I was thinking again, about this process of rewilding my spirit, getting back to the beginning. Part of that involves taking what you perceive yourself to be and going all Zen by seeking out the face you wore before you were born. Or, as the kōan would have it, before your parents were born.

    [A kōan, for those unfamiliar with the term, is a Zen “public case” meant to help one realize satori, otherwise known as enlightenment.]

    What better place to set as a destination for rewilding your spirit? Your original face, before even your parents were born!

    Before nurture came around… Before your nature evolved…

    What face did you wear?

    And can you find it again?

    Note: For the curious, my philosophy is largely Taoist informed by Zen, my spiritual practice is largely animist, influenced by panpolytheistic understandings (with many of those trappings removed). Confused? Now you know why I think these kinds of thoughts.

  • i zen not

    i zen not
    it reeks of haiku
    on bird-shat
    statues
    Photo by Fabian Bächli on Unsplash