October 7, 2017 at 7:26 pm #1631
The Raven’s Quill
On a branch the raven perches as dark as night,
then outstretches his feathers, preparing for flight.
His mind is sharp, there’s a task to perform,
and it’s nothing so pleasant as catching a worm.
His own desires will just have to wait,
he needs to be slender to fulfil his fate.
So, with hunger pangs gnawing, he ascends to the roof
Of a curs´ed old manor house to seek the truth.
He knows of this place all things must beware
for, within its walls, the soul is stripped bare.
He ascends even more to one of the chimney pot tops
then dives down the flue and in the grate, stunned he flops.
His feathers are blackened with soot from the descent
his resolve staying strong – on that he was intent.
The cold ashes soften the blow from his fall
and, gaining composure, he rolls into a ball.
Now weighing heavy and from the cloying atmosphere drained,
he starts his ascent, for which he has trained.
Inch by inch he flutters up the chimney stack
Purpose, and sheer determination, guiding him back.
Wearily he grips the chimney pot top with his claws,
grateful he has escaped from the manor’s jaws.
He knows there will be a price to pay,
but doggedly gets ready to be on his way.
The soot and ash weigh heavy and slows his flight
and each flap of his wings takes all his might,
but in the distance he finally sees his destination
and his friend, with whom he is in collaboration.
The regal companion sits on a bank by a river,
his feathers of turquoise, azure and amber delicately quiver.
The raven, when landed, looks at the kingfisher’s beak,
both knowing they have what each other seek.
In his beak the kingfisher holds water from a sacred well
which he’s carried from its depths, where the blessed dwell.
Opening his beak he lets the water fall
all upon the raven, who again wraps himself into a ball.
Together they meditate for what seems like eternity
then the kingfisher opens his eyes and flies up into a nearby tree.
The raven unfurls and shakes himself dry,
his feathers now coated in a magical dye.
The kingfisher looks and listens, to see what he could see and hear,
and once he was satisfied the way ahead was clear,
he flew back to the raven and looked at his pulsating brow,
and said “Come on, dear friend, we must start our journey now”.
Along the river bank they waddle, the raven weighted down
by his iridescent, jet-black feathers and his gloriously shimmering crown.
They journey far and wide, to meet the wise white owl,
it is the raven’s karma to re-write the wrongs so foul.
The raven has learnt from past experience to question who to trust,
wicked magpies were all around, full of greed and lust.
The kingfisher and the white owl had proven they were true,
and so the raven knew exactly what he had to do.
The white owl was enthralled to see the friends approach,
so proud of the raven, as he had been the raven’s coach.
“You have achieved your first task raven, you have made the grade,
now I’ll tell you how you can come to all the lost souls’ aid.
“The soot and ashes are remnants from many evil deeds
and, within them, the darkness of tortured souls breeds.
The water from the blessed at the bottom of the sacred well
has the power to release these souls from their half-light hell.
“The ink on each of your feathers will write of hidden lands;
be very cautious raven they don’t fall into wrong hands.
Listen to the kingfisher, for you he’s always there
and think very carefully with whom you choose to share”.
For each magical feather will become a quill than can rewrite the wrongs,
and can compose the lyrics and music for spellbinding songs.
Its ink will never run dry, it writes with its own Will
and so begins the story of the wondrous “Raven’s Quill”.
Poem by Bernadette Roy-Thomas 2017
October 9, 2017 at 11:28 am #1636
The Lurid Lullaby
To Black Mountain dare you go
Can you tell who’s friend or foe?
What once was such a land of dreams
now’s full of fear, nothing’s as it seems
Childhood lost, charmed by this land
beckoned closer by a dangerous hand
The pleasure of the fairy tale
now makes the listener turn deathly pale
The comfort of the nursery rhyme
turned bitter sweet and lost in time
The lullaby, once full of calm,
now threatens to do so much harm
so, as you listen to a song so sweet,
prepare for who you’re about to meet
The shadows of centuries afore
will captivate you for evermore.
Bernadette Roy-Thomas 2017
- This reply was modified 2 months ago by disphoria.
October 9, 2017 at 11:56 am #1637
Black Mountain is a soulful place
where something’s hidden behind each face.
So whatever greeting you may receive
Don’t think “to see is to believe……..”
Black is white and day is night
and everything is turned around.
Good is bad, and you’ve been had
if you think you’re safe and sound.
Bernadette Roy-Thomas 2017
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