Omaha Beach
The ship lay offshore
gently rocking
port to starboard
shards of mica
in the black sand glitter
in the gloom
gnarled and twisted trees
cling to a rockstrewn hillside
sharp odor of cordite
a barking dog
a single raven overhead
poem by Michael Pruchnicki
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The Beach at Acheron
The ship lay a hundred yards offshore
gently rocking to starboard
in rolling swells
Shining black sand on the beach
shards of mica glittering
in afternoon sun
dark shrubs scattered
on a rockstrewn hillside
trees twisted and gnarled
hover on the ridge
odor of cordite
and a barking dog
just out of range
a single raven
circling overhead
poem by Michael Pruchnicki
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Raven, Raven
I took my children to the Zoo.
That was in March of 1993
And there was a sharp wind.
We saw a black
Raven who had stories.
'Are you thirsty, Raven? '
They asked him.
He said: 'Raven, Raven.'
'Are you hungry, Raven? '
He said: 'Raven, Raven'
'Do you have a family, Raven? '
I asked.
He said: 'Raven, Raven.'
We came back smiling
My children and I.
The children left.
We remained: sharp wind and me.
We went to my apartment:
My memories and I.
Unbearable loneliness.
I went to a pub.
The waiter asked:
'Are you thirsty or hungry?
You are not with your kids tonight? '
I replied: 'RAVEN, RAVEN.'
poem by Jankovic Zoran
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A Single Black Rose
A single Black Rose to turn the tide
A single Black Rose to make one die
A single Black Rose to ensnare the soul
A single Black Rose to widen that hole
A single Black Rose to melt the heart
A single Black Rose to force a start
A single Black Rose to entwine the bodies
A single Black Rose to dictate the deaths of these
A single Black Rose to lie upon her breast
A single Black Rose to stop the tears from soaking his vest
A single Black Rose to mourn this memory
A single Black Rose to become a plot in this cemetery
A single Black Rose to take a life
A single Black Rose to end his strife.
(8/21/2007)
poem by Michael Koelliker
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Little Raven
Little raven,
Where did you come from?
Little raven,
With your little black body.
Little raven,
With your long, shinny wings.
Little raven,
In mid flight.
Little raven,
With your frightening caw.
Little raven,
Why are you a sigh of death?
poem by Jameaka Shibles
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A Black Single Rose.
A single black rose.
A single black rose to carry the load,
A single black rose to turn the road,
A single black rose to touch the soul,
A single black rose to widen your hole,
A single black rose to melt your heart,
A single black rose to force a start,
A single black rose to make you cry,
A single black rose to make you dry,
A single black rose to help you climb,
A single black rose to make you lie,
A single black rose to take a life,
A single black rose to take away strife.
poem by Natasha Ligons
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Remember Raven
Aah! ooh!
Aah! ooh!
While youre busy trying to conjure dirt upon me,
Your ponys sucked dry by an african bee.
The muck you rake is not enough to keep your turd at sea,
Remember the raven,
Remember the raven.
While your busy trying to weigh your power,
Your boats getting into fast water.
Lifes going down the river of no return,
Remember raven,
Remember raven.
Dont try to be a warden to history,
While trying to find a seat for your posterity.
You better tend your garden for your family.
Remember raven,
Remember raven.
Judas never got the key to heaven, you know.
Raven, raven, remember raven,
Remember raven.
Raven, raven, remember raven,
Remember raven.
Raven, raven, raven.
song performed by by Yoko Ono
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Am A Raven
I am a raven
Freer than a breeze
Beholding to no one
Doing what I please
I am a raven
Watch me fly
Aeries are for eagles
Not me!
Don’t ask me why
I am a raven
Eating what I please
Sleep anywhere I want
Have no one to appease
I am a raven
You’d better let me by
I’m a bit combative
Might pluck out an eye
I am a raven
Better left alone
Unless inclined to marry
Have ravens of mine own
I am a raven
Feathers black as coal
Robbery my stock in trade
So stay clear
Or I may steal your soul
poem by Ray Lucero
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In A Time Of Dearth
Before me,
On either side of me,
I see sand.
If I turn the corner of my house,
I see sand,
Long, brown
Lines and levels of flat
Sand.
If I could only see a caravan
Heave over the edge of it:
The camels wobbling and swaying,
Stepping like ostriches,
With rocking palanquins
Whose curtains conceal
Languors and faintnesses,
Muslins tossed aside,
And a disorder of cushions.
The swinging curtains would pique and solace me.
But I only see sand,
Long, brown sand -
Sand.
If I could only see a herd of Arab horses
Galloping,
Their manes and tails pulled straight
By the speed of their going;
Their bodies sleek and round
Like bellying sails.
They would beat the sand with their fore feet,
And scatter it with their hind feet,
So that it whirled in a cloud of orange,
And the sun through it
Was clip-edged, without rays, and dun.
But I only see sand,
Long, brown, hot sand -
Sand.
If I could only see a mirage,
Blue-white at the horizon,
With palm-trees about it;
Tall, windless palm-trees, grouped about a-glitter.
If I could strain toward it,
And think of the water creeping round my ankles,
Tickling under my knees,
Leeching up my sides,
Spreading over my back.
But I only feel the grinding beneath my feet.
And I only see sand,
Long, dry sand,
Scorching sand -
Sand.
If a sand-storm would only come
And spit against my windows,
Snapping upon them, and ringing their vibrations;
Swirling over the roof;
Seeping under the door-jamb;
Suffocating me and making me struggle for air.
But I only see sand -
Sand lying dead in the sun.
Lines and lines of sand -
Sand.
I will paste newspapers over the windows to shut out the sand;
I will fit them into one another, and fasten the corners.
Then I will strike matches
And read of politics and murders and festivals
Three years old.
But I shall not see the sand any more,
And I can read
While my matches last.
poem by Amy Lowell
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Twisted matter
Twisted faces, twisted emotions,
Twisted past, twisted present,
Twisted future, twisted hopes
Twisted preaching, twisted action,
Twisted truth, twisted lie,
Everything is twisted and twisted,
O Lord, where is thy twist?
poem by Mohammad Akmal Nazir
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Ulysses' Last Voyage
I launched her with my small remaining band
and, putting out to sea, we set the main
on that lone ship and said farewell to land.
Far to starboard rose the coast of Spain,
astern was Sardi, Islas at our bow,
and soon we saw Morocco port abeam.
Though I and comrades now were old and slow,
we hauled till nightfall for the narrow sound
where Hercules had shown what not to do,
by setting marks for men to stay behind.
At dawn the starboard lookout made Seville,
and at the straits stood Ceuta t'other hand.
'Brothers,' I shouted, 'who have had the will
to come through danger, and have reached the west!
our time awake is brief from now until
the senses die, and so I say we test
the sun's own motion and do not forego
the worlds beyond, unknown and peopleless.
Think of the roots from which you sprang, and show
that you are human: not unconscious brutes
but made to follow virtue and to know.'
poem by Dante Alighieri
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The highway man
The wind was howling
and shaking the big oak trees,
and the moon hanged like a sickle
gliding like a ship over the dark sky
and the motorbiker came riding
and the light of his motorbike cut
through the rain and kept him
locked to the stretch of road
that twisted up a hill.
He’d a round black helmet on his head,
a black leather jacket and black boots
and he rode through the weather
to where a light sparkled in the dark
and the girl of his heart was waiting.
poem by Gert Strydom
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A Salty Dog
'all hands on deck, we've run afloat!' i heard the captain cry
'explore the ship, replace the cook: let no one leave alive!'
Across the straits, around the horn: how far can sailors fly?
A twisted path, our tortured course, and no one left alive
We sailed for parts unknown to man, where ships come home to die
No lofty peak, nor fortress bold, could match our captain's eye
Upon the seventh seasick day we made our port of call
A sand so white, and sea so blue, no mortal place at all
We fired the gun, and burnt the mast, and rowed from ship to shore
The captain cried, we sailors wept: our tears were tears of joy
Now many moons and many junes have passed since we made land
A salty dog, this seaman's log: your witness my own hand
song performed by by Styx
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Fisherman
Strong suntanned torso, horny hand on haft
of slender slivered stone tipped sharpened shaft,
he scans the sea, port, starboard, fore and aft,
steers bold through currents cold and crystal clear,
peers into swilling waves till shoals appear –
finned phantoms flitting on fine silver sand,
flee fitful, fretful, unforgetful spear –
veers single-handed, shingled strand so near.
Wave, windswept, one fights foaming tidal draught.
Successive seasons pass, this sacred craft
is followed still, upon same fragile craft...
poem by Jonathan Robin
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A Raven
Dark bird
Black raven with black wings,
Black eyes as dark as midnight,
Wind flutters his wings,
Shadows turn his head,
And movement catches his stare.
He looks down upon you and watches in dismay,
No black is with in you,
No night in your eyes,
No wings to up lift you,
No shadow to attract you,
And movements pass your gaze.
A raven, A raven, A moonlight silhouette.
Wish You Wait
I glare across the causeway
But cannot see
Beyond the lumbering beachcombers
And their city of twisted gray shacks
Any sign of life
Then again no man may see into
His future
Or past
The marine landing
Mirrored in a pane of glass
Will I see you again soon?
Will you fall into my reach?
Will you wait for me until then
On that rockstrewn brazen beach?
poem by Stan Petrovich
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Eavan's Grandma
She feared the women
at the port when her
husband's ship docked
there the port.
She went to the port
to see her husband
each time he arrived
I like the man
and the wife.
'Aren't they
the same kind of girls
anyway? ' he thinks,
she doesn't know it.
(Oct.5,1997)
poem by Sangnam Nam
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Cold Lore
Blackness shrouds the empty floor,
While shadows dance upon the door,
A memoriam of forgotten flaw,
Heart beating fast with eternal plight.
The cold wind blows, a doghouse sigh,
Flying in the medley of nigh,
I listen to the raven cry,
Deadly victim, quite contrite.
I hear a knock upon the roof,
A possum lay under furry hoof,
Memory lingers, yet to sooth,
The Cold Lore whispers in the inky night.
The moon endures a pallour glow,
The rocking chair moves to and fro,
I think of the one that I love so,
I wait for dawn's first light.
Glitter stars and circumstance,
Law and right, in every dance,
The infected wound, yet to be lanced,
The apathy of the raven's flight.
Coldspire lingers a devil's scream,
The sunrise glows, the night's a dream,
I will never know what the twilight means,
Blood red Shepard's delight.
I sit upon a rocking chair,
As death, it takes me with gentle care,
I see my corpse, just sitting there,
6 hours since midnight.
At the end of every life,
Calls the raven, a herald of strife,
We step the edge of our own knife,
I see the demon firelight.
When the hour strike 13th chime,
And a child can drink the juice of lime,
When within a star exists a dime,
There shall be no night.
poem by Stuart Logan
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Gullible
The Black Bird portents the gloom
As he drives home the night...
Muted tones of grey accent his shadow
Conjuring up visions of panic and fright;
As a drought of a hundred years
Where the Earth wrinkles and cracks
The Raven bodes poorly for this day
As the muted grey tones now turn to black;
Fashionably correct or understated...
The less is more philosophy-
Sophistication is borderline-ice cold-dry
As the Raven has gotten the better of me;
Lacking-oh so lacking in any warmth...
Driven to a dark chill of regret and woe
The Black Bird has shown its true colours
Ironically, telling me, what i needed to know;
poem by Theodora Onken
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Another Reason Why I Don't Keep A Gun In The House
The neighbors' dog will not stop barking.
He is barking the same high, rhythmic bark
that he barks every time they leave the house.
They must switch him on on their way out.
The neighbors' dog will not stop barking.
I close all the windows in the house
and put on a Beethoven symphony full blast
but I can still hear him muffled under the music,
barking, barking, barking,
and now I can see him sitting in the orchestra,
his head raised confidently as if Beethoven
had included a part for barking dog.
When the record finally ends he is still barking,
sitting there in the oboe section barking,
his eyes fixed on the conductor who is
entreating him with his baton
while the other musicians listen in respectful
silence to the famous barking dog solo,
that endless coda that first established
Beethoven as an innovative genius.
poem by Billy Collins
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Prayer of the damned..
Raven raven,
upon the sky,
I'd wish this world had room for you and I.
These black hearts, these lost souls,
these fragile dreams of foolish hopes..
You posses wings but art not free,
crowned with your thorny wreath..
we're both chained by guilt,
the guilt of being..
We are the black misfits of this world so free,
tortured by our own pain and misery.
Raven raven, can we ever be free? ..
David Joergensen
poem by David Joergensen
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