• Market missing

    michael raven

    I miss the Market today.

    Pikes Market, Seattle
    Photo by Sabine Ojeil on Unsplash

    It would be closed by now, of course. But I would have skipped out of work early and spent the afternoon window shopping comics, trinkets, maybe some herbs or incense. Walk down to the pier, although it was a stranger the last time I walked there because of the missing viaduct.

    I’d buy a couple of börek to take back to the apartment, reheat for dinner, salad or quinoa with tahini dressing on the side. I was never a very good vegetarian back then — I couldn’t give up my cheese or butter, but I rarely ate meat when I could visit the Market. Honestly, I rarely ate at all.

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    Market missing

  • lakesong

    michael raven

    Photo by Ariana Kaminski on Unsplash
    hush the reeds canoeing under
    loon her haunting waves over
    dragonfly blue on knee on oar
    kodak cubeflash sun at branches
    song mine of thunder rolling
    cuts flint grey brilliant skies
    redwing cattail watching
    follows eyes painted

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  • acorn man

    michael raven

    a path in the middle of a dark forest
    Photo by Wes Hicks on Unsplash
    sun and shadow
    dancing the bones
    between the tonights
    laid over growing
    groundcover dark
    within the wode

    acorn man mad they
    call his wanders
    under oak over stone
    pond water mirrors
    his autumn ways

    hey hey they call of above
    do not walk yourself lost
    black laughter rising
    he laughs along
    wanderwalking the wode
    acorn man disguised

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  • oh, ffs [an update]

    michael raven

    Perhaps I was a bit unfair, but anyone who has followed me for any length of time knows that I purchased my domains for the blogs to avoid littering reader’s screens with adsense and other monetization tools. I don’t think it is unreasonable to point to a vendor for my book on a page that I rarely reference that I have made less money on in total over the course of three years than I make per hour at my paying job.

    Added that I have been a WordPress advocate for nearly twenty years, getting the email that I am going to have to upgrade my Jetpack subscription to a commercial license was just adding insult to injury (with respect to the commenting fiasco when I first migrated to this site because either Jetpack or the WordPress.org code is borked for one option on commenting).

    That said, I made a ruckus this morning. I’m not proud of it, because it led me to insulting an AI chatbot’s parentage and legal status. But I had reached my limit with the shenanigans I was experiencing.

    So I vented.

    It went to a human at Jetpack, which surprised me. When they foist you to forums, you always assume you are now on your own.

    The person at the other end went through and agreed that this site does not fit the definition of a commercial site and manually adjusted it. I am pleasantly surprised and Automattic has been downgraded on my “evil overlord” spectrum to being merely “naughty-leaning, wait-and-see”.

    I hesitate to reactivate the book page without overhauling it and removing links, but I might rebuild it so it seems less “commercial”.

    Anyway — thanks for putting up with my venting.

    Back to writing!

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    oh, ffs [an update]

  • oh, ffs

    michael raven

    Apparently, I’m a “commercial site” according to WordPress because I had the audacity to point to a book of poetry that I’ve written. Therefore, to keep Jetpack, I should pay them more than I have ever made on said book during its lifetime each year to keep Jetpack. Or remove the offending link/page. Not doing so will mean losing the functionality of connecting my site to WordPress.com readers.

    Which I have. Gods forbid I promote something I authored. They might not get their cut of my meager earnings. And a pound of flesh while their at it.

    I hereby certify that I make not one single penny from having this site up and functioning. Choke on that pound of flesh.

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  • Campfire Sessions — 06 apr 25

    michael raven

    Campfire
    Photo by Ville Palmu on Unsplash

    It’s time to be off, they said.

    There was not much left of the once-long stick I had been using to poke at the dying embers for a spell. Each time I poked, bright orange sparks would jump from the rippling ruby coals. For no particular reason, doing so brought me a flash of joy.

    I have always been a firebug. Maybe that was why.

    I turned to Raven, their feathers ruddy in the glow of the remains of my campfire. Off where? I asked.

    You know, they said.

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    Campfire Sessions — 06 apr 25

  • inner

    michael raven

    sage bundles in a pot for smudging
    Photo by Ginny Rose Stewart on Unsplash
    we crawled into
    innerworld
    on our hands &
    knees

    you kissed me
    otherside &
    promised me all
    night

    sage was a'drifting
    stones were shifting &
    flames burned to
    embers

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  • Songlet — 06 apr 25

    michael raven

    Listening to some of the post-punk/darkwave/synthwave music I’ve been listening to these past few weeks has inspired me not only to pick up the bass once again, but to get back to playing around with some songwriting and DAW recording as well. [DAW = digital audio workshop, a home studio option for the modern era].

    Picture of an audio soundboard
    Photo by Anthony Roberts on Unsplash

    As I was discussing this direction in comments with Chris, I began to think that it might be interesting to at least some of you to share with folks the general thought process and progression of how some of us — or at least I do — get about to writing music.

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    Songlet — 06 apr 25

  • outsider

    michael raven 

    i am the outsider drifting
    slipstream shifting
    through & through
    a directionless beggar
    desert rags wrapped
    red around wrists &
    broken at my mouth
    open fractured to speak
    i croak & rasping
    thirsty for the dawn

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  • games

    michael raven

    Image of a writing journal and a pencil.
    Photo by Dariusz Sankowski on Unsplash
    always unknowing & unreadable
    her eyes play from the shadows
    teasing & taunting

    forgive me, i am so tired
    of these games

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    games