YouTube Tuesday: The Raven’s Way

It’s Tuesday again, and time for some more spoken word poetry from my YouTube channel. This week I present a poem from May 2016, “The Raven’s Way”.

The Raven’s Way

In an empty-headed daydream,
I sat and listened to the rain
And wondered without really caring
Who had ordained this harsh deluge

Enclosed in walls, I thought I spied
A raven bathing in a puddle
Washing himself, delighting in
The downpour from this almighty judge

How often my eyes wander awry
From my binding daily tasks,
But not so from his shiny plumage,
Questioning why he loved the storm

For me, it locked me in a fortress,
Home of mine, yet never home,
But he adored it, soaked in water,
Sea creature in a raven-mask

His fishy body hidden beneath, given
New lease of life in raven form;
With what I wished, but never had,
Greater than me in raven form

Don’t Drown

A beautiful poem, fantastic art to match

As Told By Silia

Sometimes life becomes a trap, a repetitive slap to the face

but whether we drown or we swim
the skies won’t stop falling

anytime you think you’ve lost and you give up

the sun won’t stop shining

anytime the wounds seem like they won’t heal,

just then, we discover a full moon of joy

as I watch him sleep, so peaceful almost a saint

my fingers combing through his silky hair I realize

it doesn’t matter anymore who is right or wrong

we just never know what the future holds

so just keep smiling, seeing a tomorrow brighter than stars

whatever happens, still the sun will shine, right there where you are

so please my love, don’t drown.

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The Lonely Wave

Gentle, soothing, harsh, lonely … great poetry.

Its PH

wave

Like a lonely wave of the sea,
That hated to touch the sea shore,
He preferred to stay alone,
He was for himself.

Like the dirt in the sea,
That disturbed the serenity,
Life had cruel lessons,
He was for himself.

Like the hardness of the water,
That never failed in presence,
There were people to mock,
He was for himself.

Like every wave had to end,
That had to touch the shore,
Everything washed away,
He was at peace.

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the sound of waves

I really enjoyed this – the last line makes it that much deeper. The use of repetition is really good, too.

The Dynamics of Groove

they could hear the ocean’s waves pounding upon the sand even from here

the sound of hardness turning to smoothness

the sound of waves

the sound of waves

light glimmering on the surface

crests of white cascading down and over

swirling around creating mist that would eventually hit their faces

breathing in this salty air

breathing in

breathing in

looking out to the water was like trying to tell the future

it was so immense

it went on forever

there on the sand wood broken into pieces and so smooth

smooth like skin is smooth

like a pebble

like a fresh new leaf

like a raindrop

the sound of waves was a lullaby

the sound of waves so gentle in the moonlight

so vast as the sun rises

so mysterious as the water turns and turns

the sound of waves like a melody

like an incantation

like a belief

watching…

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Every turning tide

Poet’s Corner is a very creative place – take a look around their blog!

Poet's Corner

DSCN2211

Broken by the ocean’s hand
the old lady of the beach
stretches out a long green arm
the sea, once more to reach
Strewn with captured flotsam
from every turning tide
her aged woodwork fractured
she leans now to one side

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Terror in the Rain

I cannot explain terror to the rain.
It is unconvinced of anyone’s importance,
Hammers on the doors of the rich and poor
Like an old friend returning out of
Nowhere and demanding entrance,
Where to cries of delight or tears of woe.
Rain is undeterred by our predicaments;
Our lives are of no consequence, for rains shares
Its wonders with us all, some more than others,
But by no cruel feat of pre-planned destruction.
Rain is cold in more ways than one, but
Nothing like the wicked bite of terror.
It stalks each person with a vile intent
To bring them harm when they most need their strength;
The poor it mocks consistently, the rich it bothers rarely;
Terror does not often hammer on the doors of those who
Can eat well, sleep well, and enjoy good health.
So I stand in the heavy rain, observing
A mother shroud her crying baby in a raincoat,
And I hope with every fibre of my being that her children
Will grow to think her broken look of terror
Is just a bad reaction to the rain.