Oh my . .

Dust . . . cyber dust everywhere.

Started digging into papers and efiles and folders to see what I can find between writing new stuff and working on other projects.

I hadn’t realized the number of unpublished bits and pieces I have left laying around.

Somewhere, most of them are on physical paper too. Or the seed of the thought that transforms from a fleeting word painted image into something else.

Poems in metre, poems that create their own cadence. Furious diatribes and heady heartfelt schisms.

Scattered wantonly across my hard drive.

All while trying to tease new material from behind the veils of my inner scratch pad . . .


Last Breath

Last Breath

Take my last breathe in the darkness

And be my first when I awake

The walls that you have shattered

Thirst that you have slaked

Be my sunlight in the morning

And the starlight in my eyes

Be the first new life that grows

When all around us dies

Be my shelter from life’s battles

Take your refuge in my arms

When your heart is hurting

I’ll shelter you from harm

Kiss away the teardrops

Soothe with gentle care

Listen to your hopes and fears

Your face buried in my hair

Play with me wherever

Laughing breathless with delight

Your smile in the darkness

Will be my guiding light

Across the weave of fate is writ

Though we weave the threads

Peace and laughter on your lips

Hope grace your fingertips

Walk with me in love and hope

Through shifting sands of time

Be my music in the silence

And the reason to my rhyme

Be the wind that whispers to me

And soft patter of the rain

Rays of silver moonlight

That lie cast upon my skin

Be the roaring tempest

That warms me from within

Be my first breathe in the morning

Every time that I awake


Have You Ever . . .

Have You Ever . . .

Have you ever seen the sunrise over misty golden moors?

Have you ever seen the darkness within that Heart of yours?

Have you ever been the one who had to sing the blues?

Have you ever really been the one with nothing left to loose?


Have you ever seen the fear that behind your eyes resides?

Have you ever felt the emptiness that cowers deep inside?

Have you ever felt as though you floated free upon the tide?

Have you ever had you fragile spirit ripped so open wide?


Have you ever felt the hand of fate run finger down your breast?

Have you ever had your heart try to break free from your chest?

Have you ever had life strip from you the foundation of your rest?

Have you ever felt your spirit rip as the scorching pain impressed?


Have you ever felt the unseen touch when no more can you take?

Have you ever heard the whisper when alone you crying quake?

Have you ever felt the universe fall around your burning wake?

Have you ever felt me standing there, your needs my dear to slake?





We’ll split your bones

And steal your breath

Well strip your skin

And pierce your breast

Well clean your skull

Of Brains and Flesh

To feed the worms

What scraps are left


Your nothing more

Than a shell of meat

With soul bound up

By foolish ties

Well ignore your

Suffering cries

And hush your mouth

With your own Lies


Well pull the sinews

From out of your spine

For new strings for

Reapers harp divine

Well lace your fingers

With wires fine

And string you up

On puppets lines


Well roast you slowly

Warm and well

While your blood drips

Like tolling bell

Well take you down

Unto the hell

Viewing in parallel

World you have wrought


Well dance upon

Your sunken grave

Kill the horror’s

That you’ve made

Condemn your souls

To ever shade

Sacrifice the god

You’ve made


You’ve betrayed the world

One we must all share

Was it just idleness

Or do you even care

There is nothing left of you

Nothing left that hearts can do

Your nothing more than poison spew

Unleashed upon the earth


Spill your blood

Refresh the mud

That you’ve parched

With leaden fear

Sacrifice your life

To renew earths tears

Burn your vile waste

On raging fiery bier


Your heresy of hatred

In denial of human hope

Earned your death of hatred

Of lives you held contempt

Taken hold of sacred trust

Abused across the years

Repenting of humanity

In return for all their tears





Cerulean skies spread wide

Bespeaking a mysterious land

Speckled clouds of indigo

Drift just beyond my touch

As if by resonance unseen

Fine veils flutter in the wind


Grey pools, bestirred by echoes

Unheard in stirring silent depth

Silvered forms languidly drift

Silent beneath the surface

Dark spires pierce the calm

Tracing paths of thought


Emerald fields lie sparkling

Soft among earthen flesh

Wrought like fine lashes

Tendrils dance to life’s breathe

As fields of white bound

The warm security of life


Pale suns glimmer idly

Watching in repose

My gaze bemused, drawn in

Searching depths unseen

I watch myself watching

Through varicolored prisms






Silence cascading through the ripples of cold crisp air.

Shattered by the strident sounds of feathered trumpeters

Breaking glass tinkling through the stones of fragile brook

As palaces of ice glitter in prismatic glory of light

Amber spears rise, crowning earthen temples in time

Furious hush sweeps across meadows lush and full

Bearing the weight of a thousand yesterdays

Soft sounds stirring as day fills the voids of silence


Interlude . . .

An excerpt from life.

Since I started this site, it has been an on again off again experience.

Until recently I lived in a situation which often hindered my creativity or desire to express in line, color or in word.

Often when I couldn’t craft and create, I could vent or rant, which is why I opened Ravensong – because I hesitated to hybridize the artist, with the cynic.

With a change in living situation, income source and finally, the “downtime” from the rat race my nature desires as an artist and the creature I am, my mind has started scribbling again, doodling across the vast empty canvass of my inner sight.

And thus here we are. Fresh new poetry, new art turning over in my mind and much to my delight, rummaging through my files bits and pieces that I have dusted off to share here.

Winter is often my best time as a working person to craft. It’s rather difficult to play outside when all you see is dark, and more dark. But it is fertile rich soil for the creative child, so off on my artistic tricycle I roam, to see what I can see.