RAINE REFLECTIONS
www.RaineReflections.com
She leans against the heavy oak,
legs folded, poetry book in hand,
sipping red Mediterranean wine
they hear her laughs in playful smiles
feeling romantic thoughts brushed
by warm Spanish paintings of wild horses
and Andalusian gypsies
how the moments pass for corvids,
intoxicated by dark-haired dreams.
it is past time they return,
the fancy of ravens feathers flutter
back once more to western shores,
and to the throne of their master
cawing whispers, fulfilling fantasies
into ears of the Northman as he slumbers
Raven Wings
In the numb and vernal evening
past the sirens of steel banshees
and tired saints wailing in the night
cities; locked down and nervous
lie still, abandoned to silence
long before the screens
and open windows shut them in
a drunken-old-sod succumbs
to armchair-idle dreams
his thought and memory drift
on calm corvid wings
old feathers falling to ashes
blood feathers stretching
like sharpened compass arrows
pointing toward tomorrow’s sun
Gliding over vast distances
past the calm of an ocean sunrise,
beyond slumbering mountains
and passive foothills,
to where the Black Sea’s brackish mists
succumb to the glimmer
of a dust-petal dawn
taking a moment’s respite
the weary ravens’ rest
upon the thick-muscled branch
of a granite oak
below, upon a woollen blanket
of imagination stretched
in the comfortable shade
a woman whispers from soft lips
© Christopher Raine