Raven's Song

Tuesday, February 10, 2026

The Eyes That Would Not See

(For Meadowmere)

In the hall of gentle care,
where frailty wears its honest face,
truth limps slowly with a cane —
but lies, they dance with grace.

Too many watch the brightest smile
and think it wisdom’s crown;
they never test the weight of words
before they strike them down.

The cunning learn the tender’s ear,
they whisper soft appeal;
while those who stand for weaker souls
are branded what’s not real.

Oh, heart that would be kind —
learn first to be robust!
Compassion without judgment’s spine
collapses into dust.

For mercy blind can wound the just,
when vigilance grows weak;
and justice sleeps in silken rooms
where truth dares not to speak.

So weigh each tale, weigh twice again,
before decree is made;
the cost of careless certainty
is even trust’s decayed.

Then let your mind, not beauty’s glass,
be mirror to your heart;
for wisdom grows where courage stands,
and truth must have its part.

— 10 Feb. 2026

[The Suno AI has composed and performed a tune for this song:]
Text link to that mp3: tinyurl.com/eyesnotmp3

Monday, February 9, 2026

No Glory in Duty

tinyurl.com/nogloryinduty

(A Soldier’s Song)

Harness the bay and saddle the grey,
Tighten the straps an’ girth;
The dawn is cold, the ground’s like stone —
That’s the glory you’re owed on earth.

There’s no grand song for a shovel or spade,
No crown for the dung-cart crew;
Just the smoke that stings, and the cook’s rough bread,
And the work that falls to you.

March, my lad, till your soles wear thin,
Through mire and sleet and rain;
The road runs long when your belly’s gone
And the rations taste of pain.

There’s no bright bard with his harp in tow,
To praise what duty buys;
Just breath and bone, and a grunt, and a curse,
And the look in a comrade’s eyes.

On! said the knight with his gilded spur,
On through the smoke and din;
You’ll shoulder pike while the banners shine,
And pray for a scrap to win.

There’s no gold glow in a clashing line,
No glory in steel or gore;
Just men who hope they’ll see the fields
They left a year before.

But should you come to the hearth once more,
And find your kindred hale,
You’ll bear the scars like a pilgrim’s beads,
And smile at an old man’s tale.

There’s no bold fame in the soldier’s tread,
Nor laurels that never fade;
The glory, lad, is the roof o’erhead,
And the peace your labour made.

— 8 Feb. 2026

[The Suno AI has composed and performed a tune for this song:]

Sunday, February 8, 2026

The Last Storm Moves On

tinyurl.com/laststorm

(After the fall of the Warming Age)

When north winds loosed their ancient chain,
The world recalled its past in pain;
The steel grew still, the rivers froze,
And silence fell where no one knows.

The storm descended, vast and pale,
Through city spire and mountain vale;
Its voice was old, without remorse —
A god unmade yet set its course.

Four towers met the cutting breath,
Each reared to barter life for death:
One held old bones, one elder’s claim,
Two living men to meet their shame.

“Here,” cried crowds, “their works were done —
They sundered pact and poisoned sun;
The storms they sowed now reap them whole,
Cold judgment on the nation’s soul.”

The people prayed — no mercy came;
The frost entombed each vaunted name.
Ice sealed their crowns, their glories gone,
And still the storm went moving on.

For countless hands had shaped that hour;
Their comfort fed the engines’ power.
Now every hearth, each sleeping town,
Must wear the ice their choices crown.

— 8 Feb. 2026

[The Suno AI has composed and performed a tune for this song:]

Saturday, February 7, 2026

Moonlight

tinyurl.com/moonlyt

Moonlight,
Falling ’cross the field and forest,
Shines through trees and drapes, and no rest
Will be mine again tonight.

Cool white,
Fading ev’ry other colour,
Seems to make the world much smaller,
And much nearer to my sight.

Hunt-rite,
Freeing all my pent-in power,
Sends me run as swift from tower
As an eagle in full flight.

Bone-tight,
Forming new my frame and motion,
Sears along nerves like a potion
Given by a witch in spite.

Prey-fright,
Fresh from seeing my approaching,
Soon is ended by my poaching;
Thus the mercy of my might.

Daylight:
Flowers deck my dining table;
Sit wherever you are able;
Venison’s my cook’s delight!

— 7 Feb. 2026

[The Suno AI has composed and performed a tune for this song:]

Tuesday, January 27, 2026

Sonnet for Bottom

tinyurl.com/sonnetbottom

[Originally posted in 2021 via Disqus to The Hill, which dropped Disqus in December 2025.]

Gaius Claudius Glaber (Putin’s Favorite Bottom), having earlier declared, “Human beings live by lies. The question is which lies to unleash upon these dumb brutes?” and “the only way to Truth is through our divine sense of intuition.” — then said: “… you sanctimoniously lecturing me on Truth is like a dumb high school student or some ditz, circa 1610, lecturing Shakespeare on the intricacies of the iambic pentameter. … I have asked you this question before: are there any lies that you question? that you don’t believe in?”

My reply:

Un Sonnet Pour l’Âne (One Tale No Puns Run)

Proclaiming yet again that all are Gulls —
Unlike himself, of course, supreme, alone —
This 🐴Bᴏᴛᴛᴏᴍ, fed by base and dark impulse,
Insists the truth I told remains unshown;
Nay-says I’d metrify à la Shakespeare.
So let’s be clear: ——————————

First, *truth* (plain fact) is not the “Truth” you Capped —
A hint of Plato’s Ideal Realm set loose,
Voilà! Philosopher-Kings’ realms attrapped!
Oh, see the fallacy come into use:
Rome falls, kings rise, and then dictatorships;
In each the praising ideologists.
“Truth” serves the State’s and Party’s upmanships,
Excused from ties to *truth* of scientists.
Because of famine — called Golodomór —
One census got destroyed, with counters’ layer;
Their numbers told too *much* truth of afore…
The Iron Maiden “Truth” — no life can bear.
One lie, you asked example, I eschew?
Most surely, now I’ve answered, you can rue.

[This 14-line sonnet, and its 6-line prologue, together form a double-acrostic verse. On the left edge, all the first letters of the first words of each line, read downwards, form one name. On the right, all the first letters of the last words of each line, read downwards, form another name. Oddly, they refer to the same person.]

— Raven, 12 Dec. 2021

Sunday, December 21, 2025

Honour (a poem)

tinyurl.com/honour-poem

Honour’s of the human heart —
A soft and fleshy mortal part,
Not hard-encased in gems and gold,
Immortal splendour, dead and cold.

Honour knows that others live,
Work and struggle, care and give;
Keeping faultless faith with these
Is honour’s way to feel at peace.

Honour scorns the bully’s path,
Easy anger, causeless wrath,
Trampling on the poor or weak;
Instead it’s honour’s help they seek.

Find a man who “honour” claimed,
But deeds done in the struggle shamed,
’Haps for power, ’haps for fame —
Doubt the claimant and the claim.

— 21 Nov. 2012

[The Suno AI has composed and performed a tune for this song:]

Monday, December 8, 2025

Growley

tinyurl.com/growley1

Growley is a predator, a prowler, a sneak:
He’ll nip you in the hand or neck, just to hear you shriek;
He’ll claw you as he runs away, just for better speed —
Not in fear or self-defense, he never has that need.

Growley has a wide-eyed thirst or yen for ev’rything.
D’you miss a dangle-y, a piece with cords or string?
Then listen for the crunching, or tearing, as he chews
What used to be your object, past hope of further use.

Growley is a climber and a jumper, never doubt;
So please take care what fragile table items get left out.
And mind that door! Unless you wanted games of run-and-catch;
Here’s a lad who seeks the other side of ev’ry hatch!

But...

Growley is a cuddler, a lover, and a flirt:
He’ll pace your chest at midnight, to nestle on your shirt;
He’ll roll onto his back to let you rub his belly, fain —
And then the purring two-year-old will bite your hand again!

[The Suno AI has composed and performed a tune for this song:]