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Born Aug 2017
Poem. Call me poetry
Debbie Jean Embrey  ***! how those words spoke to me! Very well done! I love the part about calling you 'Messenger.' Keep inking! :)

Poem. She's said II
Terry Jordan  Amazing piece, esp. "It is for us to wash away our painful confusion with tears...." I'm sending a sympathy card today to the mother of a former student of mine, so this really speaks to that most terrible loss that we have no word for it. TFS, Born

Poem. I won't forget that you liked my poetry
Mary-Elizabeth Cotton  Beautiful write! I especially love the lines "When I could barely form words,/that would impress my shadow."


Poem. I'm Born
Pradip Chattopadhyay  your words are fabulous

Poem. Hi(gh)
Kim Johanna  Baker  Great write Born...I must say, you are a great writer and enjoy very much your pieces...this is raw and gets the message across.. tyfs... kimx

Poem. If I told you my story
Law lith iminika Reading this was like observing a preview to a movie, but I didn't pay for it, instead showed up willingly. And I'm hungry for knowledge and inspiration because I was refused popcorn

Poem. Thank you Pamela Rae
Pamela Rae  Please know that you have such talent and your words not only touch me, but so many here--keep writing, expressing and touching our souls, dear Born. You are a gift to this world and deserve to find your way, to embrace peace and tranquility and it will come. Will be sending along good vibes, thoughts for peace and happiness and Room to breathe with ease... (((hugs)))

Poem. Hello poetry
Wolf spirit Wow ..is this a poem . Because Id rather read this than delve on eloquent flattery of wistful words . Honesty expressed with such brevity is still the best policy .


Poem. When my heart pounds a little bit more
Modern Serenity  very well executed! truly deserves to be the poem for atleast a week. freaking fantastic poem. well done. honestly totally jealous of your poem its truly amazing and well said.


Poem. Shantel
---  Superbly penned, echoes of the great Pablo Neruda

Poem. Here we are
K Balachandran  so peaceful and meditative
yet passion filled love and life
chiseled and beautiful...without hiding truth
you have eyes full of love and light
exquisite..
Bala

Poem. Virgo 
Star BG  And..... open gateway to healing the soul.you are such a master with words. Thank you

Poem. Dusty coin
Pax  there will always be hope, even just a spark, or one candle, it can do many things in the dark..

Poem. My deepest sympathies
South by Southwest  There are answers to every question you pose . Only by a lifetime of searching will you find them .

Poem. Muse dear daughter
Sylvia Frances Chan  A most divine poem, loving and caring words. I have enjoyed this poem very much. God's Blessings be upon thee. Thank you for sharing this divine piece.

Poem. Leonard Cohen
Lazhar Bouazzi  Ah! Wonderful poem about one of my favorite poets/composers/singers of all time! Thank you for sharing

Poem. This poem III
Wyatt  Such a harsh, blunt piece. It hit me right in the gut! Congrats on the daily!

Poem. I won't forget that you liked my poem
patty m  Comments are a wonderful gift. I love your poem and the emotions that surface you are truly gifted.
hugs

Sally A Bayan  So much truth in your wondeful, touching words, Born..
I keep coming back to this poem...just had to repost.
Thank you for sharing

Poem. Juliet
Jamie King  I like the flow here the transition from one imagery to the imagery while maintaining the same flow requires a certain degree of finesse. Excellently executed piece

Poem. Un(real) istic
Botan  A high tech emotional intelegence will take over while humans express thier feelings by emoji. good writing
Poem. Poetic flavor
SøułSurvivør An awesome tribute! You're one of the poets I would elect for showing the most growth of any on this site. My heart twinkle with happiness, TOO! Thanks for your heart, Born! ☆♡☆

Lori Jones McCaffery  You make exquisite use of the words you have captured, Born. Keep thirsting. Love

SøułSurvivør Awe! I'm so glad to encourage you... you have such a powerful way with words. An innate talent. I count you as one of my best friends here. Be blessed!

Poem. 5 million am not just a number
Corvus  Wonderfully compassionate. It's so easy to be kind and sympathetic to those on your doorstep. Those further away but in even greater need are often ignored. Brilliant write.
The most important part of posting a poem is the response you get, I'd love to appreciate every single one of  you for the words you offered. For those who didn't make the list, I still appreciate you.

This poem is coming from an emotional place, for the longest time I never believed in myself. But now I do, thanks a lot
Àŧùl Oct 2019
He's very caring about his family,
And not only that, dear readers,
To every poet, he is so fatherly.

He's your most regular reader,
His words are so encouraging,
He is The Caring Corvus here.

He's the guiding light for new poets,
His profile is not available right now,
The Raven on the tree of Hello Poetry.
My HP Poem #1781
©Atul Kaushal
As the day dies sun to west slants
my hands water the few potted plants
an evening dawns in melancholic hush
pesters my mood the cawing corvus!

The nose in the air polished jackdaw
can’t fathom why men break nature’s law
wipe out forests root out the green
then on the roof try to grow seedling!

Why at all shrink the men so smart
stretches of wood to build habitat
all the clever brains profound and wise
destroy wastelands to madly urbanize!

The corvus his eyes speak of dark scare
frightened beak caws how is unfair
denuding of trees in insane haste
leaving scarce space to build him a nest!
Christine Ueri Sep 2013
Blackened bird upon my brow;
Corvus Christi on my crown:

Could there be, oh could there be
Balm, sweet Balm in Galilee
Wild Roses grown in Gilead
White Daffodils on Sharon's sea . . .

The shores, the shores of Sharon's sea:
wingtips lapping cedar beams
leave no trail of murrey'd deeds;
tapping shoulders with your blades
rustling in the hollow reeds,
among the Seals of Solomon
Two Lovers, lost in Lebanon,
rose, to where the Stars of David bloom --

She in gules and He in vert . . .

Sable Bird upon our brows;
Corvus Christi on our crowns.
July 4th, 2013
Hadrian Veska Jun 2016
At night the bird flew,
Over oceans of trees
Past hills and mountains
Swept by the breeze

He sang an odd song
As he soared through the sky
He woke up the moon
As he passed it by

To where he was headed
The bird did not know
He just knew to sing
When the stars hung low

But the moon knew well
That old avian's course
To sow strange dreams
Without time or source

The moon recalled
When the bird once knew
Of his place in the heavens
Where light once grew

But now the bird simply flies
And sings its strange tune
Through oceans of night
Under the sleeping moon
A M Ryder Sep 2024
Creatures of
The night
Speaking only in
The language of
Wings in flight
Raucous caws and calls
Such stark delights
Their bird brains
A substance
To behold
They play and
They learn as
Ancient tales often told
They are symbols
Of fate and omens,
And "What's to be"
Guiding us along
Paths unknown
And simply unseen
neth jones Nov 2021
wung, hung and then strung        
       plundered from my carrion ways
even in this undignified                
and ***** display      
i'll make a handsome portrait
competition piece... first & only version. brackets by title added after.
painting description : a Corvus bird. dead. hanging by one claw by a piece of string. indoors. simple white room. antique rifle propped against the wall
A W Bullen Aug 2017
From
An open cage of aberrance crow
the secrets that torment the globes
of doctored equilibrium
watching for that taci-turning
vital sign of change
that onyx collared stare that
needs to drift the dared bubonic lanes
alone.

to skirmish with those corvids
flown from aviaries of reckoning.
To meet with past life memories
in some overrun Gethsemane of
remembrance and shame.

And you know that I am waiting ...

...a warm malaise of liberty that spiders
at the corner of your crumbling resolve
I know  the colour of your squalor,
horoscopes of hopeless coping
written by your every sign and sealed.

I deal in escapology.

I, Corvus Medicinae,
am a Gentleman of medicine.

I shall lace the flavours for your taste
so you will think no more of me.

Until I let you go.
I’m not here to make you feel comfortable, safe, or secure
I’m not here to give a ****, a like, or a ****

I am here because I am
Whatever that means that is up to me
you don’t get to Define any part of that or me

You don’t get to stumble across my path looking down at screens
Then feel, mad, sad, or whatever way you feel when I will not be moved

I am here because I am
Whatever understanding I gain it’s through my study in solitude or syndicate
You don’t get to instruct or borrow from any part of my lesson(s)

© Christopher F. Brown 2018
Kim Keith Oct 2010
May I borrow your wing on the wind;
I’d like a different perspective, a little yesterday,
because the selection I have is too personal.
Earth-bound and clumsy, freedom is feathered
black against cotton and clairvoyance.
To rat-a-tat messages with a Morse code beak
along walls and windows
maybe even a chamber door just to send
paranoid delusions swarming into skies
filled with blue and bruise and sleek glossy
plumes beating the breeze with death
or the life of your choosing.

I long for that and all that comes tapping
in sugary sprinkles lined with silver,
turn eyes overhead at the forecast; no luck,
no rain, no superfluous visions from above
and still, I’m sprawling blind—nested too close
to be rusty at eating seeds or worms
(whichever is easier to swallow)
any suggestion as to the preparation is welcome.
Are you still there, my fire,

still bleating under floorboards
and making me sweat?  Confess all,
that I have murdered a bird, swept
under rug way too many lint ***** to justify
or whatever the crime.  May it haunt me
in pencil shavings or you in hand cramps—
both get curled up in the end
on the last page: you, me
and all that ****** squawking.
  
Can we just start over again, again, again
because I’m just not getting it right.
It looks like French curves swerving
around the Corvus, fan-tailed or not.
Please, help.  Even if it means
pecking my carrion fingers.  Please.
Let me bleed away the pulp
and alight imagination.
First published in EMG-Zine: http://emg-zine.com/item.php?id=663
Aidan Fernandez Apr 2014
The sharp, shiny talons
Slashing the air like swords
Defending the castle of straw
None dare go near
Their wing fiercer than the icy wind
Pounding the air like hammers on steel
The wings darken the sky with a mission in their eyes
Six legged beings escaping the wrath
The trees bent with their weight
Above all in their path
Kush Apr 2016
Who’s there waiting when wickedness grips you by the nose?
It is I, a fluid shadow, the King of Crows
I sniff the air for errors to rectify
Meet them head on with casual discernment and a nebulous sigh
My pitch-black wings swing to all the towering views
They allow me to see the innocent spread too far and too few
You vermin, your hearts are tattered and filthy
Time, once again, to deck the halls with bowels of the guilty
An inky body is smeared with various coats made from innards
I relish the chances to wear these pulpy suits of sinners
It is my name, Corvus, that prompts sickly trembling
In my image, death is the sole figure resembling
With tinges of rote, I descended to the city not-so-sublime
Flitted past sights of iniquity and people of grime
In an alley, I crushed your skull
Chalked up the mesmerizing mess as a sloppy miracle
Mimi Apr 2018
The vineyard growing out
of decrepit stationmaster’s hovel flays
the skin of buses and trains alike
faces long and
pe eli  n   g.

Atop a rubber sea I wade,
sunlight ebbing awash
on my strong shoulders;
in pinks
purples
blue and green and grey.

The soot of early midafternoon chokes
up, curling down
my spine,
hug from a friend
in the skeleton of a regulation
seat my mind lays
to rest, soporific
sweet.

Here lie the ruins of a plainsman’s kingdom,
ghost fox says.
Here lie the dust
y wings of Corvus corax, grey
in age. Here lie the
loves and the
dreams and the
hearts of my
ancestors
wholly unholy in their pagan worship,
but:
the vineyard is a graveyard is a home
wild to hold
tame at heart
and there lies my body,
(anything I want it to be)
grapes a-swinging just out of reach-

The fox gets his prize
how sweet it tastes on my tongue.
written 11/18/17
The Nameless Sep 2016
Take needle to flesh and pleas(e)
In prayer to part like legs and seas,

Put aside tears, bled into the lost and founded on pain
And add insult to industry, smoke out the liar, ****** his brain.

Make them sing, muse, tarnish what threatened to be
And capitalize the bonds of rust belt, razor hungry.

Two can play at this, tame eggs, wild geese, lame ducks, all,
Spoiled dinners and children to be thrown to dust and fall.

This is the interstice between you and sea,
Your flag will not be raised in hell but for agony.

Deign to dance of carrion while Corvus paints the sky
Show the world, my devil son, that you know how to die.

I am World Eater, Erysichthon, insatiate father-king,
I have challenged god and man and cut the fate of string.

I am World Eater, Erysichthon, insatiate father-king,
I have challenged god and man and cut the fate of string.
nova Mar 2019
The sun fights to stay above the horizon, but longs to sink beyond the hills and the trees to bid the world around us good night.
One by one, stars become visible in the quickly darkening sky, eventually forming constellations that weave themselves into the universe.
They tell stories, legends, myths: Orion and his loyal dog, Canis; Apollo's messenger, Corvus; Draco, the fearsome dragon.
None of them can pull the same feelings from me as you do.
You're warm, soft, silent; your body is flush against mine with your head against mine and your hand rests on my stomach.
It's late, and my parents have both texted me multiple times.
"Where are you?"
"Are you safe?"
"Young lady, if you stay out too late again that cell phone is gone"
I should go home. I should be home.
I should be parked in my driveway and walking in the front door.
The only problem is that right now, in this perfect moment,
I feel more at home in your arms than I ever have anywhere.
Unpolished Ink Nov 2024
Fat crows
hop the furrows
of a thin winter field
Debbie Apr 2
Struck by the gloss of the ebony plumage
of the raven in starlight.
His eyes an oily mystery
of the perpetual return of night.
Fascinated by his burrowing stare
at the gnarled knot in the tree.
That furnished a nest of naive robin's eggs.
Under inevitable seize.
Meaningful change has an approaching leg,
the wicked raven confides.
A need to explore the shadows
that dwell inside.
I've made companions of
the midnight hours.
In keeping with the natural order,
the pale blue eggs are greedily devoured.
To be who I am.
I left empowered.

— The End —