Author: michael raven

  • casting runes — 14feb26

    raido
    who is ridden
    when horse & rider flow?
    eventide at black sands
    waves upon the shore

    A poem prompted by a randomly selected Elder Futhark rune.

    Today’s rune is raido, which has been translated as “ride” and the implied “journey”. This may be spatial and literal in practice (a physical journey), or it may be more figurative (an inner/shamanic journey, i.e., útiseta). The rune is associated with cyclic motion and the movement of the sun. Some consider the journey represented by raido to be that of returning.

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

  • Where’s the prose?

    Okay, I’ll admit. I’m still working on the prompt from 12 February, and it might not be done until tomorrow. And, I’ll probably break my target limit for length on this one. You can’t win them all.

    Unlike most of the prompts that I’ve worked on that feel like they fit nicely into the <2000 word limit, this one feels like it needs to breathe and be allowed more space to be told. I don’t think I’ll exceed 3000 words, but it may get to that if I need to. Three hours of brainstorming and researching elements of the story and two hours into writing, I am 1600 words into it. I think this feels beefier than the other tales because it fits into my wheelhouse a little better. Appalachian Gothic vibes very close to the pulp horror that I’ve always found to be a big influence in my writing (when not swooning over Kafka or Salinger). This story has more elements of the atmospheric to it, which take up more space.

    I’m still plugging away and hope to have something posted by tomorrow (at the latest), earlier if possible.

    But now, I need coffee and to start making dinner soon.

  • hidden

    they write your name on a cup
    then the cup is crushed, discarded
    in another gesture to a refuse kind of day

    hiding behind closed doors with
    all feathers turned to vane, whispering
    wishes breathlessly to the dim

    they will not know these ever for
    love lies bleeding in the snow
    rapiers quivering, too late for regrets

  • poppet on barbed wire

    come to me on wraith of wind
    come ancient through the wood
    poppet strung on barbed wire
    catch rag on bone, you should...

    sing song the barley wine
    kiss her a'fore the ruddy dawn
    poppet strung on barbed wire
    carve her stitched mouth drawn

  • casting runes — 13feb26

    tiwaz
    standing as stone
    my blood waters earth while
    ink-stained fingers smudge
    the performative lies smeared
    crimson across the page

    A poem prompted by a randomly selected Elder Futhark rune.

    Today’s rune is tiwaz, which is named after the Norse god Týr, and the second weekday (Tuesday) is named for the god. According to Norse myth, Týr offers his right hand to the wolf Fenrir, who bites it off when he realizes the gods have used the offering to distract the wolf while they bind him. The rune is typically considered symbolic of honor, loyalty and justice, as well as of sacrifice. It may be representative of discipline and faith. Some interpretations have associated the rune with the North Star.

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

  • ripsaw

    poplar crowing at height
    a city's dirty snow
    stretched out below me
    leaning into tumble
    for but to pray to fly—
    a ripsaw shredding harsh
    songs against the grain

  • hollows

    I am gnawing at black ice, waiting to become real while taking in all obsidian and injecting it in my veins. I would offer you a taste, but I can already see your shard eyes speak and say, “Oh, I had planned to offer you mine.” I would not want your generosity to go to waste. So I gnaw.

    Sure sure, I’ll be paid in token for my taking — coin coming in kisses melting on the wind. Scant warmth, that. But enough heat for a haint, when we black ice gnaw the typic nights, I expect.

    My twin blind eyes haze over when I look to the east. Hollows, I say to none… There is no Avalon.

  • Tom’s Studio Wren

    I think I may have found a new obsession: sustainable pens.

    photo: Tom’s Studio, https://tomsstudio.com

    Along with my conscious decision to stretch out my prose muscles in the coming months, I wanted to start developing an analogue note-taking/journaling habit (as it turns out, those muscles used for writing have atrophied as well, surprise surprise). In the early days of trying to move away from the keyboard to do some writing, I’ve discovered that my hands have lost all of their muscle tone when it comes to holding a stylus for any length of time.

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  • casting runes — 12feb26

    raido
    gentle rocking, creaking wain
    twilight tints storm eyes
    returning to lost highways
    alone but for dense, winter fog

    A poem prompted by a randomly selected Elder Futhark rune.

    Today’s rune is raido, which has been translated as “ride” and the implied “journey”. This may be spatial and literal in practice (a physical journey), or it may be more figurative (an inner/shamanic journey, i.e., útiseta). The rune is associated with cyclic motion and the movement of the sun. Some consider the journey represented by raido to be that of returning.

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

  • Flash fiction prompt — 12feb26

    Photo by Patrick Fore on Unsplash

    I am sharing flash fiction prompts generated by AI unless I don’t feel they are personally worth pursuing. Readers are welcome to try their hand at writing based on the prompts generated for this exercise, the goals of which are explained in this post.

    Today’s prompt:

    Subgenre: Appalachian Gothic / Cosmic Horror

    Key Elements:

    • A mine shaft that was sealed up fifty years ago but has started breathing.
    • A family bible with names burned out rather than crossed out.
    • The sound of a fiddle playing a song that has no end.
    • A jar of moonshine that doesn’t reflect the light.

    Optional Tone Constraint: The narrator must be unreliable.

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