Tag Archive: raven poem


 

 

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Where do the wind beings live?

 

Beyond the noon-

 

Bright country,

 

Beyond the stars, glimmering,

 

Beyond the tired, trafficked city,

 

Unencumbered, they live in the mountains that give

 

Peace, among the lilies of eternity,

 

By the wandering white petals of the moon

 

In the forest of flowers where

 

Only the wild ones talk

 

And where the wind beings walk

 

By the shell-encrusted shore,

 

There the red-tailed hawk

 

And the northern harrier,

 

Gray as the sea,

 

Fly through the air,

 

To reclaim their destiny,

 

In lands swept clean of the paltry ploy

 

Of thought,

 

And the detritus of crumpled litter

 

Of the corrupted that crawl

 

In the grime

 

Of the sound-dinned

 

Corners of the mind, strangely-wrought.

 

Arise, Hanuman,

 

Son of the wind,

 

To toss

 

Aside all the devils of time,

 

To unseat the wicked, wailing,

 

To thunder

 

Across

 

The waves, ever-crashing

 

Of the sparkling, emerald sea

 

Of nevermore,

 

To lead all soon

 

Back to where the wind beings live

 

In joy,

 

Among the rain-blackened rocks where

 

Only ever call

 

The dark ravens of light, sea-echoing.

 

 

Written June 12, 2016, © Sharon St Joan

 

Photo: © Weblogiq | Dreamstime.com

 

 

 

 

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Tall,

To the sun

And the moon they rise,

Pillars

That hold up the land

Of the stars,

In the early morning

Of time.

 

Where the chime

Of butterflies

Rings in the mist

Of clouds,

Where the horses of the wind climb

Archaic hills, peace settles,

Free from the shrouds

Of thought bewildered.

 

When the grinding wheels

Of the rattling cars,

The careening cart,

Of the manic race of beings that never stops

Have stopped, unspinned,

And fallen down

From the lofty wall,

Their memory lies

Quiet,

Dimming,

In the cheerful company

Of ghosts,

In the sooted

Shambles of empires

Cast

Under the snapping heels

Of fate.

Then

The coyotes

And the ever-knowing raven

Will run again

In gladness,

Across the red rock sand.

 

 

The wild hills, free now,

As the lilies

Of eternity

Who bow

In the wandering wind

By the bright

And undiscovered

Sea.

 

 

After the horns

Of many winters

Have fallen silent,

The husk

Of time

Discarded,

The aspiring rose will lift

Her head again

Among the rocks, resilient,

In the ice-enchanted

Spring.

The wind will sing.

Stones

Will shine, blessed in the twinkling

Emptiness

Of night.

The crow

Hops

In black

Clouds that inhabit

A sky of joy;

Coyotes laugh last

In the dance of the dusk,

And the ancient,

Earlier folk

Walk

To take back

The sacred mountain

Stolen

So long ago,

Now that the age of the unholy

Will be ended and done,

Gone

On the smoke

Of the fleeing mist.

 

 

Under a delicate crown

Of forest

Leaves, mice play

Among their catch,

The silver

Trinkets of the dead,

And talk

A while of feats of yore.

Herons glimmer,

One-footed,

On the green, tree-

Shouldered river.

Such an ill wind

That blew

Into the bones

Of the soul

Of men,

And stayed, corroding

The core

Of history,

Such a grim, unseemly game,

Like thorns

Lodged in the heart,

But when the scales fall

Away,

One by one by one,

Then

In the end there are only

The plain, rain-lit,

And the rose that flowers anew,

The innocent petals

Of nevermore,

And the farmer’s boy

Who whistles

In the strawberry patch,

By the lop-sided shack,

Where the corn stalks grow,

His blue

Hat adrift

On his head,

In the town

With no name,

Where the raven rules, with the snow-

Winged geese.

 

 

The sun holds the empty bowl,

Blessed be his ashen fires.

Agni, the one

Who returns

All

Back to the beginning.

Set the burning

Lanterns

Out and wait

In peace,

From within the rock and mist

To hear a killdeer call,

To sail away

To a far and luminous shore,

Known so well from long before,

On the flaming ships of dawn.

 

© Sharon St Joan, 2014

 

Photo: © Colin Young | Dreamstime.com

 

 

Where now?

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Where now the dark-circling

 

Wolves?  Where the half-haunting

 

Moon?  Where the swift paws running?

 

Where now the mists

 

That rose above the lake

 

In the early spring?

 

Are the spirits all flown to that far country

 

Beyond the black hills of night

 

The hills of indigo?

 

Where butterflies flicker

 

In bright mythic

 

Forests,

 

Where the great raven

 

Smiles in her cosmic

 

Tree,

 

And ruffles her feathers in the cool air

 

Scattering stars across the open sea below?

 

Written around 2009

© Sharon St Joan

Photo: Rackam | Dreamstime.com

 

Flower of Dawn

 

 

 

Written around 2002

Echo of the raven

Written around 2003.

Spotted towhee

 

Spotted towhee

On a day,

Gray-eyed,

Songless

As an unsettled fairy

Of the mountain,

Her hair

Caught in a half-done braid,

What do the shadows portend,

Pale

In the misted wind?

As light

Falls, the dragon

At the far end

Of the shale

Outcrop

Of the night

By the undawning retreat

Of his lair,

Paces, his wide

Paws restless.

But nevermind,

The lilies shine,

Where lapping waters linger

At the bend

In the gold river

Where the glad, brave feet

Of the spotted towhee

Dance,

Moonlight

On his wings,

And hop

From rock to silver rock, wise,

And undismayed.

And beyond, before the sun

Can rise,

Rings of rain

Crown

The hallowed head of the raven

Who walks through the town

Of clouds, child-mists in train,

Radiant king of all things.

 

Written September 5, 2011

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