There you stand patient raven
liquid-black as molten coal
beside this woman besot and broken
her thoughts black and troubled
arms outstretched in anguish
as she stands ravin’ in the rain
tell me what is true here raven
why is it that you stand here
so rain soaked and deeply sullen
beside this broken woman so bereft
her soul so black and shattered
her heavy heart so full of pain
has her ravin’ called you forth
do you feel kinship in her darkness
is there a faint scent of death
carried on her plaintive breath
she~ so saddened and so downcast
her tangled life a mortal stain
are you here as fateful witness
stalking her dreadful final moments
to bear truth to how she suffers
to watch her wrap her fractured life
perhaps feast upon her forfeit body
this mournful soul so sad insane
she~ now but carrion for a crow?
her love is taken
by a mutant strain
her mind is broken
her life’s in vain
this sad girl cryin’
need not explain
*
rob kistner © 2021
Poetry at: dVerse
Poetry at: Poets & Storytellers
Gosh Rob – this packs a punch.. Haunting stuff – enjoyed this vid too..
Thank you Scott, very much… 🙂
a very dark poem rob, great descriptions of “this woman besot and broken”… really liked those lines
Thank you Phillip! Dark are the times…
“is there a faint scent of death
carried on her plaintive breath”
Brilliant stuff, Rob, and I like that “raven/ravin'” motif running through it….JIM
Thank you James. Been on a mood rolla’coasta’ lately. Been finding inspiration on the hills and in the valleys.
So sad, and the Raven imagery gives a Gothic feel. Love the play on raven/ravin!
I am sad Ingrid. I find moments of positivity, but my pollyanna flag is flying low. This world is in a mess, and I am heartbroken, having to watch my son, my youngest baby, and his wife, guiding my beautiful and intelligent 8-year-old grandson through this mess of a world. Plus, they have made my wife and I part of their family. I feel so guilty being as sick as I am. I used to be the patriarch. Now my son is shouldering that, in a truly fucked up world — and he and his wife are kicking ass. So I am also very proud of them! God I hope we can find the beginning of sanity in 2022 — just an early thread.
There comes a time when we must let our children be the adults. (And indeed be proud of them, and of whatever hand we had in that.) I know my son is grateful for the parenting I gave him, and would rather look after me now in whatever ways he can (usually financial help) than see me in difficulties.
PS It doesn’t come easy, I know. As parents we want to be the ones taking care of them. But `I have learned to accept help and even ask for it when I need to, because I know that is what makes him happiest. (And it does make my life easier, let’s face it.)
I was very alpha, so it is not easy to relinquish aspects of control Rosemary, even though I can reason to, and bd very grateful for all the benefits. It also forces me to acknowledge my waning. Too sobering.
My son has, on many occasions, openly expressed to me his gratitude. I, and my current wife, took custody of him when he was 12 years old, rescuing him from an abusive stepfather, and dead-end opportunity. He is a successful college graduate, certainly his doing — but that encouragement and possibility to be so did not exist in his prior situation. He is saving me now in my situation of failing health.
Stunning, Rob! Wow.
Thank you Lucy… 🙂 may you be touched by the best of this new year.
Entrancing from start to finish. An ekphrastic entrancing tale.
Thank you do much Ron… 🙂
Amazing the way the crow has surfaced in more than one OLN poem. A bit eerie, but the analogies certainly work for darker poetry. This one is spectacular, Rob.
Thank you Mish… 🙂 Crow = death Mish. With the Omicron Variant running wild unchecked, and people acting like there is no pandemic, the beginning of 2022 is breaking all previous record’s for single day case increases. And with home testing now becoming popular, we really don’t know what the true severity actually is. And with the more people getting sick, the ever greater possibility for more and more variants. By now we should have learned! For a poet’s sensitivity, the crow is a natural object which to surface, in these truly dark, insane, deadly times. “Station Eleven” here we come — full speed ahead.
Oh, Rob .. when will it end .. will it ever end .. I feel and share your angst, deeply.
This certainly is not how I pictured my twilight years to end Helen.
Been on a kinda personal roller-coaster, too, these days, Rob.
Things gotta change. Or I do. I can’t tell which, anymore.
Life seems to be falling more and more out of focus Ron. I referred to it frequently recently, but things feel unnervingly similar to the plot of the post-apocalyptic novel, now an HBO series, Station Eleven.
A darkly intriguing image which your poem explores without shirking.
I like the rhyming, and the way the shorter lines in the last verse round it off with a sad inevitability.
Thank you Rosemary… 🙂
Beautifully written, Rob. I like your play on the word raven/ravin…. Well done.
Thank you Dwight, very much… 🙂
I like that you ask the raven “what is true here?” In times when it is so difficult to sort out what is truth.
So sorry for your difficult times. It must be unimaginably difficult.
Thank you Benita, Difficult times, but filled with love.
You’ve gone to the dark side here….and worked with the image so well. I like the use of raven vs ravin’ — and these words:
“she~ now but carrion for a crow?”
This woman is in the depths of despair and pain and you’ve written it so well that I can feel it.
Thank you Lillian. The dark side seduces me frequently… 🙂
I want Fairport Convention to turn this into a song! It’s mythic!
Thank you, that would be excellent Xan… 🙂
Hauntingly brilliant, Rob!
Thank you Punam… 🙂
Keep writing your wonderful poetry Rob. ?
Thank you Marion… 🙂
You had a raven I had a crow… love the tale you spun with the girl and the bird.
Thank you Bjorn… 🙂
The sadness flows. I hope 2022 is a better year for you and all of us.
Me too Merril, it is all becoming too much!
I think I know someone like this woman
Unfortunately Joel, I know a number of women and men, who have lost loved ones to COVID. 🙁
You (or someone) could set this to music. It would be a haunting, melancholy piece–and unforgettable.
Glad this resonated for you teach. Would love to hear it set to music. The keyboardist that worked with me for years, through 5 iterations of my bands, passed away. He used to turn the little melodies I would get in my head, to accompany my lyrics, into musical charts. At times he would create the entire musical chart, and I would do only the lyrics. I miss him, and I have not developed a new such relationship. At my age and health, it is very unlikely I ever will again — though even now, when I do write poetic lyrics, I usually have a rough melody line I envision.