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Sat 14 Aug, 2004 11:28 pm
White Raven, albatross of blood-shot skies,
yoke of heaven, Saturnian,
you devour your children
as Goya weeps with withering eyes
and bold, broad brushstrokes.
White Raven, elucidated enigma,
Puck's paradox, paradigm shift,
flying on Icarus wings,
your snowy feathers singed black
by a blessing from the sun.
Like Tiresius you live in two worlds,
waiting to pass judgement
in phrases fragmented, chopped,
removed of all their essence,
and we wait
for radiant heat
to soften,
renew,
restore
being, meaning
to your minced words.
nice cav, I especially love this part:
White Raven, albatross of blood-shot skies,
yoke of heaven, Saturnian,
you devour your children
as Goya weeps with withering eyes
Thoughtfully magnificient, Cav.
(be sure your works are published)
Thanks. I plan on seeking publishing once I have enough material I'm happy with.
This poem was like a trip (not of the LSD variety) that your words propelled. I liked it lots, Cav; so impressionistic.
Thanks drom. Now I'm watching Thunderpants, an endearing movie about a little boy with a large flatulence problem trying to find his special gift, and realize his dream of being an astronaut. Chaucer probably would have approved.
Chaucer is alive, and well, and living in Des Moines. Is this the first time that you have seen the film? Have you enjoyed it? Not a one-trick pony?
It's the second time I've watched it, and it is a bit of a one-trick pony, but with something going on underneath. I grew up with toilet humour in the family, so I still find it funny. I think that anyone who doesn't like a good fart joke is just too shy to admit they are repressing a laugh. I think kids would like it actually, and it has a charm to it. It's not a great movie, although there are some pretty funny scenes beyond the farts, but it makes valid points about growing up an outcast, and overcoming it.
Does it not appear that the whole 'outcast' idea was an afterthought, then?
Strangely enough drom, it was pretty clear from the beginning of the film that the child was an outcast with a dream.
I have an idea to add a little zest to the end of your poem, Cav.
Try this for an ending:
...to soften,
renew,
restore
being, meaning
to your minced words
Quoth the White Raven, "Nevermore."
And the White Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted-nevermore!
I really thinks it adds spice to the end, and I'm sure Edgar wouldn't care.
Edgar wouldn't care gus, but Craven is still alive and well.
A dream?
I'm not sure whether Edgarblythe ;D would appreciate your using those sentences, but I am sure that the neo-cons would.
Is misquoting E. A. Poe a bannable offence?
I doubt it fortune, but Craven has a soft spot for 'The Raven', and I would not want to tread on that, nor quoth.
Oh, Cav. I would never tread on The Raven, it's one of my favourite poems (besides which, it might peck!)
Just bumping for more opinion, crazy me.
Cav, things that go "bump" in the night? <smile>
Interesting how you combined a painter, a bird, and a myth. I was caught by the very first line.
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