The raven sat, perched on the tree limb, mocking me with every caw. It stared down at me with its beady eyes, and I felt naked under its gaze.
With a barking caw, it spread its wings and flew off. A black feather drifted down to my feet. I wished I could fly away with it.
I bent down, picked up the feather, tucked it into my back pocket, and continued down the sidewalk.
the most bizarre thought for me is that you remind me of a raven, in the most beautiful way of course. there’s just something about you, maybe you just remind me of poetry. Poe, to be more specific. i hope to hear a rapping at my chamber door, but rather quoth the raven ‘nevermore’.
Courtney
Everyone’s familiar with a raven. Especially poets. Poets and ravens have sort of a sour relationship, you see. They don’t exactly get along. People like to say that poets are cryptic, but in truth, they tend to counter the strange little blurts of annoying lingual gibberish that these birds spew out on a nightly basis.
Oh, you don’t think ravens speak English? Poe wouldn’t think so. “Nevermore” is about as English as you can get. The thing is, that raven in particular was kind of a jackass. He just liked to hover and wait for poets to go insane. Ravens don’t have much of a hobby besides that, you know.
(Yes, I tried this and said crows instead of ravens. Yes, I edited my own OneWord and reposted it. I’m just so charming, aren’t I?)
Belinda Roddie
Everyone’s familiar with a raven. Especially poets. Poets and ravens have sort of a sour relationship, you see. They don’t exactly get along. People like to say that poets are cryptic, but in truth, they tend to counter the strange little blurts of annoying lingual gibberish that these birds spew out on a nightly basis.
Oh, you don’t think crows speak English? Poe wouldn’t think so. “Nevermore” is about as English as you can get. The thing is, that crow in particular was kind of a jackass. He just liked to hover and wait for poets to go insane. Crows don’t have much of a hobby besides that, you know. Well, they do peck at gardens. But that also goes under the “Drive people insane” category.
Belinda Roddie
Voló bajo. Picó. La serpiente le mordió el cuello, pero el cuervo le sacaría los ojos antes de que el veneno le llegara al cerebro. Era un cuervo viejo, pero jamás regalaría su vida.
Leo Finch
Raven. The sign of death coming. Despair.
The Raven. Also Raven from dat show. Not That’s So Raven. I think it’s Teen Titans or sumthing like dat. Dat show was da stuff.
The ravens darted overheard, their dreadful cawing sending a shiver down my spine. Agents of the devil, my father had called them and, staring upward as their shadowy shapes glided through the darkened haven of the trees, I couldn’t help but think he was right.
The ravens flew up out of the bushes, cawing and scratching as I passed through. Filthy little birds. They were supposed to represent me, represent my dark magic, but they were really just a nuisance. I, Morgan le Fey, did not need silly black birds to announce me. I could do just fine myself.
Lashes like raven’s feathers framed the eyes. Jet black softness set against the glistening whites of eyes as candle light flickers like twin flames in his irises.
In its most basic form, the word ‘raven’ obviously brings me to the association of being a bird. There’s another association though, one that wasn’t exactly a favored memory: a TV show that I hated as a child. For that reason, I’ll probably always hate the word ‘raven’.
Her raven black hair seemed to suck all the light out of the room. The power spilled forth from her eyes, and in a moment, I felt myself drowning in the power of this beautiful sorceress. So much power, so much beauty, so much darkness.
The raven passed overhead, scaring me to death. The sky was dark enough with accounting for the fact of a bird I could barely see was circling where I was at slowly, soaking up everything It could see, although there was nothing to see. Nothing to see in the field where I ran from my past. the darkness that tore my soul into pieces every day and night until there wasn’t much of one left. I guess society has a cruel sense of humor.
The raven silently sat, taking in everything that was happening around it. All the darkness of people, wishing it could tell someone about the things it had witnessed. People always seemed guilty when they saw the raven, knowing that he knew what they’d done.
Missy Morrison
raven
lets fly
be fly
soar
lets get high
raven
lets love
lets be fly
high
as we love
raving
raven
OliviaShanaye
I remember Raven
With hair to match the inky color of the feathers of the bird which she was named for.
I remember Raven
With one eye blue as the racing river and the other eye green as the moss that drifted through it.
I remember Raven
With freckles that dotted her fair skin and gently sprinkled her nose and her cheeks and her shoulders.
I saw Raven
Dance in the snow last Christmas, with the delicate snowflakes painting her full lips blue and her plump cheeks red.
I saw Raven
Tend to that child that we didn’t know that had fallen off his bike; She had tenderly kissed his skinned knee and carried him back into town.
I saw Raven
Stand on the enormous pile of dirt in the field, silhouetted by the stars as she screamed into the night her favorite line from her favorite book; “I feel infinite.”
I imagine Raven
Was lonely before I found her in the bathroom stall pressing blades into the sensitive skin of her wrist and I grabbed the razor and flushed it down the toilet.
I imagine Raven
Finally felt beautiful when her scars had cleared three years later and she had finally recovered from her crippling depression.
I imagine Raven
Screamed when that eighteen-wheeler skidded out of the lane and crashed right into her feeble pick-up truck, instantly taking her away from this world.
i walked along the road at night
following the signs
barely legible but following my gut
the trees lined along the road
as if a carpet waiting for arrival.
and the raven sings a song of death
that i may be following.
She had raven hair, yet there was much more to her than those wavy black locks that cascaded down her shoulders and shone in the sunlight. She was a mystery.
The raven is a black bird of horror. I don’t want to ever see a raven because it may mean that doom is coming soon.
The End.
Tina
her eyes were dark from afar and everyone thought they were black, she used to get teased about her vampire eyes. and when she went through her phase in 8th grade when she wore all black she loved them because she thought they fit her style
but they weren’t really black they were a deep beautiful brown
black, dark, flying low, a caw that brings uncertainty. Flying high above the rest, telling me of painful times past, hanging on a low branch. Blue skies with white streaks decorating the sky.
The raven sat on the windowsill — head cocked at an angle as though it was watching what was going on inside the room beyond. The eyes, never blinking took in the commotion that was occurring just on the opposite side of the glass as though it was a participant to the crime.
looking up to the sky i saw a raven fly up ahead. it was as black as the smoke coming from a cottage in the distance. its call sent chills down my spine and i hitched a breath. i walked onwards.
Steph
Quoth the raven, Nevermore.
Famous words from Edgar Allen Poe.
They recently took on a new meaning for me.
She, with the raven black hair, told me it was over for good and there was no use trying to continue.
Raven was the name of a girl in the famous tv show ” that’s so raven”
It was telecasted on DIsney channel. The girl could see future. She sould freeze and could see what was about to happen. this helped her avoid many akward situations . however it didnt help much , as she then got into worse situations.
Rhea
The raven sat on the window perch as I looked onto this cruel cruel world make me feel scared. There’s war and shootings and killings and… I’ll never understand when I’ll feel okay about this world again.
I am melodrama, hiding in nooks, crannies, and towers. Winged drama. Winged tragedy. A trope, really. How marvelous, how strange. I am become a symbol.
raven, like a hair color or a woman gone mad, stark raving. Edgar Allen Poe as a bird, a perfect poet resigned to ornithological simplification…but at least the letters are even on the sides of the V, down to the distribution of vowels and consonants.
I carded my hands through his raven black hair. “No, don’t,” I pleaded with my little brother, holding his head in my lap. It was everywhere, pooling at his side and smudged on his face. His breath was coming in short pants and I knew he was gone.
Quoth the raven nevermore….but I don’t think that raven understood human nature. Tell us not to do something and off we go…into the great forbidden world of “Nevermore” and there we are. Stuck in the morass of our own stubborness and frailties.
Anne Freedman
The black raven sat perched on it’s branch high above the window. It watched with vague interest as Sarah went along with her daily routine. Sarah noticed it a couple of times, always sitting on that branch, never moving. It discerned her but she wouldn’t let such a silly thing get to her.
The raven sat, perched on the tree limb, mocking me with every caw. It stared down at me with its beady eyes, and I felt naked under its gaze.
With a barking caw, it spread its wings and flew off. A black feather drifted down to my feet. I wished I could fly away with it.
I bent down, picked up the feather, tucked it into my back pocket, and continued down the sidewalk.
the most bizarre thought for me is that you remind me of a raven, in the most beautiful way of course. there’s just something about you, maybe you just remind me of poetry. Poe, to be more specific. i hope to hear a rapping at my chamber door, but rather quoth the raven ‘nevermore’.
Everyone’s familiar with a raven. Especially poets. Poets and ravens have sort of a sour relationship, you see. They don’t exactly get along. People like to say that poets are cryptic, but in truth, they tend to counter the strange little blurts of annoying lingual gibberish that these birds spew out on a nightly basis.
Oh, you don’t think ravens speak English? Poe wouldn’t think so. “Nevermore” is about as English as you can get. The thing is, that raven in particular was kind of a jackass. He just liked to hover and wait for poets to go insane. Ravens don’t have much of a hobby besides that, you know.
(Yes, I tried this and said crows instead of ravens. Yes, I edited my own OneWord and reposted it. I’m just so charming, aren’t I?)
Everyone’s familiar with a raven. Especially poets. Poets and ravens have sort of a sour relationship, you see. They don’t exactly get along. People like to say that poets are cryptic, but in truth, they tend to counter the strange little blurts of annoying lingual gibberish that these birds spew out on a nightly basis.
Oh, you don’t think crows speak English? Poe wouldn’t think so. “Nevermore” is about as English as you can get. The thing is, that crow in particular was kind of a jackass. He just liked to hover and wait for poets to go insane. Crows don’t have much of a hobby besides that, you know. Well, they do peck at gardens. But that also goes under the “Drive people insane” category.
Voló bajo. Picó. La serpiente le mordió el cuello, pero el cuervo le sacaría los ojos antes de que el veneno le llegara al cerebro. Era un cuervo viejo, pero jamás regalaría su vida.
Raven. The sign of death coming. Despair.
The Raven. Also Raven from dat show. Not That’s So Raven. I think it’s Teen Titans or sumthing like dat. Dat show was da stuff.
A raven is a black bird, larger than a crow. It speaks! “Nevermore,” repeated endlessly . . . which (poe)ses a question: What is nevermore, anyway?
Poe’s very own raven spoke more than she. She will always watch, jump to her own conclusions, perched upon my very own mind.
What was it he had said about the black bird? Don’t stand too close? Too late. It flew directly about me like a kamikaze pilot going in for the kill.
jae falls asleep on the chair in the corner of the room, a raven print blanket thrown over zir.
The ravens darted overheard, their dreadful cawing sending a shiver down my spine. Agents of the devil, my father had called them and, staring upward as their shadowy shapes glided through the darkened haven of the trees, I couldn’t help but think he was right.
The ravens flew up out of the bushes, cawing and scratching as I passed through. Filthy little birds. They were supposed to represent me, represent my dark magic, but they were really just a nuisance. I, Morgan le Fey, did not need silly black birds to announce me. I could do just fine myself.
he was the raven he saw at night when he slept, it was he who would cross the seas of dreams
Lashes like raven’s feathers framed the eyes. Jet black softness set against the glistening whites of eyes as candle light flickers like twin flames in his irises.
In its most basic form, the word ‘raven’ obviously brings me to the association of being a bird. There’s another association though, one that wasn’t exactly a favored memory: a TV show that I hated as a child. For that reason, I’ll probably always hate the word ‘raven’.
Her raven black hair seemed to suck all the light out of the room. The power spilled forth from her eyes, and in a moment, I felt myself drowning in the power of this beautiful sorceress. So much power, so much beauty, so much darkness.
His raven black hear is longer than mine; I brush away a few strands stuck to his forehead with sweat; twist it around my finger, tugging softly.
The raven passed overhead, scaring me to death. The sky was dark enough with accounting for the fact of a bird I could barely see was circling where I was at slowly, soaking up everything It could see, although there was nothing to see. Nothing to see in the field where I ran from my past. the darkness that tore my soul into pieces every day and night until there wasn’t much of one left. I guess society has a cruel sense of humor.
The raven silently sat, taking in everything that was happening around it. All the darkness of people, wishing it could tell someone about the things it had witnessed. People always seemed guilty when they saw the raven, knowing that he knew what they’d done.
raven
lets fly
be fly
soar
lets get high
raven
lets love
lets be fly
high
as we love
raving
raven
I remember Raven
With hair to match the inky color of the feathers of the bird which she was named for.
I remember Raven
With one eye blue as the racing river and the other eye green as the moss that drifted through it.
I remember Raven
With freckles that dotted her fair skin and gently sprinkled her nose and her cheeks and her shoulders.
I saw Raven
Dance in the snow last Christmas, with the delicate snowflakes painting her full lips blue and her plump cheeks red.
I saw Raven
Tend to that child that we didn’t know that had fallen off his bike; She had tenderly kissed his skinned knee and carried him back into town.
I saw Raven
Stand on the enormous pile of dirt in the field, silhouetted by the stars as she screamed into the night her favorite line from her favorite book; “I feel infinite.”
I imagine Raven
Was lonely before I found her in the bathroom stall pressing blades into the sensitive skin of her wrist and I grabbed the razor and flushed it down the toilet.
I imagine Raven
Finally felt beautiful when her scars had cleared three years later and she had finally recovered from her crippling depression.
I imagine Raven
Screamed when that eighteen-wheeler skidded out of the lane and crashed right into her feeble pick-up truck, instantly taking her away from this world.
And away from me.
i walked along the road at night
following the signs
barely legible but following my gut
the trees lined along the road
as if a carpet waiting for arrival.
and the raven sings a song of death
that i may be following.
She had raven hair, yet there was much more to her than those wavy black locks that cascaded down her shoulders and shone in the sunlight. She was a mystery.
The raven is a black bird of horror. I don’t want to ever see a raven because it may mean that doom is coming soon.
The End.
her eyes were dark from afar and everyone thought they were black, she used to get teased about her vampire eyes. and when she went through her phase in 8th grade when she wore all black she loved them because she thought they fit her style
but they weren’t really black they were a deep beautiful brown
black, dark, flying low, a caw that brings uncertainty. Flying high above the rest, telling me of painful times past, hanging on a low branch. Blue skies with white streaks decorating the sky.
black bird mystery ego envious intelligent elder witch almonds crank smart
Raven hair swirls like clouds in the night….
Raven eyes shine like illuminated ebony stars.
Raven calls to my deepest heart: “awaken, awaken” –
Raven whispers magick and mystery and secrets, too.
Raven flies in my dreams, carrying me to far away places.
Ravens gather in my yard each morning and follow me as I walk.
The raven sat on the windowsill — head cocked at an angle as though it was watching what was going on inside the room beyond. The eyes, never blinking took in the commotion that was occurring just on the opposite side of the glass as though it was a participant to the crime.
looking up to the sky i saw a raven fly up ahead. it was as black as the smoke coming from a cottage in the distance. its call sent chills down my spine and i hitched a breath. i walked onwards.
Quoth the raven, Nevermore.
Famous words from Edgar Allen Poe.
They recently took on a new meaning for me.
She, with the raven black hair, told me it was over for good and there was no use trying to continue.
All I could think of was that quote.
Evermore.
Raven was the name of a girl in the famous tv show ” that’s so raven”
It was telecasted on DIsney channel. The girl could see future. She sould freeze and could see what was about to happen. this helped her avoid many akward situations . however it didnt help much , as she then got into worse situations.
The raven sat on the window perch as I looked onto this cruel cruel world make me feel scared. There’s war and shootings and killings and… I’ll never understand when I’ll feel okay about this world again.
Her eyes were dark, beady. Like the eyes of a raven, small and sharp and unmistakably shrewd, always looking for weakness to exploit.
I am melodrama, hiding in nooks, crannies, and towers. Winged drama. Winged tragedy. A trope, really. How marvelous, how strange. I am become a symbol.
raven, like a hair color or a woman gone mad, stark raving. Edgar Allen Poe as a bird, a perfect poet resigned to ornithological simplification…but at least the letters are even on the sides of the V, down to the distribution of vowels and consonants.
I carded my hands through his raven black hair. “No, don’t,” I pleaded with my little brother, holding his head in my lap. It was everywhere, pooling at his side and smudged on his face. His breath was coming in short pants and I knew he was gone.
The black gloomy raven sat on the death tower. It screamed as if it came to undertake your life!
Quoth the raven nevermore….but I don’t think that raven understood human nature. Tell us not to do something and off we go…into the great forbidden world of “Nevermore” and there we are. Stuck in the morass of our own stubborness and frailties.
The black raven sat perched on it’s branch high above the window. It watched with vague interest as Sarah went along with her daily routine. Sarah noticed it a couple of times, always sitting on that branch, never moving. It discerned her but she wouldn’t let such a silly thing get to her.