Thought = Form

Thought = Form

Life begins.

Dreams Fade

Hopes die.

People change

Hearts cry

Souls sigh.

Death comes.

 

And the sun sets, crimson.

 

Wind blows.

Grass grows

Leaves rustle.

Rain falls

Thunder tolls

Rivers run

 

And the sky dawns, iridescent.

 

Mountains rise

Stone crumbles

Sand sloughs

To soil

Trees grow

 

And the leaves dance, merrily

 

Stars are born

Planets drift

Through time

Suns fade

 

And the universe floats, unimaginably

 

We live for tomorrow and lose the day.

We worry always as life slips away.

We fret for what we have not.

And forget what we have.

Tomorrow is never here.

And you have this day to live.

 

Some days never change, some never stay the same

Music dances lyrically and the song remains the unchanged.

Life passes in bits and pieces, moments frozen in time.

Is there a need for tomorrow, to wake again?

 

Banfiadh –  Wolfthought5/2018

 

 

 

The Spell of Being

The Spell of Being

I am without time.

I am all times.

I am a speck of dust

I am a mountain of stone.

I am without form.

I am all forms.

I am the last Spark of Hope

I am the Inferno of Creation

I am the unseen Past.

I am the unknown Future.

I am the soft sigh of Death

I am the gale of Chaos

I am without Life

I am without Death

I am a silent Tear

I am an unbroken Wave

I am Spirit without form

And I am Form in Spirit

I am not

I am.

 

Banfiadh-2017

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.

Poet.

Poet

 

White paper is the canvas

The brush an old worn pen

Words provide the pigment

To release what lies within

 

Feelings dug from memories

To color subjects true

Even though that subject

Is hidden from your view

 

Each subtle twist of rhyme

From the mild to the terse

Touches on life around

From the best to worst

 

Idle does the pen lay

As each word I view

Crafting every nuance

To tell the secret new

 

So here lies simple story

Written flowing as it seems

When the worst a man feels

There is magic in life’s streams

 

 

R.W.W.

Banfiadh copyright2006

Edited2009/2011

Leaf

LEAF

 

 

 

Leaf

 

 

Tossed

On a quiet summer breeze.

 

 

Torn drifting.

Upon playful currents

Warmed by pregnant sun.

 

 

Swept quietly aloft

Currents straining

To reach unknown heights

Of self imposed limitation

 

 

Painted glorious in light

Despite a map of life lived

Etched quietly upon a dying skin

That reflects slowly in turn

The light that dances through the dust.

 

 

R.W.W

Banfiadh copyright 06/13

 

 

 

 

 

Liar

Liar

Oh ye of little truthfullness

With even less of Faith

Follow on the words of wrong

Within the liar’s grace.

Still ye follow like a sheep

Into the slaughter house

Listen to a liar’s words

To keep your God without.

Hark! Listen to the slander

While claiming piety devout

But when the thunders over

The lie will turn you out.

Can you look in the mirror?

You can see the liars face

Over your shoulder, looking

To keep you in your place

Untruth is not the way of God

Or those who leave lies lay

Written in the heavens high

On your judgment day

R.W.W.

Banfiadh copyright 11/13

Revamp.

I’m taking a moment of time.
A short moment to go through and delete the bulk of my political rants.
For most people . . . it matters not.
Until they perceive the truth of Freedom, no amount of ranting will sway them.
So I’m refocusing this blog on Art, poetry, writing and so forth.
Thats what it was supposed to be in the first place.

Raven White Wolf.