Poèmes sur le thème : raven

Poèmes sur le thème « raven » sur Poets.by.

ContemplatifDave Bonta

Listening up

hear how a raven can be true but broken how the quiet comes to speak privately like a kiss and art inside-out is heart once again
TristeDave Bonta

Void

morning comes with a bit of hurt I continue like a raven to believe in the night up above so infinite a no body to look after
ContemplatifDave Bonta

Three short poems to inaugurate a new pocket notebook

ravens climbing into each other’s sky circling crying out above the road bank where the hepatica has just come into bloom, the corpse of a porcupine carrion beetles clamber through the quills butterflies cluster on what’s left of its mouth a hole spanned by the long, curved railings of its teeth & down below, the pale blue blossoms swaying on their stems
AnxieuxDave Bonta

Carrion-eater

in the city lately blown up we fear the never-done raven how superficial a fisher without loss or compass the thing just may get by
RomantiqueDave Bonta

Late bloomers

setting sun with ravens a most admirable music we fell into rare life and then to bed
ContemplatifDave Bonta

Scavenger

a raven on the road studious in the business of decay the secret to life is being no use at all
JoyeuxDave Bonta

Raven

At the park, a loud beggar like the queen of Bohemia— raven at play.
AnxieuxMary E. Mayo

The Dream of the Starving Birds

After long delay I have entered the room of the starving birds. I bought a machine selling squirrels and placed it in my room with pigeons on porches (their gentle, multicolored wings!), little birds in cages asking to be fed, a great black raven, and, beyond my sight, another Larger bird. Then I chanced them; journeyed, left the room, but I worried, and soon I came back to feed them. A sense of urgency has driven me to take my plate of omelet upstairs.
AnxieuxRobert Ervin Howard

Song at Midnight

I heard an old gibbet that crowned a bare hill Creaking a song in the midnight chill; And I shivered to hear that grisly refrain That moaned in the night through the fog and the rain. “Oh, where are the men who came to me “And danced all night on the gallows tree? “Gallant and peasant, man and maid, “Many have walked in that long parade. “My chains are broken and red with rust, “My wood is sealed with the moldy crust. “Have men forgotten their debt to me, “That they come no more to the gallows tree?” The drear wind moaned for a dark refrain, And a raven called in the drifting rain: “Oh, where are the feasts that awaited me “Long, long ago on the gibbet tree?”